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Maybe I was on the way to spending the rest of my time as a fully-hearing person, but first I would have to navigate the circuitous nonsense that is a the silver-level HMO Anthem Blue Cross version of Obamacare. I went to a nurse practitioner at my primary care physician's office and was referred to an ear, nose, and throat doctor who was actually a plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills.I sat in his posh office, and he revealed that he was part of the tribe: "I'm deaf in one ear, too!" he exclaimed."Do you have a hearing aid?""No." And then, "Why do you want one?"I'd never had to defend my desire to hear out of both sides of my head before, and I searched for specific reasons. All of them seemed small by themselves, but in the aggregate, they were important. I want to be able to drive a car and hear my friends and not the wind, as my good ear faces the window. I want to stop having to ask people to repeat mundane sentences with annoyed looks on their faces. I want to sit on either side of someone at the movies and not have to miss out on all the mid-movie whispers that seem insignificant until you're being excluded from them. I want to know if someone is walking up behind me.I always thought the first thing I would hear normally on my right side would be a symphony or a flock of wild birds, but it was just one of those hearing test beeps, and I only heard it faintly.
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Two months wore on. I called Anthem Blue Cross almost daily. The hearing aid that I had come so close to getting, again became the stuff of "somedays." Eventually, with the help of the insurance commission, I helped Anthem Blue Cross help themselves see that they had indeed made an error, and my policy was reinstated. I now call the ENT's office every other day, but I still have not successfully landed an appointment with an in-network surgeon. Someone in that office is perpetually "looking into it."Getting this surgery has started to feel like grasping a drop of mercury. The closer I get, the more it slips away. My hearing loss frustrates me more now than it ever has before. I shouldn't have to live like this when there's a way to fix it.I will always be half-deaf, though, even when I finally get that device put in my head. I will always be a person who can sleep through car alarms and crying babies on planes because I can always turn my good ear down and envelope myself in solitude. I will always be a good listener, because for so much of my life, every conversation has required effort and focus. I hope, though, that I won't always be split into two sides: the me who is talkative and outgoing and aware and confident, and the me who is constantly apologizing and worried everyone thinks I'm dumb because I smile and nod when I don't want to say "I'm sorry?" again.I wish I knew already what it will be like to merge these two versions of me—to hear my dogs barking and my phone ringing and my friend behind me on a surfboard telling me to watch out—all from both sides of my awareness, to walk through a world where these things have context and place and not just sound, but the other half of me wishes I had never heard that faint beep on the side of my skull at all.Follow Tess Barker on Twitter.The closer I get, the more it slips away. My hearing loss frustrates me more now than it ever has before.