TulipGirl

This is a picture of Grampie’s hearing aid shop, the one I wrote about before. I remember seeing this picture when I was growing up, and always thought it was Grampie out front, but now that I can see the picture better I know it isn’t him.

I called my grandmother the other day to talk with her about my hearing loss.

Maw Maw has told me more details of her life as she’s gotten older — or maybe I’m just remembering more of what she tells me now that I’m older. She didn’t go to college like her sister. Her sister finished college and then immediately married a soldier and moved away. I got the impression the family wasn’t pleased with that, and that was in some way connected with her decision not to go to college. Instead she went to work.

She worked in a hearing aid store and met my grandfather there when she was just 19. Even though he was in his early 20s, Grampie wore hearing aids and met my grandmother when he went into her store to buy batteries. I thought that his hearing was damaged due to an injury from a job he had as a teenager. At this point I’m assuming that there was a genetic factor as well. Though since he passed away last year, I can’t really talk with him about it.

I’m still fuzzy about their actual history at this point, but I know that Grampie and Maw Maw eventually owned and ran a hearing aid company right on St. Charles Street, downtown New Orleans. I have vague memories of going to that building, and mailing a letter down a fun mail chute from the second floor. But I know their business also had a street-level entrance, and I wish I had a copy of the photo of Grampie standing in front of their business. But my memories are very vague, and by the early 70s Grampie was already transitioning out of the hearing aid business. (Maw Maw just told me during my last visit it was because the government was increasing its regulation, and Grampie just could not abide government interference in his business. Uncle Mitch told me that’s when he started the business he ran until his last days, distributing industrial hand-cleaner.)

So, the presence of hearing aids was a normal part of my early childhood.

When I talked with Maw Maw about my hearing loss she first said, “Oh, your Grampie would be so sad about that. . .” But really, it’s not upsetting to me right now. Realistically, I understand that I may mourn this loss at some point, but right now it’s more of a helpful “oh, this makes sense. . .” realization.

Maw Maw’s perspective has been different from most people’s. “You know, when we were in the business very few women came to us for hearing aids. Usually it was women with good jobs who were paid well, and knew they needed the help to continue their work. But sometimes it was society ladies, women who were well-to-do. They would ask Grampie for the best, least obtrusive hearing aids he had and want them quickly. They didn’t want to miss out on things.”

She told me that most women, though, didn’t want them because they were ugly or they didn’t want to spend the money on them — especially if they were home with the children and not out working on part of the society circles. “But you — you need to get them. You need to be able to hear those children, You don’t want them talking behind your back! You need to listen to them, and those children need to know you hear them.”

How does technology (internet, cell phones, etc…) affect community and relationships? That was the theme we discussed this week at our community philosophy/conversation group.

We didn’t dive as deeply as I would have liked into one of the points brought up — the way the internet provides a paradox of anonymity and intimacy, exhibitionism and privacy.

In spite of being a very private person, I tend to connect easily with people when first meeting. I don’t think I’m an exhibitionist online, but I do try to cultivate transparency here and in my online relationships. I want to protect my family’s privacy, while being the same person in my community as I am online. Some things are easier to be open about, some things are wiser to be guarded about. Yet, I’m really me — online or in person.

So that is the context of some of the internal dialogue I’ve had the last few days about the latest change in our lives. I think that writing about it now will make it easier for the future. But I still wonder — is this exhibitionist or attention seeking? That’s not me, that’s not what I want. But this is a new path we’re on with a whole new set of ideas and new vocabularies and new challenges, and so. . . here I am.

When I went to the doctor this week, I was expecting to hear something along the lines of, “Yes, your symptoms are real and not all in your head. . . but they are within normal limits and so you’ll need to just continue to function as you have been.”

Instead. . .

“You have hearing loss, an unusual amount for your age. You’ve known for awhile, haven’t you? The pattern indicates it is most likely genetic.”

“Not too many rock concerts as a kid?”

“Not too many concerts. You have moderate mid to high frequency sensorineural hearing loss. And I need to tell you, you will need hearing aids.”

.

