It's genetic. It's a life-time achievement award. It's inevitable.

Choose all or some or one of the above. Along with cataracts, high cholesterol, worn-out knees, and numerous aches and pains that come with age, we can add hearing loss.

According to a 2021 study by the National Institute for Deafness and Other Communication Disorder, approximately 28.8 million American adults need hearing aids. Unfortunately, only one in six does something about it. My husband decided to be one of them.

Larry's problems began a few years back. His inability to hear had become a source of irritation to me, for our family, for our friends. He had to crank up the television, and his listening skills had diminished. After almost 50 years of marriage, maybe his "selective hearing" had become more attuned. But he was missing words and phrases. A recent test at an audiologist had come back showing he was on the verge of needing them.

Finally, when we came back from Colorado in August 2023, he decided it was time. Choosing a hearing center that many in our community recommended, Larry underwent a thorough one-hour examination and got the expected news: he had "moderate" hearing loss.

Two weeks later, Larry was fitted with a pair of hearing aids. He adjusted fairly quickly, and his "selective listening" didn't seem to be as much of a problem.

While his hearing improved, mine tanked. The volume of Larry's voice, which was always on the quiet side, went down a couple of decibels, meaning I was constantly asking him to speak up. Also, with his new bionic ears, he could turn down the television volume so I couldn't hear it. He began to complain that the music on Alexa was blaring. He suggested that maybe I needed hearing aids.

I fought it. First of all, I had been tested 18 months earlier by the same audiologist at the same time that Larry had, and I was told that my hearing was "borderline. "

Besides, I already could not keep track of my iPhone, my Apple Watch, my Kindle, my keys, my Solivita pass, and my purse. I could not imagine adding another thing to my life that I had to find.

What concerned me most was that I remembered all too well my father's experiences with hearing aids. When those blobs of plastic were in his ears, they buzzed. At least once, he ruined them when he jumped into a swimming pool. When he took them out, goodness knows where we would find them. On his dresser? Next to his favorite chair? Under the clothesline?

I especially recalled the day that Aunt Pearl, who lived in Long Island, came up to visit Mom and Dad in Clifton Park. My dad and aunt wore hearing aids, and my mother was on her way to getting them. Brian, my cousin who drove Aunt Pearl up to Saratoga County, escaped to another room while the three of them yelled to each other to communicate. Despite the distance, Brian and I heard the distinct buzzing of a hearing aide coming from my father.

"Dad, do you need to turn down your hearing aids?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "The damn things don't work. I put them in my pocket."

Oy! This is what I had to look forward to?

When Larry was due for his six-month check-up, and he strongly urged me to make my own appointment.

"I am sure I don't need hearing aids," I said. "You just talk too low." But for Shalom Bayit, for peace in our house, I signed up for a consultation.

I thought I would breeze through the test, but I was shocked to find out that my hearing loss was "moderate to severe." For the next two weeks, my prescription was being filled, I felt sad and, well, old!

Amazingly, I adjusted very quickly. I immediately noticed the difference: I could hear! Okay, maybe a little too loudly. But the world became hearable. My constant refrain, "Could you repeat that?" was gone. I could go to a movie or show and actually hear what was being said.

My fear of losing them also proved groundless. Between the over-the-ear microphone and the tiny receivers that go fairly deep into my ear canal, I haven't lost them. They also are a little more waterproof than I anticipated as accidentally wearing them into the shower or even into the pool would not be a disaster.

Finally, being a woman has its perks. Larry doesn't have the hair to cover them, so they are pretty obvious. It takes a much sharper eye to detect the tiny wires in my ears when it is covered with hair.

Rather than being embarrassed or ashamed, I am grateful that my hearing is correctable, that we have the resources to make the purchase, and that hearing aids are so much better than those huge things my parents wore.