The Farmer has been deaf in one ear for as long as he can
remember. He suspects it is a result of hunting, because it’s on the side where
he holds his gun and is most affected by the sound of gunshot. For the most
part it has been a non-issue. He doesn’t always ‘hear’ me when I’m in the next
room, because he reads lips. But I think he is fairly comfortable in his quiet
existence. He sleeps really well, on his good ear.
My husband has hearing aids – the really good kind. But they
have to be adjusted to his environment and he has to take the effort to
maintain them. And he has to want to hear. I don’t think he feels he is missing
out on anything by not being able to hear every little sound. He hears the big
ones. That seems to be enough.
He himself must have made a big sound back in August when,
after hastily climbing the ladder at our cottage building site to apply one
final coat of stain on the trim, he fell. Normally he nails a brace bar at the
bottom of the ladder but as it was the end of the day and he was anxious to get
home, he didn’t bother. The ladder began to wobble and slide and shake. He
shook along with it. Suddenly it flipped, flinging the Farmer to the rocky
ground below.
He landed on a rock, bashed his wrist watch, jostled his
brain a bit and broke two ribs. He didn’t want to call an ambulance, because
not only would they find it difficult to locate him at this out-of-the-way
building site, but he might be forced to leave his beloved doggo behind. So he
gingerly lifted himself out of the ditch where he had landed beside the
cottage, succumbing to dog licks all over his face while he remained low to the
ground. He took his time closing doors and turning off equipment before
gathering his things and ushering the pooch into the back of the truck. It was
difficult to hoist himself into the driver’s seat, but he eventually managed.
He drove himself to the Smiths Falls Hospital.
Our daughter is a nurse in Smiths Falls. It was her day off
but as soon as he called her she jumped in the car to meet him there. He was a
bit disappointed to be informed that if you drive yourself to the hospital, you
have to get yourself inside. They do not come rushing out to greet you with a
wheelchair or a gurney. The shock of the fall likely kept the pain at bay, or
at least under control, until he was safely in the emergency room.
That’s where I found him an hour later. He was quite a
sight, with the red wood stain that had spattered his clothing making him look
like he had attended a violent murder scene. His hair was standing straight on
end, he was topless and he had a Golden Retriever tied to the end of his
hospital bed. Fergus was drinking from what appeared to be a plastic bed pan. I
was assured it had been sterilized.
“Oh, you look like a hobo!” I cried, relieved to see he was
in good hands.
The next week was difficult, as I attempted to work from
home while playing nurse to my busted-up husband. He had been prescribed
opioids and I was determined to watch over him as he took his daily dose of
painkillers. Luckily I had the real nurse at the end of the phone line so I
could text for advice when necessary. They don’t bind broken ribs anymore –
they want you to take deep breaths to avoid fluid buildup on the lungs. We just
alternated hot and cold as per the doc’s advice but fluid built up anyway and
we had to go to the hospital to have the lungs drained.
The Farmer suffered through a family wedding that he was
loathe to miss out on, and that is when he revealed a side effect of his fall.
Suddenly I felt I was in the middle of a National Lampoon movie – or an episode
of Corner Gas.
“I may have broken ribs when I fell but you know what? I
think I got my hearing back!” he announced proudly.
This is the Farmer’s new response every time I tell him he
should be getting his hearing aid adjusted. He says his hearing is perfectly
fine, thank you. It’s my mumbling that is the problem.
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