No Superheroes In This Booth
Superman famously uses a phone booth to shed his street clothes, transforming into the iconic superhero that saves the day. The transformation happens at the speed of lightening in keeping with Superman’s persona. Phone booths have all but disappeared but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t other booths that provide an equal opportunity for transformation. The booth I stepped into on that dreary fall day only confirmed the transformation that had begun weeks earlier.
Earlier that summer a camp had booked me to serve as their chapel speaker. It was a sweet gig. They put me up in a nice cabin with a lake-front view, a short distance from the main camp site. Throughout the days I would participate in whatever I fancied. In the evening I would deliver a 20 minute talk as part of the chapel program. The week was a great time to catch up on reading, go on a few bike rides, try my hand at paintballing, canoeing, and archery. Wednesday morning I woke up and my left ear felt plugged. Usually this feeling signaled the start of another pesky sinus infection. I resigned myself to finishing the week feeling awful and taking pain-killers.
Yet, I finished the week without a fever, an ache, or a plugged sinus. Nevertheless my ear remained plugged.
After a few weeks of attempting to clear my sinuses with nasal rinses and prescribed nasal dilators, my ear remained plugged. The feeling lingered and my ability to hear from that side remained minimal. The last resort was to test my hearing. Perhaps there was something wrong with my ear.
By this time the college year had begun and I was juggling rehearsals, lectures, student mentoring, and regular family responsibilities. I booked the appointment for a Friday afternoon.
That Friday, the audiologist invited me into a small soundproof booth. I stepped up into the small cube and noticed the walls lined entirely of foam. A lone chair was positioned to one side directly across from a small window. She motioned for me to sit down. The audiologist fitted a large pair of headphones over my ears, placed a triggering device in my hand and then closed the heavy door behind her as she took her place in front of her console. As I sat there, peering out of the window to where the technician sat behind a bank of dials and buttons, I became keenly aware of utter silence of this space.
My right ear was the first to be subjected to a series of tones of increasing frequency. I listened to tone after tone dutifully pressing the button when I heard what I thought was a sound. Then it was time for the left ear. I listen carefully and once again pressed the button every time I heard a sound in my left ear.
When you are listening to sounds your brain has a lot of time to think about everything else. I bet the ear is just blocked. Beep! (Press) I just need to reduce my stress. Beep! (Press) What if I can't hear out of that ear anymore? Beep! (Press) Will I be able to coach musicians? Beep! (Press) Will I be able to play music? Beep! (Press) Did I actually hear something there? … I think so. Beep! (Press)
Finally, the testing wrapped up and the audiologist opened the door to the booth to give me the news. After hanging up the headphones and returning the trigger to the holder she pronounced, “Patrick, you have asymmetrical hearing loss. Your left ear has severe hearing loss and your right has moderate hearing loss.”
“Is the hearing loss permanent?” I asked.
"Yes," she said, “there is evidence of permanent nerve damage in your left ear. You won't get your hearing back, but we can make it better with hearing aids.”
I sat there stunned. The instrument that I had counted on to craft musical arrangements and guide my coaching of college musicians was damaged without hope of repair. Life would need to change - it had to change. Having lived off the accolades of others in part for my musicianship and ability to coach student musicians, I now needed to look elsewhere for purpose and significance.
No red cape emerged from that booth; no ability to stop speeding bullets or leap skyscrapers. Stepping out of that sound booth, I emerged heart-broken, reeling from the waves of new meaning that I needed to make in my life. Yet, it was the beginning of a transformation - allowing me to focus on a more authentic me.
