September 7, 2017--Audiologist In Search of an Author (Part 1 of 2)

Dr. Schwartzberg sent me an email after meeting with my friends John and Allan for John's monthly hearing aid adjustment. 

Joe told me they spoke mainly about his devices but also about the audiological stories I've been writing. So I wasn't surprised when Gary wrote to me, saying--

"I confessed to John and Barbara that there are times you are making me question reality. Thinking to myself--'Wait, did that happen?'"

"Well," I wrote back, "you may not believe this, but there are times that I've been wondering the same thing about you. 

"Let me give you an example: In the most recent story about the so-called sonic attacks in Havana, to protect his privacy, I made up the name of your patient, a CIA agent or something, who in various ways was involved with countering the Cubans and, to help him, because of your counterintelligence background, how he drew you into the stealthy process and how in turn, though I was unaware that any of this was happening, how this also came to involve me.

"I called him 'Andrews,'" I continued, "and when you read the first part of the story told me, to quote you--'Believe it or not, I have two patients with that name!'"

Distraught that I had misstepped, I responded to you immediately--

"I'm changing the 'Andrews' name to 'Anderson.' I don't want your two Andrews clients to think you're talking inappropriately about them. You're already in enough trouble with your former clandestine colleagues. Now you're seeing how it feels to live in a world of alternative facts."

Still upset with myself, I wrote to Gary--"I was mortified that I had inadvertently violated doctor-patient confidentiality and that I was a party to getting you into further complications and so I rushed to change the CIA guy's fictional name."

I also said, "When you saw my emails you wrote back that you have six patients with the name Anderson.

"I can be a little slow but it finally dawned on me that as I was playing with you you were playing with me.

"So I wrote--

"And here I trusted you. In case you actually have any Andrews as clients, I changed his name to Anderson, and in an attempt to lighten things up, added, "I'm sure you have at least two Andersons as clients. On the other hand," I passed along, "Rona suggested I call Andrews-Anderson 'Ginsberg' since it's unlikely you have any of those."

"I'm getting a headache from this," Dr. Schwartzberg wrote back, "Andrews, Anderson, and now Ginsberg. To tell you the truth you're the only person in the world who cares about any of this. I'm just a simple audiologist trying to serve my patients and send my daughter to college."

"That's what I used to think about you," I wrote in a return email, "Hiding out here in Maine after making your escape from super-heated New Jersey. You know," I said, "I have wondered why you found your way to a small town in Maine. You're super smart, terrific at what you do, have the capacity to build a large and thriving practice, but here you are. All hunkered down. I would have thought . . ."

"This is the perfect place for me," he wrote, this conversation was all via email, "To tell you the truth, I've had plenty of pressure and excitement. Enough for a lifetime. You don't know the half of it. And, as they say, 'If I tell you, I'd have to kill you.'" I could imagine him chuckling at that.

"Thanks for that," I wrote, "I mean, not having to kill me. But I have another story for you. Maybe not unrelated."

"Shoot," he fired back, adding, "Sorry for the violent reference." 

"You know I'm a fitful sleeper. Actually, more an insomniac. I listen to late-night radio to distract myself from anxiosizing. And to bore me which helps put me to sleep. I listen to some sports talk and a mix of talk shows. Mostly rightwing stuff because that seems to be what's on the air in the middle of the night. The Mark Levin Show, Red-Eye Radio, what I call the flying saucer show, Coast-to-Coast AM where most of the callers talk about their contact with extraterrestrials. I also tune in to an assortment of local talkshow hosts from around the country since late at night AM radio signals bounce off the ionosphere. So, one of my favorites is out of Detroit. I don't even know what it's called or the name of the host.

"The other night, I think it was Tuesday, I was listening to him and his callers. I can't remember what they were talking about but as it was approaching 5:00 am, a new show started and on it you'll never believe what happened. Actually, as I suspect you'll see, you probably do know exactly what I'm talking about.

