My hearing diaries
Holy moly, the world is loud.
I had surgery at the end of April to place a right-side hearing implant called a BAHA. I had to patiently wait for the muscle and bone to heal, but I finally was able to get my sound processor attached — and explained to me! — about two weeks ago.
Breaking news from my cozy corner of the world: I can hear. While I’m still a little leery to embrace it — turns out chronic illness can make you skeptical as hell — so far, so good.
WTF is a BAHA?
I’ve gotten a lot of questions about how bone-anchored hearing aids (BAHAs) work in my IRL life, so here’s a quick description for my internet friends: A BAHA is very similar to a cochlear implant, but each device targets different types of hearing loss. For me, I have conductive hearing loss, where sound waves are blocked due to chronic infections or abnormalities in the inner/middle ear, but near-perfect bone hearing.
There are two types of BAHAs: one that is magnetic, which is what I ended up getting, and another where the sound processor is screwed onto a titanium abutment that pops through the skin. Given my autoimmune diagnoses, plus my body’s susceptibility to infection on top of a laundry list of drug allergies, my surgeon was only willing to implant the magnetic kind. (For this, I am particularly grateful. My rabbit-holing doomscrooling in a hearing-specific subreddit revealed many patients’ experiences with infections because of the abutment.)
So, how does it work?
During surgery, a C-shaped incision is made behind the affected ear, and the magnet (which is surrounded by medical-grade silicone rubber) is placed on the skull after cutting through layers of both tissue and muscle. Once the skull properly heals — about 4-6 weeks after surgery — the sound processor can be attached via three different magnet strengths. My audiologist opted for medium strength because I have pretty thick hair and the highest strength can come with some skin-related side effects.
Once the sound processor is turned on, sound vibrates the skull which helps to convert the vibrations to sound waves. Those vibrations then stimulate the inner ear, allowing a person to bypass the middle ear, which is where your three hearing bones reside. Fun fact: I only have a pair of bones in total since two of mine had to be fused together many years ago — and I will eventually have none!
Is this my first hearing device? Why go this invasive?
Both are great questions. As the collateral for chronic infection and drainage, I’ve lived with hearing loss for most of my life — and I did wear a hearing aid in my teens (that one was glittery!) and early 20s. I eventually had to make the tough decision that my chronic migraine attacks were too severe (I found myself in the ER at least once a month), and were partially triggered by the fluctuation in sound and scratchy, high-pitched feedback from the hearing aid touching my hair, my hand, or an innocent bystander on the subway.
I had never heard of a BAHA until my surgeon broke the news to me last fall that I am in the end stages of ear disease. I was gearing up to talk to him about trying a hearing aid again because the cognitive strain of constantly reading lips and asking people to repeat themselves ad nauseum was becoming too much to bear, but he beat me to the punch. “There’s not much else we can do, Katlyn,” he said. “We’re going to have to remove everything that makes your right ear an ear.” (Yes, that’s my full name.)
I’ve had more than eight months to process the finality of this news, and have reached a point of acceptance that I imagine a lot of people who have to lose a body part feel. Removing an organ or a limb (or in my case, my right ear minus the lobe) is usually meant as a life-saving measure. The right side of my head has tried to kill me many times at this point, so I suppose we should do the damn surgery and hope for the best.
The BAHA is truly a silver lining at the end of day, granting me access to a hearing, able-bodied world that I haven’t experienced in decades. But that doesn’t mean it’s been a seamless transition.
Here are the unfiltered notes I took during my BAHA’s first week. Enjoy!
During the appointment
I don’t really get excited for medical appointments (...for obvious reasons), but this was one where I was literally bouncing on the balls of my feet beforehand. Once the audiologist called me back, I was told to be completely silent so the sound processor could activate the magnet and calibrate to being on — this helped her with setting my audio levels. When the processor turned on for the first time, it was a lot. Her voice sounded mechanical and the air conditioner was a loud, grating hiss. It was a really surreal sensation to physically feel a magnetic device in my skull. I was promised this was normal and would just take my brain some time to adjust.
Once we decided on the right magnet strength, she took my iPhone and downloaded the BAHA’s app for me. On the app, I can control the volume, take a peek at my battery life, customize notifications, and set up streaming to my laptop and phone. I was also given an external microphone — it looks like a small pager from the 90s — which could be used in loud group settings like a crowded dinner table. I left the office with a way-too-large promotional backpack in tow.
