Do I Hear a Pachinko Machine?

Today, I'm rambling. Unfortunately, this entry isn't a trekking-in-Montana, look-at-the-bear-grass, let's-find-that-lake ramble. Instead, file it under my-thoughts-are-as-jumbled-as-my-sentences.

Still with me? I appreciate your patience—and would like to borrow any you've got to spare. Here's why: As I type, I hear chirps and pips unrelated to the tapping of my fingers on the keyboard. These must be normal noises from the building's air conditioning system, fans, or water pipes. I shouldn't let them crowd out every thought in my head, but I'm alarmed and fascinated by the tinny, robotic quality of the sound.

I had expected water from the tap to gurgle. Instead, it sizzles. Human voices sound as if they spring from Munchkins—and the Munchkins don't speak English.

Yesterday, an audiologist activated my cochlear implant. (Wikipedia defines a CI as a "surgically implanted electronic device that provides a sense of sound to a person who is profoundly deaf or severely hard of hearing.") Today, I'm absorbing and trying to identify what I hear.

"It's a process," the audiologist warned. I would have preferred, "It's a miracle," but every writer has heard the process message a gazillion times and knows it's shorthand for hunker down and do the work--without whining.

The audiologist promised I'd understand more tomorrow than I do today. Three months from now, she thinks I'll forget that voices ever sounded Munchkin-like.

The latter's unlikely. I'm a writer and process reactions and impressions by jotting them down. My thoughts may be jumbled, but they're on the record.

Update: It's Day Two with my implant, and I've been back to the audiologist for fine-tuning. Pre-appointment, I was sure the Munchkins were speaking Czech. Now, they're speaking English, although a lot of them slur their words. To my surprise, the elevator in my surgeon's building announces the floor when it makes a stop. Who knew?