August 16, 2017--Inner Ear (Concluded): An Audiological Tale

Dr. Schwartzberg continued . . .

As I mentioned, Mrs. Caldwell's husband, Thaddeus, what a perfect name for a Harvard professor, Thaddeus, as it turned out also had behind-the-ear hearing devices. After he died, Mrs. Caldwell thought about what to do with them. She did some research and found that there are a number of organizations that accept hearing aids as gifts. That they refurbish them and make them available to low-income people. She choose to do that, but before donating them, as a way of feeling close to and intimate with him, she activated them and inserted them in her ears. She told me that this was not so different than wearing his socks or one of his well-worn sweaters. Something else she did on chilly evenings.

As they were not programmed for her, the sounds she heard, she told me, were oceanic. Not unlike what the water and wind sound like when you place a conch shell over your ear. They had a vacation house in Maine, in Camden, near here, which in part is how she found her way to me, a place on the Gulf of Maine. They would take long walks along the water in the afternoon and she felt that the sounds she was hearing though his devices were, perhaps in her imagination, an evocation of the sounds they loved to hear all those years walking together along the rugged coast.

Mrs. Caldwell so much enjoyed her beach walks while wearing his hearing devices that she delayed donating them. She said, "It was like having him with me on my daily walks. At those times, I lived in a world of the sounds from the enchanted life I shared with him. I missed him so much it was as if the sound of the water and wind brought him back to me. In that way I didn't feel so alone and bereft."

But them something very different occurred--she was reluctant to share this with me out of concern that I would think she was experiencing dementia, or, as a psychiatrist would describe it, a personality disorder. I tried to assure her I would not come to either of these conclusions, and so she took the chance to tell me that through his hearing aids she began to hear not just sounds of the ocean but his voice.

"At first," she said, "I thought I was hearing just his breathing. He had a tendency to wheeze at night while sleeping and I thought that was what I was hearing. But soon there were occasional words and after that full sentences."

I told her this was nothing short of astonishing, which it was, and though I initially felt she was experiencing a version of auto-suggestion, as she revealed more, something else seemed to have been happening to her. To tell the truth, to this day I do not know what to make of it.

She told me that she began to wear Thaddeus' hearing aids all day long, including when she went to bed and slept. I thought, of course, that what she was reporting was from dream material. But when I mentioned this to her as a hypothesis she emphatically denied it, indicating with some upset that as a clinician she knew the difference between dream content and other forms of cognition.

So, without interrupting her further, I let her tell her story.

Mrs. Caldwell's story--

Of course I was confused. As a psychiatrist I had any number of delusional patients and thought I might be experiencing some of the same symptomology. I checked with my own analyst and he assured me that, as incredible at it was, what I was experiencing was more real than imagined. So I set my concerns aside and let the experience unfold.

And it did.

After about a month of wearing Thaddeus' hearing aids, the breathing sounds abated as did the occasional word or two. I began to hear full sentences about mainly mundane matters and after that, a second voice began to become audible.

A woman's voice.

You can imagine my surprise. Who was this person who was now becoming a part of my life? What did she mean to Thaddeus? Hers was the only other voice I heard and so I assumed she must have been--was?--an important part of his life. I began to keep notes. Notes mainly of what she was saying.

It quickly became apparent that they had had some kind of relationship for at least as long as he had hearing devices. It also was apparent that she was one of his graduate students. Much of what I heard between them had to do with her dissertation. He was her advisor. She was working on something about Flaubert.

But then things turned darker. I am embarrassed to share this with you but feel you will understand And I have no one else to turn to. I brought some notes I made after one of the last conversation that they had. Allow me to read them to you. Her name, I learned, was Francois.

Francois' story--

You bastard. You told me you would be leaving that bitch [that bitch is me]. I'm wasting my life waiting around for you. You swore to me you would but that she has a terminal disease and that you would soon be free. But why should I believe you? You've done nothing but lie to me. That's what you are--a lier and a cheat.

Mr. Fancy with your endowed chair and all those frisky undergraduates chasing after you. How many of them have you been stringing along? Diddling them? I should report you to the dean. You know it's not permitted for faculty members to have affairs with students. All I need to do is pass along some of your emails and you'll be out on your ass. Which you totally deserve.

Mrs. Caldwell resumed--

There's more, but what I've shared should be enough. Again, I am not fantasizing this. I've even been able to find some of their emails and love notes and this in black and white corroborates what I have told you.

My life was shattered. He was living a double, maybe a triple life. At first I thought maybe I was having a case similar to the famous one--"The man who mistook his wife for a hat." From Oliver Sacks. But with the emails and notes I have no doubts. As you know, I'm a very old lady and do not have many more years left. But they will be an agony. I don't know what to live for. Everything that gave me meaning feels violated.

To Rona and me Gary said, "This is literally what she shared with me."

"Incredible," Rona said.

"I assume you're not crazy," I said, again to lighten the mood.

"I believe her. I don't know what to make of it but I believe her. Things can be strange and can have no rational explanation. I am feeling that one should, in this case, leave it as it is."

"I have no idea what you mean," I said.

Gary laughed, "To tell the truth neither do I. But I did make one suggestion to Mrs. Caldwell that I think, I hope was helpful."

"What was that?" Rona asked.

"To concentrate on her clients. They needed her almost as much as she needed them. That can give life purpose."

"So, how is she doing? Is she still around? I mean alive?"

"Sadly, no. She died, also in her sleep, about six months ago."

"Yes, sad," Rona said, "But she had a good ending. If there is such a thing. One last question--you must have a dozen clients waiting--did she take your advice? And if so, how did it work out?"

"She did and it did. It worked quite well. The last thing she said to me was that as she looked back on her entire life, with special attention to this last trauma, all things considered, she preferred the truth to the lie."

"I get that," Rona said, "I thrive on the truth. It makes me feel respected and authentic."

"Let's leave it at that," Gary said, "And pick this up in a couple of weeks when you're back for your next session. Let's agree--no more weird stories, just routine adjustments," he winked, "At least for the time being."

Mount Holyoke 1940s