Immediately after walking outside
I took two steps into the parking lot, and immediately wanted to fold myself up like origami. HOW DOES EVERYONE LIVE WITH THIS MUCH NOISE? The turn signal in my car sounds like a heartbeat mated with a foghorn. I am simultaneously ecstatic and scared for my life.
When I got home
How does anyone get things done when picking up a spoon sounds like a cymbal crash? Stepping on carpet sounds like something! What even is that! Did you know that my dog makes little puffs of air when he’s dreaming? I feel like I can hear color at this point — the TikTok girlies would kill for this amount of tap-tapping ASMR!
Evening #1
I tried wearing the device with wet hair after I was told in my appointment that it’s water resistant, just not waterproof (aka don’t submerge it in the shower, but it’s OK to wear when it’s raining). It stayed on for a bit, but then fell off in the kitchen. I panicked and took it off while my hair dried a bit more. (Turns out it wasn’t the wet hair, I’m just a goober and didn’t place it on the magnet correctly. #Learning.) I wore it during dinner even though I was dreading the sound of myself or my partner chewing, but I loved being able to eat and hear/participate in conversation at the same time. I can’t remember the last time I had that everyday luxury so many people take for granted.
Day #2
Aside from the obvious perk of being able to hear supersonically, I am living for the fact that sound from my phone and laptop automatically stream through the device — same for phone calls! If I want to watch a dog reel on my phone (as one does), I hear it in my head sans headphones. And when someone calls? I talk into the phone but hear it through the BAHA! I mean, just call me Judy Jetson at this point.
Day #3
My partner said I haven’t said “What?” or asked him to repeat himself in three days. I cried. I severely underestimated how emotional this would be.
Day #4
I was alone at home for most of the day, which I’m learning is when my BAHA becomes more of a chore than a delight, because all I hear are bird chirps, traffic, the dishwasher, and the dryer in technicolor. It felt a little — dare I say it? — naughty, because I now have this sneaky ability to be fully tuned into the world or have one foot out the door. No regrets though, I see this becoming a regular occurrence, especially when I’m having a ton of head pain and just need to isolate myself in my little bubble.
Day #5
The lesson for today was that I cannot wear my BAHA when changing clothes — it’s so hard to open the neck of some shirts enough to avoid knocking it off! (The magnet is strong, but not invincible.) I then made the mistake of keeping it in the bathroom while I was getting ready for the day and it sent me into an anxious thought spiral thinking about all of the sprays and lotions that could’ve possibly harmed it.
Solution: Don’t put the BAHA on until I’m completely showered, dressed, and ready for the day! Crisis averted. (I also had to change the battery for the first time. You’ll be happy to know I did it right.)
Day #6
Today feels like a good day to finally read the instruction manuals, doesn’t it? Phew. Learned a lot.
Day #7
Today I braved the grocery store, which was an environment I was told would most likely be extreme sensory overload. To be honest, I loved it. I could hear when someone was approaching me from behind with their cart and could anticipate their movement, and I loved that the atmosphere’s general white noise kept my brain busy (in a good way). I liked hearing the bags crinkle on the mini cucumbers and the laughter coming from the deli section. It felt like I was present in the world as opposed to it just passing me by.
Since that first week, I've been consistently in my feels about what the BAHA means for my quality of life. Hearing loss isn’t physically painful, but it’s emotionally and mentally taxing to have to go through life spewing iterations of “What?” and “Can you say that again?” in almost every single interaction. My brain has gotten so tired. And when I take the sound processor off, I’m plunged back into that stillness and quiet; which is both liberating and devastating at the same time. How did I survive it for over 10 years? I find myself tumbling in that thought loop a lot right now.
So while I continue to begrudgingly process and accept that the reason for this surgery was driven by the impending gutting and closure of my right ear, I feel lucky to have had this as an option. Medical advancements are amazing, and hearing devices have come incredibly far (my device was literally just cleared by the FDA in July of last year!). I so rarely get quality-of-life improvements — surgical or otherwise — so I’ll keep riding the high of being a bionic woman for as long as it lasts.
Thanks for listening. 😉
What a process for you! I'm hoping it'll all level out at some point the more that you get used to it. I'm not a lover of noise I can't control, so I can't imagine what it must be like to suddenly hear the crashing of the world and it's inhabitants. Sometimes I wish everyone came with a remote control 😂
Thankyou for the interesting information. I didn't know what a BAHA was. Wishing you the best of health and a happy life ❤️