The Secret Deafie is a series of anonymous columns written by different writers. Today’s Deafie tells us about how her relationship with her hearing aids has changed…
I got out of bed, went to the bathroom, got dressed, went downstairs, put the kettle on, fed the cat. Then it occurred to me. The light on the kettle was on, but I couldn’t hear anything.
Well I could hear something, but it was the high-pitched whooshing of tinnitus rather than the lower-pitched whooshing of the kettle.
Then I realised. I’d forgotten to put my hearing-aids on.
This may not sound like much, but when I was young, I had to wear my hearing-aids. Adults would check that they were on and working. I needed them for school. Later, I needed them for work. Forgetting to put them on would have been unthinkable.
But nowadays, I don’t rely on them so much anymore. I can sign, I’m confident in my identity as a deaf person, and that I can do fine with or without them.
I’m relaxed enough about them that I can be well on my way to starting my day before remembering to put them on. This, for me, is a sea change in how I regard my hearing-aids, and I feel all the better for it.
Now where did I put them…?
Do you have a story or experience you’d like to share? If you’d like to write a Secret Deafie column, just email thelimpingchicken@gmail.com u
win
April 2, 2012
Thank you so much for this! What on the surface of it seems a very ordinary sort of comment was actually very enlightening for me. The fact that once one is sufficiently aware of who one is, and feels good about it, hearing or not becomes totally irrelevant. OK it is obvious and as a hearing parent of two Deafies I should know it well enough – yet it once again underlines the massive risks and dangers of all the upbringing of a deaf child in a hearing family which hasn’t got this wisdom of hindsight (a gift in later life from our Deaf children) and which is centred on compensating for this loss rather than nurturing that whole person. I still feel that all possible doors should be opened so that every young person can make their own choice in adolescence or young adulthood and that is part of the responsibility of parenthood, but getting the balance right is a fine thing! And I am not sure that that is sufficiently emphasised by those there in those early years to advise and support us.
barakta
April 4, 2012
I don’t usually switch my hearing aid on in the morning till I get to work. I have got to work without it which is bad because none of my colleagues or clients sign and I near nothing without it… I often work with it off in my office when I’m alone – my colleagues are well trained to use my flashing doorbell (best thing ever!) and wait a few seconds while I wait for the hearing aid to start up.
If I’m home alone I don’t tend to wear my hearing aid unless I want it for some reason. As a child and teen I was scared without it and it was only in my teens I stopped sleeping with it in. I think like the OP I wore it less once I learned to sign (and more when my partner did too) and it massively helps with the overload/overstimulation I get from wearing the hearing aid too much. I only tend to get tinnitus if ill or overloaded these days.
I think it’s very common for adult deafies to take our hearing aids out a lot of the time whereas young deafies are made to wear them 24/7. I can accept it’s probably useful for children to wear their aids at school and most of the time, but I find it really hard that they are not allowed hearing aid breaks if they want them! I make a point of telling parents of deaf children and deaf children themselves that I DO NOT wear my aid all the time and I learned to sign as an adult.
I’d like us all to be given the tools we need and the choices about how we choose to use them to suit our needs and wants.
Irene Winn
July 3, 2013
Being completely deaf in one ear and growing up with a hearing family, I’ve learnt to work hard at hearing. Now the hearing is going in my good ear I have been given a hearing aid. I still have to work hard at hearing, but now I can take out my hearing aid when I’ve had enough and I tell people that I cannot hear them. They then either say “it doesn’t matter” or take the trouble to speak at a level I can comfortably hear. Saying it doesn’t matter does not offend me because by that time I’m too tired to care. There are people who take the hump, but, again, I’m too tired to care. Perhaps the moral of the tale is that we deafies need to gently remind people that we are the ones with the disability and that the onus is on them to accommodate our needs, just as we make room for the wheelchair in the office.