Can you hear them? Constantly repeating sentences, talking more loudly (at first) and then (as frustration heightens) speaking less overall to aging family members. ("Can you hear me now, dammit"?)
Hear me — if you will. I want to open discussion on a topic that we sometimes have a hard time talking about.

One in every three people over 60 and one in every two people over 85 has a hearing problem. More men than women, it seems. It’s a problem that exasperates and confuses. The hearing-impaired person is often seen as difficult, uncaring, rude and withdrawn. Attempts to communicate are fraught with irritability and disconnect.

The National Institute on Aging indicates hearing loss is the third most prevalent treatable health condition (after arthritis and hypertension). Ninety-five percent of older adults with hearing problems can be helped by a hearing aid. And only 22 percent of older adults who need aids have them.

Hearing difficulties often occur so gradually we don’t even realize what’s happening. We think people around us are just mumbling more. For some of us, we have trouble hearing what’s said on the telephone, difficulty in conversations with two or more people. Background noises are irksome. Women and children with softer, less well-enunciated voices are — could it be? Yes, that’s the word — irksome.

We don’t seem to want to admit to hearing problems. So we adapt. We turn up the TV and tune out the mumblers. We get cranky, straining to understand a soft-spoken speaker. Trying to hear and not hearing can make us irritable, sometimes even downright depressed.

A personal note. My husband has a hearing loss, and it has challenged us mightily for the last two years. He recently acquired hearing aids. They are hard-to-see, lightweight digital devices that wrap around the back of each ear. They were fitted on his 61st birthday. After the hearing problem was fully diagnosed, the audiologist stressed the importance of immediate acquisition of appropriate hearing aids. He explained that people who wait (for a variety of reasons — vanity, cost, denial) have lessened likelihood of easy (any) adaptation.

So we made the decision (reluctant at that point only because of cost). I quipped, "This can be his birthday present!" The audiologist stopped what he was doing, turned to me and said, "No, my dear, this is your birthday present."

Another personal note. My husband would prefer I not reference him too often in my columns. But this inclusion was his suggestion, this column topic his idea. He’s become a resounding advocate for maximizing the capacity of the aging ear. Initially reluctant to consider hearing aids at all, he loves his "new ears," sometimes saying, "I’ve had shoes that were much more difficult to get used to."

My spouse thinks about these expensive-but-so-worth-it hearing aids as his "new MP3 players."

I think of it this way: Men who listen, we could use more of them.

By Sharon Johnson