I’ve known for awhile that my hearing isn’t the greatest. It hasn’t been a big deal. I thought it was normal not-great hearing. I thought that I was functioning pretty well. After being told that definitely have hearing loss, hearing loss beyond simply needing some occupational therapy help, I’ve started noticing how many accommodations we’ve already been making and how much it has been impacting my family and those around me.

“What did you say?” “Excuse me?” “Would you repeat that?” “I’m a visual learner. . . would you spell your name so I can remember it?” How may times a week, a day do I say those things? Hubby is used to it, and we’re in good patterns of communicating. But now that I know I really do have hearing loss, I’m noticing just how often I need things repeated or clarified.

Medium and large groups are hard for me. I used to think it was I was an introvert who likes people and has good people skills. I still think I am — but I wonder how much of my hearing loss has shaped the social groups I like best? A large conference is fine; I enjoy the stimulation of ideas and most discussions end up being one-on-one with others. A very small group is fine, I can watch people talk and interact. I’m slow to jump into group discussions, but I can participate. But a medium group? Some family gatherings, some activities? Restaurants, clubs, noisy groups? Exhausting. In Ukraine, it was always easier to have people in our home than go to someone else’s home. I chalked that up to my personality. Maybe it was the hearing dynamic as well?

Speaking of Ukraine. . . It was hard for me to struggle so much with Russian. I did well in school; I like to think of myself as reasonably intelligent. And yet, learning Russian was very, very hard for me. Going to my tutor was hard — it was all conversational practice. I would tell my Russian friends that I “listened slowly” and had to have them repeat a lot of things. It was always easier when they spoke English to me (even beginner English) and I spoke Russian to them. In retrospect, hearing loss helps explain one part of why Russian was such a challenge. Not only was it a new language, but it was already hard for me to hear and understand all language.

Funny example? We had an ongoing discussion with teammates one day that talked about an acquaintance who was a Communist. In actuality, he had recently realized he was a Calvinist.

Hubby and I watch “our shows” online, mostly on hulu.com . When we lived in Ukraine we hosted the “American Film Club,” which included English movies for language learners. We tried to get high-quality pirated movies, so they would have subtitles for our students. Since then, I’ve always asked Hubby to turn on subtitles or closed captioning, so I could more easily follow the dialogue. Hubby would tease me about being his “sweet deaf baby.” Little did he know how true that was! *laugh* He’s kind of self-conscious about that now, but it is a long-standing term of endearment between us.

“If you want to talk to Mommy, you need to come to me!” How many times have I yelled at told the kids that? And now I’m wondering whether J12 and T11 are doing “normal” tween/teen mumbling and fast talking — or whether it is just me?

It makes a difference whether whether I can see someone or not when I’m talking to them. I can hear sound, but without being able to see faces, mouths and expressions, I can’t always hear them. Which, I guess is why I feel like I can’t understand anything around me with my glasses off.

I thought the “smile-and-nod” was a cross-cultural accommodation in Ukraine. When I didn’t understand what the heck was going on, staying pleasant and quiet was my default. I do that a lot even in the States. I think it is because I really don’t always understand what is going on.

I’ve been told that once I start using hearing aids, I’ll be surprised at how much I’ve been missing, how it will be easier for me than older people to adjust to having them, how much less tired and stressed I’ll be at the end of the day, how much less work it will be to communicate.

I’ve also been told to remember they are helpful tools, but that communication is really going to require the cooperation of those around me, especially with my Hubby and kids. I’ve been told people will think hearing aids will magically give me back my hearing, but that it will still take a lot of work to communicate. I’ve been told that hearing loss is an invisible disability, and so many times people won’t understand.

I’ve had just enough of a glimpse to know that we’re on a whole new journey. I’m a bit apprehensive. I don’t know where this will take us, just that it is a strange and new path ahead.

Several times I’ve read aloud to the boys “Little Pilgrim’s Progress,” the Helen Taylor adaption of John Bunyan’s classic. The image of Little Christian along the path the Celestial Kingdom comes to mind. It was a path that Little Christian knew nothing about, but one God designed. Every temptation and struggle Little Christian faced, God was with him. Sovereign.

Thanks for listening, for hearing my heart.