Juliet England: My deaf diary – part 8: Life in lockdown

In these weirdest of weird times, in which everything has been turned upside down, I thought I’d try something slightly different this month – a general impression of being in lockdown with a hearing loss, since each day has blurred into one and I can no longer remember what happened on which day. (Still the deaf diary, but, like life just now, not as we know it.)

Like many with a hearing loss, and as someone who lives and works alone, I am feeling the isolation acutely.

It’s not as if I can pick up the phone and call someone for a chat. And I keep wondering where my hearing aids are, as I barely seem to need them these days.

Even video calls are not really possible with my level of loss. Update: I’ve just tried one with a close friend, and while it was lovely ‘seeing’ him, it was odd switching from our usual mode of communication. So while we could be in hysterics on instant chat about those normally placid middle-class shoppers in Waitrose prepared to fight to the death with their elbows for the last aubergine or six-pack of Andrex Touch of Care (‘Tense live scenes here as the latest delivery arrives’; ‘Gotta go! I’m on a promise for a courgette…’) via video link it was oddly hard to think of something to say.

However, I’ve been genuinely touched by the number of people checking in via all the usual digital means, even those I don’t know that well, just to see if I am OK.

But there are no meet-ups with friends and all my usual afternoon and evening haunts: the gym, coffee shop and library, are, for now, off-limits.

When I spoke to a neighbour today, the first actual conversation in days, that two-metre distance thing certainly didn’t actively help the old lipreading.

I persisted with gym classes as long as possible, almost until the hour the place was forced to close, probably for longer than was strictly wise. At one of my final spin sessions, I couldn’t hear why Pablo the lovely instructor was decidedly twitchy about me sitting on my usual bike in the front row. In the darkened studio, I couldn’t catch his words. Then it dawned on me. Social distancing. Of course. I duly found a bike nearer the emptier back of the room. (He made us do an extra 15 minutes for some reason that day, the b*&^!d.)

Another final spin session did a good job of lifting the spirits when an equally lovely instructor, Mark, saw fit to chuck in a few ‘dance’ moves (along with disco lights) that could be done from the saddle. Hilarious. When the world burns, just bust a few shapes on a bike. It was fun, mind, not least because it was so visual.

The lack of gym has seen me attempting Couch to 5k running/walking by the river for my daily exercise. As I am slower than just about everyone else, and won’t hear if someone is coming up behind me, observing that 2m distance has been damnably tricky.

The days have fallen into a new kind of routine. Work, lunch, more work, out by the river, home, TV, bed. Solitary, but sure beats the alternative.

The confusion over the available information and advice remains. I’m heartened by the improvements in BSL interpretation for important announcements, but still not sure what to do as someone with a hearing loss who doesn’t sign. You’re not supposed to visit a health facility, I can’t phone, calls appear to be backed up at Relay UK, what do I do if I get sick?

Luckily I’ve got a couple of friends on standby to call the NHS in case I need them to.

I had an email from the doctor’s surgery, too, saying that if I needed batteries for my hearing aids, here was the number to call…

It’s not just the NHS. I needed help from the Housing Ombudsman the other day after I learned that my housing association, from whom I rent part of my flat, had decided the middle of a national emergency was the ideal time to hike the rent at six days’ notice and at above inflation. Lovely.

Anyway, like nearly every other organisation, the ombudsman’s initial advice was to call them, although to be fair they did give an alternative email contact and an apology later.

I think I wrote previously about a leading national supermarket’s fury when I dared to protest they were alerting me to the arrival of online orders via phone call rather than text.

Unfortunately, my ‘banned for life, not bag for life’ quip came to pass, with a letter saying that that due to my ‘aggressive manner’ (their mistake), they were denying me access to the service.

To be fair to aforementioned leading national supermarket chain, they did backtrack in the current circs. I still can’t get a delivery slot for love nor money, but who can these days? Food panic doesn’t discriminate.

So I’ve been bobbing down to the local Waitrose, where I can mutter ‘Selfish morons’ at the empty shelves along with everyone else. Indeed, I muttered those very words at one staff member, stressing that I didn’t mean them. I couldn’t hear the response, but could tell he didn’t disagree.

Anyway. I reckon we’re in for the long haul with this isolation and food scavenging caper. And, no, it’s not going to be fun. But we’ll get through it. We’ll have to.