Fussy Friend

I'm fussy. Yesterday I went to lunch with an old friend, meaning someone I've known a long time. She's no older than me really.

First off, I had to ask if she would mind driving because I have this tendency to lip read and drive at the same time. Since most people like their driver to watch the road, she immediately agreed to the "You drive." arrangement. Most of my friends are used to this, but sometimes I have to remind them.

When we got into her car, she asked, "Where's your thingy?"

She was referring to my pocket-talker, which has a little microphone she's supposed to wear while driving. This is a wonderful device that brings the sounds of speech directly into my hearing aids while muffling all other unwanted noise. The clamor of the road is usually a big problem for me without it, but I haven't used my pocket-talker for awhile, since my hearing took another dive last winter. So it's in my closet with dead batteries. I didn't want to explain all that. I just told her the batteries went dead and I'll go without.

"Sure?" she asks, "I'll wait for you to change them if you want."

"Yeah, I'm fine-- REALLY."

Then there was the question of where to eat. "YOU decide," she says, " I don't know which places are quiet enough."

I can't hear in noisy restaurants. There was also the challenge of my being vegetarian hanging in the air, though that hardly compared to the complication of finding a quiet place at noon. I suggested an Indian joint, remembering it seemed peaceful the last several times I had been, though when we got there I was shocked by the clattering of dishes and din of babbling patrons. Then I realized my error. The past few times I had gone there with a deaf friend. We had taken out our hearing aids and signed the entire time.

As we were escorted to our table, my friend asked, "Is this spot OK for you? Where do you want to sit? Booth or chair?"

Scanning around, I chose the chair since it faced away from most of the other restaurant patrons, no shadows would be crossing my friend's face, or blinding lights behind her head-- all good. When you can't hear, seating arrangement can be a vital consideration, especially if you're going to be relying on lip reading to a large extent. Normally I would choose the booth because sound tends to bounce off, but the booths here were short. No good for bouncing sound around the ears. Then I switched on my directional mic. program in my hearing aids to cut out all the clatter behind me. Worked marginally OK. My friend was yelling anyway, and she couldn't hear well either.

Before we left I mentioned I had to use the restroom and didn't want to use the one in the restaurant. "What's wrong with the one here?" she asked as we got up to leave. I don't like it because it's one of those small broom closet types that isn't well-maintained and you have to walk by the kitchen staff so they all know where you're going. It just bothers me--has nothing to do with my hearing.

I have been thinking about my friends and what they put up with being a friend to me. I do not go to parties unless they're required--funerals and weddings mostly. And OK-- let's be honest-- a funeral doesn't count as a party. I would forgo most wedding receptions if I could. It's so hard to hear in large social gatherings. I hate them. I cannot go to a movie unless they're captioned, so I'm not the kind of friend you can call up at the last minute and say, "Let's go see the third Bourne Identity movie tonight!" If we go out to eat, I pick where, I decide where to sit, and YOU drive. People who don't like driving all the time, who like to party and go to movies, or who like to have some control over restaurant decisions tire of me quickly. I guess my peculiarities pretty much exclude MOST people because I don't have a lot of close hearing friends. I can count them on one hand. I imagine others crossing me off their lists while exclaiming, I just hate driving her everywhere!

Other than my late-deafened friends who all have the same issues as me, I count my few hearing friends among the most compassionate, patient people I know. Most-- not ALL-- have endured some sort of tremendous pain, strain or loss at some point. Some fall into niche groups set apart from the norm-- a lesbian with MS, a mother of a schizophrenic adult child, a Buddhist two-time cancer survivor .

I value the fact they are SO incredibly accommodating. Thinking about the battles they've endured, I have wondered if the reason they tolerate me is because of their own experiences of intolerance? Let me put it this way-- we've all been stared at, coped with public discomfort because of our differences, and withstood rude comments from ignorant people. I am personally aware of growing more broad-minded and forgiving because of my 'deaf' experiences over the years, so it has occurred to me that maybe they also feel a softening or more tolerance towards others, if only because they know what it's like to be "different" or labeled, or be pidgeon-holed.

Then, too, is the fact that when someone demonstrates acceptance and kindness towards you, it's much easier to abide their differences whether they are Lesbian, Wicca, reformed alcoholic, deaf, or Buddhist. . .

I have nothing against Christians, I AM one. I went to church regularly until I could no longer hear. I used to teach Sunday school and was heavily involved with my church, but I never felt the kind of merciful compassion or outreach from any of the Christians there that I've received from these others; not even from ministers. Thinking it might have been that particular church, I tried several other churches that didn't work out either. I have to wonder about this. I have a few friends involved with deaf churches or who have found strength through their church families, so I'm not anti-Christian, I'm only saying the support wasn't there for me. When I see intolerant Christians railing against people like some of my friends, it makes my blood boil now, though I also recognize not all Christians are like that. Just a few bad apples.

The friend I went to lunch with yesterday, she's simply a nice person-- not in any niche group. That makes me wonder too. How did she become so non-judgemental, so accommodating, so tolerant of differences and my brand of fussiness? I wish I knew.

Whatever the case sometimes I feel lucky to have the hearing loss, because of the kinds of friends it has helped me find.