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And then, a few days later, I was walking up one of San Francisco’s many hills when I heard the shouting and laughing of children behind me. I couldn’t see them. I slowly pivoted on my heels. The racket sounded different at every point of the compass. I could feel it increasing in one ear at the same time that it diminished in the other ear. There came a point, in one particular direction, when both ears came into synchrony. My body said: It’s over there.
I walked on, and a few steps later a school playground came into view, two blocks away, full of children.
I haven’t returned to the classroom yet. It’s only been a few weeks. But having two ears has opened up new dimensions for me. Just as the studies have shown, it’s easier for me to hear people talking in noisy environments and lets me tell where sounds are coming from. And music has gone from being interesting data to being alive. It’s like cupping water with two hands instead of one. You can do it with one. But you get much, much more with two. My brain, like everyone else’s, was designed to work with two ears. Being bilateral gives me a fresh chance, after 30 years, to hear the world whole and full.
Michael Chorost, Ph.D., is a freelance science writer based in San Francisco. His book about getting his first cochlear implant, Rebuilt: How Becoming Part Computer Made Me More Human, came out in 2005. He covers medical devices for several magazines and frequently gives talks on emerging technologies.
