You can say that again, but not because I can't hear you

By the time you read this, I will have been, for three days, a full-fledged citizen of the Bionic World.

I can't say when the first bionic apparatus was applied to a human body in the hopes that life would be better as a result. Perhaps it was the ear trumpet used by hard-of-hearing folks who could get the gist of what you were saying if you shouted into the bell of the trumpet, which was inserted in someone's ear. It wasn't a foolproof system at all.

Nowadays, modern medical science has found thousands of ways to add gizmos to your body to make life livable. The heart has been a primary target, for obvious reasons. Heck, a few years ago I had my gall bladder removed -- by a robot, even though it was a human surgeon who sent me a bill.

Medical inventors have come a long way from the ear trumpet. I got the latest hearing technology installed in both ears Tuesday morning. I now have what quite possibly are the most ubiquitous medical devices on the face of the earth: hearing aids.

I am fortunate to have lived this long with what I consider to be extremely good health. The gall bladder incident was a mere blip. I went in for outpatient surgery at 9 a.m. and was home shortly after lunchtime. I had two half-inch slits in my abdomen, the only evidence of the robot's handiwork. At a follow-up visit to the surgeon's office a month later, I assessed my recovery this way: I've had bouts of poison ivy worse than this.

A few years ago -- I can't say exactly when -- I noticed that my wife had started mumbling. To many of you, this is an old story. The wife mutters when she ought to speak up. The husband incessantly uses his two most favorite vocabulary words, "What?" and "Huh?"

And things go downhill from there.

After this went on for far too long, my wife finally said what needed to be said: "You need to have your hearing checked."

Now, let's pause right there. Do you see the irony in telling a hard-of-hearing man he needs to have his hearing checked? Obviously, any man with a certain level of stubbornness isn't going to hear something he doesn't want to hear. If you want to tell a man he has a hearing problem, you need to write it down. Then whack him over the head with a two-by-four. Like a mule.

Trust me on this.

So, after living with a wife whose growing exasperation was increasing exponentially to my diminishing hearing, I finally took action. At my annual health physical a few weeks ago, I told my doctor that my wife mumbles and asked if there was anything he could suggest.

What? You thought I was going to tell the doctor I couldn't hear very well? Every man reading this will know exactly what I'm talking about. The rest of you will nod your heads and say things like, "Lordy! Lordy!"

Or worse.

My doctor wrote me a prescription to take to a doctor of audiology. Since most hearing-loss patients are of a certain age, they are on Medicare. With the prescription, your visit to the audiologist is covered. And the FDA now requires you to sign a form saying your hearing problem should be brought to the attention of your primary-care physician. Just thought you should know that.

My hearing evaluation showed that I can hear low-pitched sounds pretty well, but high-pitched sounds go undetected. A fairly normal pattern for someone my age.

A week after the first visit, my hearing aids were ready to install. That was easy. And then the doctor turned them on.

Let me just warn you that if you've experienced any significant hearing loss, you are going to be knocked over when those sounds are restored. And your brain is going to need some time to adjust.

On the way home I discovered that my car's turn signals emit this crashing clicking sound. Who knew they made any noise at all? And my sneakers squeak on wood and tile surfaces. I mean really, really squeak.

OK. That's my story. Now I'm going to do all you wives a huge favor. I'm going to say this once, and the rest is up to you:

Men, if your wife is mumbling, man up and do something about it. Go see your doctor. Tell him or her that you're wearing out "What?" and "Huh?" Ask your doctor for a recommendation. Then do what the doctor says.

One final note: As a recovering mumble hater, I have a simple request:

Please, please stop shouting.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.