"The guest was an audiologist. Nothing too strange about that because many of these after-midnight programs are devoted to medical talk, like about cyberknife surgery for prostate cancer. I'm sure most of the listeners are at least my age since older folks are notoriously poor sleepers. We lie awake all night thinking about illness and, of course, death.

"But when I heard the show was about audiology, my ears perked up. Pun intended. Here's what to me was strange. The audiologist was saying the exact same things you've been saying to me as you tested me and then fit me for hearing aids. And what you say each week about what's going on when I come in for an adjustment."

I cut off there and sent this email off to Gary. I was curious to see how he would respond with incomplete information. I suspected I was hitting close to home with him or stumbled on to something unusual since two days later he called. Talking on the phone is something we rarely do. Our relationship is more about my coming to his office or us communicating via emails.

He said, "This does sound strange to me. Not that I listen to any of these shows. Thankfully I sleep pretty well. If I need a little help sleeping a beer or two is all I need to put me out."

"You know," I said, not able to contain myself, "Since I wrote to you about this I've been trying without success to tune in again to that Detroit station. I wasn't able to connect. Likely, I thought, because of problems with the atmosphere. I wanted to be able to figure out how to find out who his audiologist guest was. Also, the more I replayed the tape of the interview in my head, not only did he say the same kinds of things you said, though I assume some of it is standard-issue audiological talk, he used some of the exact same words you used when I first became your client and, this is the strangest part, he sounded just like you. I don't mean he sounded a little like you but he sounded just like you, including some of your quirky expressions like 'I want you to have very high expectations and to expect excellent results.' On the show, if you can believe it, just like you, the guest audiologist tore up some paper to show the listeners how it sounded to them. Sort of for diagnostic purposes. And so," I said, "I began to think the guest on the show in Detroit was really you." 

After that burst I finally stopped rattling on.

Dr. Schwartzberg then said, "I don't know how to put this, but I'm a little concerned about you."

"Concerned?"

"You seem to have become obsessed about all things audiological. Don't get me wrong, I'm obsessed too and I like having a patient, a client who's as interested in the subject as I. But in my 25 years of practice I've never had anyone as into it as you. That's my first point." He paused to gather himself, "But then there's this Detroit business. Most concerning is your feeling that the person being interviewed was me because . . ."

"I'm sorry about that," I interrupted, "I know that was ridiculous. It's just that . . ." I began to stammer.

"I need to tell you that I did some research and could not find a late-night, early-morning local talk show in Detroit of the kind you described. All their AM stations broadcast your Red-Eye or Coast-to-Coast shows." 

He waited for me to say something and when I didn't, said, "And I even called an audiologist I know in a Detroit suburb and he knew nothing about any of this. And so . . ." He let his thought trail off.

"So are you saying--I don't know how to put this--that because of my obsession I'm making this up? Or suffering from hallucinations? I mean, we're talking about the middle of the night with me hooked up to a radio and listening to all this craziness." I was feeling quite agitated, worried that over time, if this persisted, I'd have even more difficulty sleeping.

"We've come a long distance from my 'Mr. Andrews,'" Gary said with a hint of irony.

I tried to joke, "Or your Mr. 'Anderson.'" 

I was feeling more and more rattled. What was happening to me? Was I losing my mind? Was I being taken over by malevolent forces? I'm not at all inclined to think that way. I think of myself as totally rational. I pride myself on not being in any way superstitious or subject to believing in the occult, spirits, or anything remotely like that. No matter what I hear from all the deluded people on Coast-to-Coast AM who call in from flying saucers.

"Well," Gary said, "I have patients waiting. You'll be OK. Oh, I forgot to mention, since you still have that loaner hearing aid, until you return it to me, I'd stop using it. In case . . . Just the one for the right ear should get the job done."

"What you're now saying makes me anxious," I said, "Why are you telling me to do this? Is there something you're not telling me about it because . . ." 

The line was dead. He had hung up.

To be concluded tomorrow--