“There’s an interpreter here for you,” the receptionist told me.
An interpreter? I didn’t think I’d booked one. I’d assumed that as I was attending an audiology appointment that I wouldn’t need one, seeing as they’d be so used to dealing with deaf people… right?
But anyhow, we had an interpreter. After a short wait we were ushered into a soundproofed room and with awkward hand movements gestured to sit.
It had been a while since I had set foot in a place like this and I felt nervous. It reminded me of years ago when I’d been urged to ‘please listen carefully’ in an attempt to improve my audiogram result. God knows how hard I listened…
Settling down now to lipread the audiologist, I realised she wasn’t actually speaking to me but to the interpreter. And so I waited for her eye contact and exaggerated my clear, emphatic response hoping she received my telepathic message to speak directly to me. I was, after all, the mother of the child being tested.
Truth be told, my partner and I didn’t really want to bring our little boy here. We already knew he could hear. But seeing the doubtful looks from health professionals as we reassured them “yes, he responds to sounds,” we decided to put their minds at ease and ‘follow protocol.’ After all, our son does have two deaf parents.
And so the testing commenced. The little one sat on his Dad’s lap and I was instructed to move to the back of the room so as not to be a distraction. Watching our son’s innocent little eyes as he scanned the room, obediently responding to sounds, I choked up with unexpected emotion.
I hate hearing tests, I thought. I always have. It’s the one test I can’t revise for, cheat on or ever do well in. I’m doomed to fail.
And seeing the earphones attached to my little boy’s ears caused memories of my own to flood.
The anger at being given hearing aids, the isolation I felt being the only one at school with wires hanging out my ears and mostly the overwhelming sadness that I may have been a disappointment.
I used to believe it when the doctors told my parents how ‘sad’ they were to relay that I had a hearing loss. And I felt I was letting others down as they groaned that my hearing had indeed “dropped again.”
I’d lose myself in daydreams as the doctors spoke to my parents and wonder how I could possibly hang on to hearing that was slipping away from me. I could never wait to get out of there. For people that knew so much about the ears, they hardly knew what it was like to be deaf.
Even today, audiology departments aren’t so deaf friendly. Take my local one, for example. They still call my name out in the waiting room. None of the audiologists sign. And worst of all it seems as though they prefer to speak to me via somebody else. If not my Mum then with an interpreter I didn’t even request.
I suppose it’s not entirely their fault. They’re not taught at medical school that most Deaf people don’t like to think of themselves as ‘lacking’ in something. They don’t understand that we don’t always want to be fixed or our deafness focused upon.
They can’t see it’s not our hearing ‘loss’ that sums us up, but what we’ve gained from it that makes us who we are.
I get that now. But as a young girl, I felt nothing but a failure when I was told my hearing was ‘less than satisfactory.’ That’s why I feel the medical view of deafness isn’t supportive at all to our self esteem. And words such as impairment, profound and loss can quite frankly be very damaging to a young, insecure child.
So when the audiologist declared at the end of our son’s test that they were ‘happy’ to tell us he had ‘perfect hearing’ I couldn’t help but loathe her choice of words.
Our son was perfect, regardless of his hearing level and actually, we would still be happy with him even if he was deaf.
So there.
Rebecca-Anne Withey is an actress, sign singer and tutor of performing arts. A black country girl at heart, she now resides in Derby where she works in both performance art and holistic therapies. She writes on varied topics close to her heart in the hope that they may serve to inspire others.
Alison Hicking
March 3, 2014
At the Derby Audiology clinic last week I had a hearing test today as wanted my hearing aids re-tuning ….it was so difficult to keep a straight face when the audiologist looked so sorrowful and said to me “I am sorry but you will never hear speech and you may need to think about learning to lipread…you even couldn’t hear some sounds when I had it on full volume!” I was so tempted to reply with ‘oh nothing changed then ‘
Reg Cobb
March 3, 2014
I was grinning while reading through your posting, as I can fully appreciate what you’re doing through. Yes, I still get people calling out names. My doctor’s surgery is better than the audiologists! Should it be the other way round?
My wife and I are deaf and we use interpreters. When our daughter was born, we knew she was hearing, but audiologist insisted on a hearing test. At the end of the test he said, “Good news, she’s hearing.” My wife and I looked at each other and I responded, “Does that mean we’re bad news?” I’ve never seen such a red face in my life! I think it’s safe to say he was very embarrassed.
2 years later, this audiologist went on a level 1 in BSL and who was the tutor? My wife!! Credit to him for trying to change.
Tim
March 3, 2014
Words can be used as a form of oppression.Another example – RNID’s mere name alone is now, thanks to a daft re-brand, psychologically abusive.
Rampantly medical-model rather than positive, it’s all about the hearing person’s perspective and what’s good for them, not the Deaf person.
kirsty
March 9, 2014
I think deaf awareness and sign language should be a standard unit within audiology training at university. I think they worry that the use of sign language will mean less need and use for their technology, and will somehow affect language development. They need to be more sensitive to statements and assumptions made.The medical modal is so old, can’t believe we haven’t moved on from this, other professions use a more holistic approach, why cant audiology? This attitude needs to be altered at the core of training. The more parents challenge this as Reg did, the better. It had a positive impact and probably got the audiologist to rethink his attitude towards deafness, hence learning sign.
Ketisfolk
March 11, 2014
I think audiologists generally see deafness from a purely scientific/medical perspective, a problem to try and fix with hearing aids and other instruments. They don’t seem to take on board the societal aspect of it, or that perhaps they need to adapt the hearing world for deaf people, not adapt deaf people for the hearing world. But in a hearing-normative world, this is not surprising. The audiology department I attend is just as bad. Shout out your name, expect you to phone them to make an appointment! I had a temporary fix done to my hearing aid, and after a discussion with the guy about me phoning to get an appointment to get it fixed properly, I said to him just to send a letter and I’d come whenever it said to come. That was 2 months ago… I’m loathe to phone them, but I think I’m going to have to. Horrendous. I agree Kirsty, they need to have more deaf awareness built in to their training, after all, all their patients are definitely going to be deaf so it would be very beneficial for all involved.
Laura
April 15, 2014
It’s true. I am an audiologist, in Canada. I am fluent in ASL but not because I’m an audiologist. I have signed since I was a child. But I agree, in University we are not taught much about Deaf Culture. What I know, I already knew. It’s definitely a medical model and a problem to be ‘fixed’. I’ve met a few “deafies” over the years who are happy to finally meet an audiologist who signs. While some of us do, we are few & far between. I’m really surprised at the level of sensitivity regarding the interpreter though. I always thought it was “Interpreting 101” to make sure you talk to the PERSON, not the interpreter!!