The Wall Street Journal-20080129-Getting an Earful- Testing A Tiny- Pricey Hearing Aid

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Getting an Earful: Testing A Tiny, Pricey Hearing Aid

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Let's get one thing straight: I'm much too young for a hearing aid.

I wouldn't even consider it if the people I live and work with would only speak louder and more clearly. But they mumble, and they mock me, and words I've misunderstood are the fodder for family jokes. (Seriously, doesn't 'Wikipedia' sound a lot like 'Wake up, Edie'?)

That's why I've been testing a "personal communication assistant" -- one of those sleek mini hearing aids that sits behind the ear, with just a thin, clear tube extending into the ear canal. It's virtually invisible, and a far cry from the old kind that looked like a wad of Silly Putty.

These discreet, high-tech models are tailor-made for baby boomers like me who are starting to lose hearing, but are otherwise at the top of our game. And our ranks are set to explode, thanks to demographics and loud music. The industry estimates that the number of Americans with hearing loss will double, to 60 million, by 2030.

The industry also says that, on average, people wait seven years after they first suspect a hearing problem to do something about it. I'm right on schedule.

My first test, in 2001, showed only mild hearing loss. It's slightly worse now, and just in the high frequencies, which carry a lot of speech, particularly consonants and word endings. Those are often the first to go when the tiny hairs in the inner ear deteriorate -- "like when your toothbrush needs replacing," explains Manhattan otolaryngologist Sarah Stackpole. She says many people with such mild loss find hearing aids more irritating than helpful. But I'm determined to give it a try.

To start, Jake Marsden, an audiologist at AudioHelp Associates, fits me with a top-of-the-line Inteo model, made by Widex of Long Island City, N.Y., just in my left ear. It's tiny -- one inch long and half- inch wide -- but the price isn't. It's $3,200 per ear. Hearing aids generally aren't covered by insurance, or Medicare. Medicaid covers only the most basic kind, which this decidely is not.

Mr. Marsden programs the Inteo via computer to amplify the exact frequencies I need. Its "integrated signal processor" will take it from there, automatically adjusting to maximize voices and minimize background noise, he explains. He leaves me with a few instructions: Don't wear it in the shower. Take it off at night, and remove the battery so it lasts longer. And, he says, "Don't expect miracles."

Day 1. Whoa -- my left ear is now bionic. I can hear sandwiches being unwrapped and zippers being zipped across the newsroom. Voices come in loud and clear. I feel more alert than I have in years. And no one would know I was wearing this thing -- if I didn't show it off to everyone I see.

Day 2. I must be getting used to it. I'm no longer hearing sandwiches, but eavesdropping is fun and effortless. It's like having an Extendable Ear from the Harry Potter books. That night at a noisy restaurant, though, it's still hard to understand my family across the table. The directional microphone is supposed to home in on the closest conversation. But I could have sworn my daughter said "Boston" not "pasta."

Day 3. I discover another downside -- talking on the telephone. Voices sound tinny and far away when I hold the receiver to my left ear, with the Inteo behind it. With the receiver to my right ear, sounds I don't want to hear are being amplified in my left. "Hearing aids and telephones are not friends," says Mr. Marsden, who suggests holding the receiver farther away or wearing the Inteo selectively in the office. I do that for the rest of the week, beginning to wonder if it's worth it.

Day 6. I wear the Inteo on and off over the weekend. On for the TV, and it's nice not to have to crank up the volume. Off for the gym, since it's incompatible with earbuds. On for the movie theater, though it's still hard to understand the dialogue in "Sweeney Todd." My family votes in favor of the Inteo. "We don't make fun of you nearly as much when you're wearing it," my husband says helpfully.

Day 8. Back in the office, all the chatter around me is actually distracting. When there's a lull, I hear faint scratching sounds. Mice in the floor boards?

Mr. Marsden says he can adjust the programming to minimize such sounds. My bigger concern is the cost. If my own hearing were worse, the trade-off would be different. But for now, $3,200 seems like too much to pay, out of pocket, to imperfectly correct my mild loss. As I give it back at the end of the trial period, Mr. Marsden says there are less expensive models, though they are also less sophisticated.

Walking away, I miss the Inteo already. Did he say "your sister ate it . . ."?

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