After I left the otolaryngologist’s office with my diagnosis I called my wife on the phone. Mid-call, my throat closed up and I began to weep. “I’m sorry you have to be married to someone like me,” I sobbed.
“Jenny, I stayed with you through the gender thing,” she said. “You think I’d leave you because you have hearing aids?”
It was a beautiful morning in New York. I was surrounded by honking taxis, singing birds, shouting children.
“What?” I said.
Boylan, I have long since learned, has a cheerfully wry sense of humor, and her delivery is vaudeville-quality.