In the past year or two, an elder in our family has been experiencing gradually worsening hearing loss. Initially, they planned to use a hearing aid and, following a neighbor’s advice, applied for assistance through the local township office and underwent a hearing test at a major city hospital. If their hearing loss was classified as severe, they could qualify for government-subsidized welfare benefits.
However, after an examination at the Veterans Hospital, the doctor determined that only one of the elder’s ears met the “legal” threshold for severe hearing loss, while the other ear fell just short of the required level, so they couldn’t issue the necessary documentation. As expected, the elder was unable to obtain government assistance for a hearing aid.
The doctor advised us, “Hearing function will continue to decline, so you can come back for another test in six months.” True to their word, the elder actually planned to return for a retest after half a year.
We, the younger family members, urged them to get a hearing aid directly, suggesting they opt for a higher-performance model rather than sacrificing quality of life to save money. Later, they quietly went and got a hearing aid fitted—completely ignoring my biomedical engineering background, even though I have classmates working as engineers and salespeople in the hearing aid industry.
For most living beings, declining organ function with age is a natural phenomenon. However, people often struggle to accept changes happening to themselves, especially those who have lived very disciplined lives.
Take our family elder, for example. Since their hearing began to decline, they’ve become less fond of engaging in conversations. From my observation, this stems from psychological fears—partly because listening has become strenuous, and partly because they worry others might judge them for their hearing loss.
But more frustrating than their hearing difficulties is what we’ve noticed during conversations: they’ve started to give up on dialogue altogether, pretending to hear or understand when they haven’t. In my view, if hearing loss is due to physiological reasons, I’m perfectly willing to patiently explain things—ten, twenty times if needed—adjusting my speaking speed and volume to facilitate communication.
If verbal communication remains ineffective, we can always resort to writing on paper or a tablet to get the point across. But when the other party gives up, avoids, or pretends, I lose it instantly—typical Leo behavior, right?
As their avoidance of communication became more frequent, we realized this couldn’t continue. So, during a casual chat, I made it clear to the elder that if they didn’t hear or couldn’t understand, they should let us know. We’re more than happy to express ourselves more clearly. Most importantly, they must never pretend to hear or understand when they don’t, as misinformation is often worse than no information at all.
Reflecting on it now, I realize I also have room for self-improvement. As I mentioned, I get incredibly frustrated when I feel my attempts at “conversation” are being “deceived.” Looking back, it wasn’t just the elder struggling to accept change—those around them, including myself, were also grappling with adapting to the situation. We’re all just ordinary people trying to redefine our roles in the face of change.
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