Embracing who I am

I have days where the littlest reminder makes me resent my hearing loss. Most days, I just brush it off and go about life. I mean, I can't change it. However, I have yet to figure out just how to do I identify myself. Am I deaf? Am I hard of hearing? Am I hearing impaired?

According to the government, I am hearing impaired. That's what my parents told me growing up. In deaf culture, hard of hearing usually applies to those who have enough residual hearing to be able to use hearing aids. That would be me. However, without my hearing aids, I hear next to nothing, only really, really loud noises. So am I deaf or hard of hearing?

My husband and I had a couple weekends where my hearing aid wouldn't work. It was a quiet weekend for me but frustrating for us because he didn't understand some of my signs, at least the very few I could remember. It seems like someone out there is telling us that it's time to learn and use sign language more because one son brought home a card that had the finger spelling alphabet on it. Geek (my husband) took the card, made a copy, and has been trying to learn the letters during his commute to work. So, if you see someone in the car next to you finger spelling, don't mind him. He's still learning. Because he's such a technical person (engineer), he has trouble with going from one letter to the next.

Then the local deaf group, DeafLINK, who pairs up the interpreters with the deaf people who may need their services, posted that they have sign language classes and the next session was starting soon. We went to the first class last night. Geek is definitely interested in it and I sat there thinking, why did my parents deny me access to the local deaf culture? Why didn't I know that my sister and I were not the only deaf people in this city? I don't blame my parents entirely. As I got older, I very well could have sought out more deaf people to connect with. However, I had "you are normal" pounded into my head that maybe I didn't seek out more people like me in fear that I wouldn't be accepted by that group. You know, that timeless conflict of wanting to be accepted by your peers while remaining unique.

As the class came to an end, I found myself thinking, why didn't I do this sooner? What would my life be like if I had embraced my "deafness" and sought out the comfort of a peer group in college? I didn't stay home and go to the local community college. I chose to go to WMU so that I could get away from my parents, my city, and find myself there. I look back and think, I didn't find myself there. I ran away (and got married) before I could really figure out who I am, what I wanted, where I belonged. Had I found the deaf community there, I would've changed my life completely. Perhaps in another world, another dimension (if you believe in that sort of thing).

In the meantime, I'm going to head down this path and embrace who I am and allow my hearing (loss) to be a part of who I am. And I'll start with these sign language classes.

Word of Advice

Here's a little word of advice when you call me (or anyone for that matter):

Make sure you leave a message that I can understand!!

Ugh.

I hate my phone. I hate talking on the phone. I hate trying to listen to voicemails on my phone. Sometimes I'll get a message that I can understand because the person made sure to recite the phone number with care. Most times, I get "hithisissoandsofromxcompanypleasecallusbackat *rattles off phone numer*" My poor ears can't pick out all the words.

I got a message because I didn't hear my phone (another gripe I have with it. I turn it the volume up and still miss calls). I listen to the message. It's for an interview. Great! I'd love to have the chance to interview for a better job. The problem? The message sounded like this: "Hi, Donna, this is ____ from ______ in Pennfield (at least I think she said Pennfield). I was wondering if you were still looking for employment. If you are, I'd like to set up an interview with you. If you are interested, please call me at 96_4_00."

Ok, crap.

The caller ID and number on the message don't match. What was the company? I have no idea. I've been sending out resumes since January so it could be any of those!

Right about now, I'm cursing both my phone and my hearing. And I have to wait for my sweet husband to get home to listen to the message and see if he can't pull the numbers out for me. And the name. I won't be able to call her back until tomorrow because my darling husband won't be home until almost 7pm. I do not like having to rely on him to get my messages so please, leave a message that I can understand! If you call someone, leave a message as if they were hard of hearing and make sure they can get all of the key information - name, company, and phone number.

*sigh*

Denying who I am

Know how in every teenager's life, there's a phase where they try to be everything they aren't? Where all they want is to fit in with everyone else at school? I went through that like everyone else. Sometimes, I think I went through that phase more than once. I'd have a year or two where I tried to be normal, tried to hide or deny my hearing loss or even said it wasn't as severe as it really is. Then I'd have a year or so where I'd think "Fuck 'em. My hearing aids aren't going away. They're a part of me. If they have a problem with me being deaf, then fuck 'em."

I wish I had embraced that attitude sooner and stuck with it.

Oh well.

When I didn't want to accept my hearing loss, I'd hide my hearing aids from everyone's view, making sure I always wore my hair down and that they covered my ears. No matter how hot it got, I wouldn't pull my hair back. Made for some really bad hair days. If I met someone new, I wouldn't tell them I was deaf. If they commented on my "accent," I'd tell them I grew up in the South. Talk about denial!

Of course, there was no denying it sometimes. My hearing aid battery would start to die and I'd struggle with understanding someone before I finally caved and changed the battery. Or someone would talk to me with their back turned to me, forcing me to ask them to turn around, to tell them I need to see their lips.

