Carol?

For those of us who cannot hear, phone communication poses a huge challenge. When we are late-deafened, it is sometimes difficult for others to understand why we no longer use the phone. We used to use the phone. We still talk. Now suddenly we avoid the phone -- and it seems somewhat anti-social--especially in today's world when everyone else walks around with phones glued to their ears 24/7. Even my 80-year-old father can't grasp why I don't carry around a cell phone like everyone else. Well-- I do actually. I carry a Sidekick and I text people. (Don't tell him please. He hasn't learned how to text. )

A few days ago someone left a message on my phone because she needed to change my appointment. I can't hear phone messages and rarely use the phone unless I have two super loud 50db amplifiers plus my hearing aids with telecoil compatibility. Then I might briefly talk to family members or close friends --people whose voices I know, who also know me, so they know to shout into my ear. Occasionally it works. . . in a pinch. . . if the house is completely quiet. Nevertheless my considerate husband saved the voicemail message, so I could listen to it. HA!

Two nights ago he asked if I had listened to the voicemail yet. He's a bit fastidious about keeping the phone free of unnecessary messages piling up.

"I can't hear phone messages. Can you write it down on a post-it and leave it somewhere? I'll email instead." I said.

Yesterday morning I found a yellow post-it on the coffee-maker. He knows me so well.

Kim--Email Carol to change your appointment. --he wrote.

What appointment I wondered? Who is Carol? What is her email? Or her phone number even?

Last night, once again eager to delete superfluous phone messages, my husband asked, "Have you changed that appointment yet? Did you see my note? Can I erase this message now?"

"You didn't leave a number," I said.

"I thought you were going to email her," he accused.

"I would if I knew who she was. I have to call with IPrelay --and I don't have the number."

"Did you at least TRY listening to her message?"

"Fine! Gimme the phone!"

I listened. This is what I heard. --"Mwah Kim, mwis is mwah-mwah. bwah-bwah-mwah mwah, mwaaaaaahhh, mwah hahaha mwaa mway mwya meh ma." You get the idea. . .

"Can't hear her," I said.

He listened. "She's from the DVR." (Department of Vocational Rehabilitation)

Okay? I just have to ask. . . I had the appointment with the DVR because I am deaf. WHY would she call on the phone?? Do people not get this? To call a deaf person with a regular phone is sort of like expecting a blind person to read a fine print document. It's like asking someone who uses a walker to hike over a rocky trail. The purpose of the DVR is to help the disabled with accommodations they might need in their work environments. The DVR has my email. I have tried calling them with IP relay before. Huge hassle! Automated phone system with a long menu. Isn't it ironic that an office whose sole purpose of existence is to help the disabled with accommodations would be so unaccommodating?

I will try to email the woman I normally meet, (not "Carol" since she didn't leave an email address), and I hope nothing horrible has happened to her, and also that she gets my message.