Today while I was sitting at the my library desk, once again I had to ask a little girl with the softest voice to repeat her question three times. Then I asked her to write it down because I couldn't make out one thing she said. Her lips barely moved. When I told her I was very, very hard-of-hearing (I never use the word "deaf" at work) and then asked her to write, she exchanged unsure looks with her friend before she took up the pencil and paper. I felt badly about being a weird library lady who couldn't hear. But there was no other choice. Worse, I'm not even a librarian. It turned out she wanted information on the "Thirteen Colonies" She was at the wrong desk. I only help with computer or circulation problems. So I had to send her next door after all that. I could have
pointed her in the general direction of 973 American History. I do know the Dewey decimal system. But that's not my job and I had a line. (SIGH!) If she only needed help with a computer!
This past week three blogs hit me.
Mike's blog,
Abbie's and
SpeakUp Librarian's. While Mike isn't late-deafened, he discussed adversity. I like Mike because he walks to the beat of his own drum, and he's a fighter. I don't doubt these qualities have helped make him become the success he is today. The way I see it, there is only one way to deal with the hearing world when you become deaf -- and that's head on. You can't beat around the bush and pretend you're hearing. If you are going to deal with Hearing people, you can't hide in your own little community of non-hearing people. I have lived too long among the Hearing to do that. I can't run away from them now, though there are times I'd like to.
Then there is Abbie who lost her hearing young, and at a critical time for a young person-- at the beginning of her career. But she got right back up and kept going without hardly skipping a beat. I'm amazed at her resilience. What a strong person she is!
What about Sarah-- the SpeakUp Librarian? Losing your hearing during midlife-- ah-- that's rough. You can't start over with a new career. She's in public service, using the phone. Like me, she's up to her ears in the hearing world. I know how it is in libraries. People whisper their questions. Sometimes you just want to scream "SPEAK UP!" The questions they ask can be so random and off the wall-- "How do I make that salt solution my doctor wants me to sniff up my nose?. . . I saw someone make a pie on TV and I want the recipe. . .I need someone's phone number in Ireland. . .What are the prison conditions in China?" I am happy to send all those questions to a librarian. Please God, just give me a computer question. Computers are easy. When you don't know the answer, you can blame it on a. . . . "computer glitch." Librarians have to listen carefully. I know exactly what Sarah does. Talk about daily adversity.
During my last job interview my current managers asked, "What are you most proud of in your life?" A lot of accomplishments came to mind, but when I really thought about it everything paled in comparison to meeting the daily challenges of living with a hearing loss. That was my answer. "
Every day I face communication challenges and yet I've been able to live a relatively normal life and function fairly well." I'm really proud that I just lead a normal life despite the fact I'm disabled. Later, I thought maybe I blew it. WHY of all things did I talk about my disability??
OH GOD! How could I be so STUPID?! But I guess they liked my answer or other answers, because they hired me. When Sarah blogs I see a lot of myself -- the honest appraisals of her situation. Maybe it's because we both have progressive hearing losses. When you're late-deafened with a progressive hearing loss your condition is constantly in flux. You can't help but always be aware of it, and therefore maybe more focused on how you're coping.
Being deaf requires inner strength and develops character. I'm emphasizing little d-deaf. As a late-deafened person, I consider deafness a disability. All disabilities require inner strength and develops character. I'm not speaking for Deaf people who don't think of their Deafness as a disability. (I won't debate whether Deafness is a disability, I'm not Deaf, I'm deaf.) Being Late-deafened IS a disability for so many, many reasons-- but mostly it's because you lose the ability to communicate in the language you grew up with. If you grew up Deaf using ASL, maybe it's not a Disability. I don't know. I don't care. I'm late-deafened.
