That's what I wish I could tell those people who crank the bass to max in their cars and homes. For one, it's annoying and unfair to those around them. Second, it has lifelong repercussions, not only for them but also their family and friends.

I know from experience — I've watched one relative blast away his hearing for the last 10 years. When I was a kid, watching him driving his truck/portable soundstage seemed harmless.

That changed as the effects took root. He heard less and less during conversations. When he spoke, he practically shouted because it must have sounded normal to him. He loved hunting, but listening for deer in the woods was becoming more difficult.

Whispers of hearing aids soon trickled among family members, even though this relative wasn't even 50 years old.

I suspect he played the stereo so loud because he loved music — and maybe wanted a little attention. In that regard, I understand because I appreciate music just as much. But you can still bang your head without bursting your eardrums.

And I don't have to imagine life without song, because I do know what it's like. I'm only 25, but I've already lost my hearing twice.

The first time was intentional. In high school, my advanced biology class conducted a series of awareness days. We had to spend the school day in a wheelchair, with blindfolds over our eyes and our thumbs taped to our hands. On deaf day, we put in earplugs and wore sound-blocking headphones. The project taught us what it's like to live with a disability.

I must confess that deaf day was slightly better than blind day. At least you could walk to class, reach your locker, take notes, read and go to the cafeteria or bathroom without help from someone else.

But that was only for a few hours. My other deaf experience didn't end the second the school bell rang.

It happened in my early teens and started as a cold. It was a whopper — the kind that leaves a mountain range of tissue and makes you seriously consider jumping into a pen with an angry bull. My head pounded all week, and it grew harder and harder to hear as each day passed.

It didn't seem like a big deal at the time. I've had problems like that since infancy, so colds and allergies usually left fluid in my ears. Over-the-counter medicine always helped.

Not this time. When it reached the point where I couldn't hear anyone speaking, my parents took me to the doctor, who diagnosed it as a bad sinus infection.

I hated every second of that illness. I couldn't watch TV or listen to family conversations. I tried listening to music with headphones, but that was impossible. I had to turn it up so loud that it hurt my already pounding ears. And forget answering the phone or making calls. I shudder to wonder what would have happened if I needed to dial 911.

Going to school was out of the question since I couldn't hear the teachers, so my parents brought assignments home with written instructions. When I did return, I couldn't participate in band class because the pressure of playing a trumpet was too hard on my sinuses.

But I should consider myself fortunate. Sinus infections, although brutal, go away with a lot of rest in a comfy bed and a few horse-capsule-size antibiotics.

Hearing loss is a different beast, one that doesn't heed modern medicine. It doesn't care that you just wanted to rock out to your favorite band every night after work or get the most out of that expensive entertainment system. It couldn't care less that you'll miss the talks with friends and family.

Don't let it trample all over your life. Rein it in now.

(by fdlreporter.com)

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