*sigh*

Denying my deafness only worked in spurts. The rest of the time, I just didn't want to be known as that deaf girl. I quit speech therapy in middle school. Instead of sitting in the front of the classroom, I sought out the seat towards the back. I told my Mom not to come to the school and lecture my classmates or teachers about my deafness and hearing aids. I was already the outcast. I didn't need Mommy to add to that. I got rude towards people, figuring it'd be better to be known as a bitch than the "deaf girl." Teachers told my parents I had an attitude problem at times.

Whenever I'd give up on denying my deafness, I'd just go about life, keeping to myself, not really talking to people and actively ignoring most people. Sometimes, ignoring my classmates only caused them to mock and taunt me. I'd pull my hair back, not really caring if that cute guy in history noticed my hearing aids. I knew that I didn't have a chance with him so why try to hide them?

Looking back, I think, damn, I was a moody teenager! It's only now, in my 30's, do I feel comfortable in my skin and hearing aid. I figure if someone didn't want to give me a chance because of my hearing loss, then that's their problem, not mine. Sadly, when someone doesn't give me a chance at work, it means I continue to be underemployed and feeling worthless because if I were to bring in a full time paycheck, my husband and I would be able to do the remodeling projects we want to do around the house.

Even today, I still resent my hearing aids despite accepting the fact that they are a part of me and who I am.

Silence is bliss...

... except when that's all you ever hear.

Without my hearing aid, I cannot hear anything except for the loudest noises.

For my exes, it meant I didn't complain about their snoring at night. I have heard them snore before. One was loud, the other was just annoying. I'm glad I wasn't able to hear them.

But it also meant I didn't hear my son when he got sick in the middle of the night. Or when he had a nightmare. Or when my other son wet the bed and was upset about it. I didn't hear them crying. When they physically woke me up, mommy guilt laid heavily on me. Now that they're older, I hope they understand why I didn't hear them but when they were 5 and 6 and I was living alone, I don't know if they truly understood why Mom wasn't there right away.

Sure, I could've slept with my hearing aid on. Except that I'm not used to hearing noises while I sleep so every little thunk that I picked up kept me up. And if I rolled over and laid on my right side, the hearing aid produced feedback when pressed up against the pillow. That's annoying. Then add in the horrible ear infections I got when they were babies and I just could NOT not sleep without it in. I can get by on little sleep but not broken sleep.

So I did my best. I told my boys if they needed me, do not hesitate to come get me. I'll get up and be there for them in a heartbeat. But each time I get woken up by one of them, I still feel incredibly guilty for not being able to hear them when they need me.

Thankfully, today, my husband is understanding and will wake me if he hears either one. And as much as it pains me, I'm grateful that they're getting older and less likely to wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare or being sick.

And this time, he's not a snorer so there's no snoring to block out.

Am I really that hard to understand?

"Welcome to McDonald's. What can I get for you today?"

"I'd like a medium caramel frappe please."

"Caramel latte?"

"No, frappe."

"Ok, one caramel frappe. Anything else today?"

"No thanks."

Turn to husband. "Am I really that hard to understand?"

(being polite I'm sure) "No babe, I'm sure it's the speakers."

*sigh*

This happens a lot. I'll say something I thought I was being clear about only to get asked to repeat what I said. I've gotten the wrong order more times than I care to count. Picking up my son's prescription is a pain sometimes. His last name sounds like a girl's name so I have to spell it for them often. I find myself reverting back to speech therapy and making sure I say S correctly.

I'm sure I do myself no favors when I start talking too fast.

Sometimes I stop and think about what I just said and realize I totally butchered the pronouncation of a word and mentally slap myself upside the head Gibbs-style. When I realize I can't say a simple word right, I feel stupid. College-educated and I can't pronounce words correctly. I always wonder what some of the men I had met via online before my husband thought of me when they meet me in person. I probably come across as articulate online when I type and man, oh man, I sound like a stupid person when I speak. Thankfully, my husband looked past that.

But I wonder how many of them thought "she talks weird." I wonder how many of my kids' classmates think I talk funny. I've gone on many field trips with my boys' classes. Almost every time, there was at least one that said "you talk funny." 7 year olds are brutally honest. And they turn into mean little 10 year olds. And this 34 year old still smarts when she hears "you talk funny." It still stings. It still takes me back to 5th grade when my classmates stopped being accepting and started to mock me. It still takes me back to an old boyfriend making fun of my speech. It still reminds me of the boy I used to have a crush on imitate me in a such a cruel way that I stopped trying to fit in at my school. And it hurts even more to realize that your own child didn't understand you.

Every now and then, I just want to scream at people and ask them "am I really that hard to understand?"

Coincidence? I think not

I work for a large home improvement store. My job isn't complicated. In fact, it's almost too easy. I've been wanting to move up ever since I started working there. I have a college education. I studied business management. I've worked in retail since I was 17. For a few months, I was working as a cashier. Again, easy, noncomplicated job. I wanted to be more, do more. It drove me nuts to stand around. But I kept trying to do what I do best: make other people happy.

