The trip to Bradford Royal infirmary follows a country route to a hospital that is actually far closer to home than Huddersfield. The promise of free disabled parking was denied due to a full car park. I pulled up on double yellows outside the sprawling hospital, displayed my blue badge with a hint of arrogance, collected my walking stick and commenced my limp to the nearest hospital building.
What do you know, ENT and Audiology Departments right next to me! Result! I present myself to reception and wait. Then a lady appears and calls my name. I don’t call her Audiologibabe to her face, but the mental note is made.
She repeats some of the high pitched whistling tests that had brought me here. Asks me what colour hearing aid I want and tells me about cross-hearing. A device on each ear. The bad ear turned on, with sound sent wirelessly across to the device on my good ear in an instant. They can’t actually make my knackered ear hear. But they can move the sound to my quite good ear.
I joke about Mrs Richards in Fawlty Towers. Straight over her head. She checks dates I’m unavailable and I reel off my medical appointments from memory. Apparently my devices will turn up in approximately six weeks.
It might not be awe inspiring stereo sound, but I’ll be able to hear you talk when you’re stood on my right. The days of choosing to ignore noise or twisting my neck at obscenely uncomfortable angles are hopefully drawing to a close.