I Did What With My Hearing Aids by marilyn quillen Nonfiction Writing Contest contest entry |
Routines are designed to simplify life or so we are led to believe. They resemble a dance you've performed countless times—so familiar that you could execute it in your sleep. However, in my situation, perhaps that was the issue. It was late, very late—a long day loomed behind me and exhaustion tugged at my eyelids while I shuffled through my nightly ritual. First, I retrieved my hearing aids and placed them on my desk with care, as I always did. Then, I took my medications, a glass of milk in hand, and down they went. With a swift swallow and a satisfied sigh, my mind was already halfway to dreamland. I reached back for my hearing aids, prepared to tuck them into their charger for the night. My hand patted the empty desk. Where are they? Frowning, I checked the usual spots: the desk, my bedside table, and the floor in case they had fallen, my ears. Nothing. A mild panic began to bubble within me as I retraced the sequence of events. I was certain I had put them there. They were no longer in my ears, but where could they possibly be? Checked the dog, and nope, she’s innocent. Then it hit me. It seemed like there were more pills tonight than normal...... Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Surely not. As I cast my gaze upon the vacant glass of milk, a profound sense of dread solidified what I already suspected. My hearing aids were not resting on my desk, as one would expect because they were... in me. I had swallowed them. Five thousand dollars worth of avant-garde technology now nestled in my stomach, mingling with my daily vitamins. I found myself at a loss—should I laugh, weep, or hurl myself into the nearest pillow? For a brief moment, I simply sat there, dumbfounded. How does one even manage such a feat? More importantly, what steps should one take in response? Google offered little assistance. This was an uncommon incident, although I’m certain that somewhere, a handful of toddlers might empathize. Fortunately, a glimmer of relief emerged from the disarray: my hearing aids were insured against loss or damage. This, however, necessitated an explanation to the audiologist—and my insurance company—regarding the peculiar circumstances. The following morning, I braced myself and initiated the call. When the receptionist picked up, I cleared my throat and began, “So, I need to replace my hearing aids...” “Of course,” she replied brightly. “What happened?” “Well,” I faltered. “They’re, um, damaged. Sort of.” “Oh, no! Did you drop them?” I let out a sigh. “Not precisely. I...um they got wet.” "Ah, Did you forget and wear them in the shower? They may not be completely ruined." With a feeling of defeat, I finally let it out, "No, I swallowed them." The silence on the other end of the line lingered just long enough for beads of sweat to form on my brow. “Um, Did you retrieve them?” “No, I muttered, you said not to get them wet or dirty because they would quit working. I can guarantee they got wet and dirty” Then, much to my relief, she erupted into laughter. “Oh my goodness, I’ve encountered a plethora of tales, but that’s a first! Don’t fret; we’ll take care of you.” The insurance company, surprisingly nonchalant, also took it in stride. “That’s what the policy is for,” the representative remarked. I’m fairly convinced however that I’ve become the punchline of a few office jokes. Ultimately, everything turned out well. My hearing aids were replaced, my pride was only slightly battered and I acquired a narrative worth every raised eyebrow and chuckle. I’ve also learned to thoroughly inspect what I’m about to consume before I swallow—this lesson is both practical and, let’s be candid, long overdue. So here’s to routines, to blunders, and to insurance that covers the unforeseen. Most importantly, here’s to ensure my hearing aids remain in my ears—or, at the very least, out of my stomach. And BTW, just for your information and curiosity, I never have found nor seen the other hearing aids! Author’s Note: Yes, this genuinely happened. No, the hearing aids were not recoverable. And yes, I’ll be chuckling about it for years ahead.
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marilyn quillen
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