I signed up to take part of their "management training" class once. I was then told it was full, that I'll be put on the top of the list for the next one. I moved back to my previous position and apparently lost my spot on that list as a result. No one told me I would lose my spot. When I found out that the first session had ended, I inquired about the next one only to find out it had already started and they booted me off the list because they assumed I wasn't interested anymore.

Yeah, thanks for asking me.

So I asked to be put in the next session.

Guess what.

That session started last week. No one told me. When I asked about it, I was told "oh, I'm sorry, your name wasn't on the list."

I'm not being told why I'm getting booted off these "lists." My supervisors know I want to move up, that I want a full time position. I've asked if I need to improve somewhere. The only answer I've gotten was "we're giving priority to those who we know can do the job" and that was after I asked about the first session. The second and third sessions, I was just told "oops, you're not on the list." I know that I am capable of being a manager, even if it's an assistant manager. I do not have proof but in the back of my mind, I just know they keep removing my name because of my hearing.

Why? Because those who are working on the floor must have a radio and an earpiece plus a phone. All of which are my weak spots. I can't wear an earpiece. I am reliant on one hearing aid because for some reason or other, I cannot find a hearing aid that will work in my left ear. All of my hearing comes from my right hearing aid. Without it, I'm living in a world of silence. Putting an earpiece in that ear in order to use the radio would mean cutting myself off from the guests. Management doesn't like that so I suspect that is what is preventing them from allowing me to move up at the company.

After realizing that I've been excluded from a third session of their "advancement prep" classes, I've made the decision not to give them any more effort. I'll show up. I'll do my job. I will make sure any guest I deal with leaves with what they want. But I will not ask about their prep classes again. I will not ask about a better position. And I will continue to look for a job that would be a better use of my skills.

A little introduction to kick this off

Hi, I'm Donna. I'm deaf. Or rather, hard of hearing. But my hearing loss is so severe, it's pretty much the same as being deaf. The term that's written on all of my audiology tests is "severe bilateral hearing loss." Without my hearing aid, I can only hearing certain sounds and they have to be at like rock concert volume. With my hearing aid, I can hear most normal sounds but anything high pitched or really faint (don't even try to whisper to me) but I couldn't tell you which direction they came from.

I've been deaf since birth. My parents figured it out by the time I was two and I got hearing aids at 3. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I hadn't gotten hearing aids. My parents raised me and my sister (she is also deaf) to be as normal as possible. For a short period, my mom encouraged sign language and we learned the basics. My sister and mom learned enough to be able to sign a song for a church performance. After that, the novelty of signing wore off and Mom only signed certain words to us. She put us in speech therapy and talked to us like we could hear her just fine. She never said "no signing" but it wasn't exactly encouraged or used much. Heck, my Dad only knows the signs for yes, no, and stop. I know a few basics but no where enough to carry on a conversation. I wish I had learned more as a kid. Trying to pick it up as an adult is harder.

It's weird. Growing up, I wasn't aware of a deaf community in my area. I think it's pretty limited actually. The closest school for the deaf is in Lansing. My sister and I were the only deaf kids in our district at the time. At first, the principal of the elementary school we attended fought us going, saying that they didn't have the resources to handle us. My parents won that fight. Looking back, I almost wish they would've found a different school to send us to. We were so different from everyone else that we both were teased merciless. My sister used to be outgoing. Somewhere after elementary school, she withdrew and has become something of a hermit. She's just now starting to socialize more and she's nearly 40. (I'm 34 btw) I was lucky to have two great friends growing up that made high school somewhat bearable. Because my parents tried to treat us as normally as possible, I went through a period where I refused to acknowledge that I was deaf, and any time I was reminded, I hated myself.

Growing up, I always felt like I was part of the wrong community, out of place, almost like a transplanted foreigner. I used to get asked if I was from the South because of my "accent." Younger kids would tell me I talked "funny." People would get so impatient with me when I had a hard time understanding them (hey, that big ol' mustache doesn't help!). I feel stuck career-wise right now, like I should be doing more but can't because I can't seem to find an employer who would look past my hearing loss and give me a chance. It's like I don't belong in the hearing world but I know I would have a hard time in the deaf community as well because I was raised to be "hearing" not deaf.

At 34, it's a struggle. I don't want special treatment but yet I want people to understand that I can't always hear them. I want to be able to communicate with another deaf person (other than my sister) but yet I can't because I don't know sign language well enough. Watching the ABC Family series "Switched at Birth" has made me think and wonder and wish about my deafness than I ever did before. As a teenager, my one wish was to have normal hearing. As an adult, I'm torn. I still want normal hearing more so that I can hear and understand my own children (who have normal hearing) better but yet, I wish I had embraced the deaf culture more.