So getting that out of the way-- I'm going to back up. Any time a person is part of a minority, they end up in the uncomfortable position of being stereotyped and judged by others, and sometimes having to speak up for their rights. Though it IS quite normal to be black, or Jewish, or blind, or Gay, or deaf, the rest of heterosexual white, Protestant people believe you are "abnormal" when they find out you are part of a minority group. I can say this with some authority because I am a WASP. Disabled (deaf) = abnormal to the "normal" people. Unless there's some outward sign of your abnormality, the information that you're different can either irritate or rock their worlds. As a deaf person, I never know what kind of response this information will elicit, but you can bet there WILL BE some kind of reaction. No one ever just says, "Oh?" The trick is to convince them that yes, I AM abnormal, but in a normal kind of way. . . sort of.
If you're a shy and private person who used to be "normal" like I used to be, telling people you are no longer "normal" can seem awkward. It takes practice. Timing is everything. I used to stand in front of the mirror practicing my posture while delivering this information. I thought it was more graceful to stand proud. Katherine Hepburn would have stood proud and I always admired her. Eventually I learned to joke about it. This is what I mean by character development. I have an entire slew of jokes now. It's a strange thing about disability, but I have learned that OTHERS are uncomfortable when I tell them, so it's better to put THEM at ease. So yeah-- it's good to stand tall and above all to look comfortable and even joke. You never, ever, ever want to look embarrassed, because the others will then feel really uncomfortable with your disability.
What I used to have the most trouble with when announcing my disability was sometimes I felt like maybe it looked like I wanted special treatment or sympathy. That couldn't be further from the truth. The LAST thing I want is sympathy or special treatment-- other than I really like everyone to treat me special. This is why jokes are so handy. It takes practice. When do you tell people? Right away? Not right away? How do you tell them? . . . It all depends on the situation. There's no pat answer. You have to wait for the right opening. But it must be done, and it must be done well. Because if you do it the wrong way, then you risk making the other person uncomfortable. You want them to laugh so they won't feel sorry. But you don't want them to feel uncomfortable about laughing. You can't just blurt it out.
I've been lucky. I've been blessed to know some special people. I keep a mental list of people who have changed my life. I was going to list several people I know in my community who have various disabilities. Three are in wheelchairs with limited movement of hands, legs and inability to talk well. Some are disfigured, some are mentally disabled. Then I realized if I started listing people, the blog would become way too long because there are too many people to list. These people have taught me things about managing disability, and life in general. Sometimes I think God set them right here for me to meet so a light would go on in my dim little brain. But mainly what I came to realize years ago is a lot of people live really hard lives and they live their lives far better than I do. And I'm in awe. The inner beauty that shines through. The poise, grace, courage and aplomb it takes just for some of them to get up out of bed --- and then they smile-- at me. I feel lucky to have known people like this.
Mike mentioned in his vlog that most of us will become disabled someday. And that's true. Statistically, 7 out of 10 disabled people weren't born that way. Being healthy is only temporary. One out of three people over sixty-five develops hearing
loss. We're all on our way to disability. As one friend with MS put it, the only difference between us (those who are already disabled) and them (those who aren't) is we already know what we're dealing with. We're used to being "abnormal." For the rest of them, disability will come as a shock.
I truly don't mind being deaf. Sometimes I do miss hearing things. Especially music. But there are worse things. WAY worse things. Like having both your parents and your dog die, getting cancer for the second time, and your husband announcing he wants a divorce after 25 years of marriage all within six months of sending your youngest child off to college. That happened to my friend Dar four years ago, and her life couldn't be better. Yet, I do not mind being me and I'm sure she feels the same.
I live in the woods east of Seattle. (Yes-- that's my front yard.) When we first moved here, black bears used to wander into our yard sometimes. Then some acreage behind us got developed, and we only see deer or coyote now. We've recently been reclassified from rural to "suburban," but most the roads around here are still windy and have only two narrow lanes. One of the roads on my commute routinely floods during a good rain, so I have to brake for confused salmon flopping their way across blacktop.
was faking being non-oral because the last five drivers forgot to flag me. . . Or maybe I could tell a little white lie-- I'm Late-deaf AND I have laryngitis! No-- this wasn't a ruse to get out of paying bus fare. . .
