Hi, @kevels55, thanks for responding.
I’m trying to think if I’ve had any "embarrassing moments” such as you describe above, where I’ve been led astray by missing something someone has said. Honestly, I can’t think of any. Communication has become, like, a life-or-death pursuit for me now, in my hearing-loss days. I saw how my father’s cognition declined as he refused for decades to admit his hearing was failing. So once I knew I was walking down that path, I intensely prioritized listening and engaging way more than I ever used to when I heard better.
So if someone is talking to me, I engage with a lot of focus, and as they speak I’m watching them, noting their facial expression and gestures, and I’m visibly responding as they speak, so they know I’m taking it in. I do hear changes in vocal tones, but words sometimes escape me, so I’m quite assertive about asking for a repeat. I don’t let anything get past me if it interferes with my comprehension. I can’t think of any instance where someone has denied me help. People want to be understood. By asking them to repeat I’m showing that I’m interested. Understanding and interest are desirable outcomes in communication.
Also, if I am attending a lecture or class, I’ll always try to notify the speaker in advance that I’m hearing-impaired, and I take a seat near the front. If during the class I’ve missed something, I quietly signal to them to repeat, and they always do! People do want to help.
So is my life better or worse with hearing loss? Dunno, truly. I’ve tried to compensate by developing new listening skills, perhaps better listening skills, and I’ve certainly become more aware when I’ve missed something, and I work harder to recover it. I can’t say I’m sorry about that. I’ve become way more intentional in communication than I was when I was fully hearing.
One other thing that hearing loss gives me that hearing folks never have: utter, pure, luscious silence, at my command. I don’t have to hear the air conditioning system kick on, or the neighbor’s loud radio playing, or the baby crying on the plane. When I come home tired from a stimulating social event, I can unplug my ears and enjoy more complete cognitive rest than I ever had as a hearing person. That’s not nothing, you know.