Juliet England: My deafie diary part 12 – life as lockdown eases

Continuing Juliet’s experiences of daily life with a hearing loss – as lockdown eases

It feels a bit like a winter’s thaw in the mountains, this easing of lockdown, starting as a trickle then a flood of meltwater.

I’ve been stopping a lot of late to ask myself what I can’t do now that I could before All This.

Of course, large gatherings remain off-limits, not that I was ever particularly competent as an all-night raver. Theatre and cinema are obviously also still out, which is more of a problem although I don’t miss the hearing-related frustrations that often accompany such outings. But I have visited family, seen friends individually and sort of semi-bubbled up with one companion. It has been OK.

The loss of my beloved gym, however, has been a terrific blow. Of course, it has not been open since lockdown, but now, unable to pay rent and business rates as a small, vulnerable independent, its spin studio and treadmills stand permanently unused.

The instructors and I had worked hard to create a deaf-friendly exercising space – they knew me and what I needed them to do and vice versa. (Also, its location could not have been handier.) Now I will need to find somewhere else and restart the whole process from scratch.

Meanwhile, the riverbank remains very much open – though my ‘runs’ have become walks. (I do hate it when people ask pointedly how my jogging is going.)

The other day, I was walking along a narrow access road to the water and didn’t hear a car pull right up behind me, until it had almost run me over. Infuriated, l forced myself to remain calm, as I tapped on the window to explain to the driver that I hadn’t heard him. He was having none of it and wouldn’t even speak to me as I mouthed ‘I’m deaf’. A silly little incident, to be sure, but one which left me feeling oddly shaken.

More happily, a much-loved instructor from the closed gym is, for now, holding weekly open-air fitness sessions at a nearby playing field. Social distancing, of course, must apply, but in broad daylight I can copy the exercises and lipread.

As I write, the wearing of facial coverings is due to become compulsory in shops in just a few days’ time, a prospect that fills me with dread as it does so many of us with a hearing loss, although I know that, of course, we all have to use the things. I certainly don’t want to get into the Great Face Mask Debate here. But last weekend I spotted a friend in Waitrose in a full face mask and had to ask him to pull it down before I could comprehend a word he was saying,

Oh, and another thing … Has anyone else noticed that, for us spectacles and hearing aids wearers, the area behind one’s earlobes can get horribly congested when you have to hook a mask behind there as well? Is it just me? Or, when you try and remove the mask, do you aids and glasses fly all over the place?

I haven’t ventured into a pub or restaurant yet, although it’s nice to see a bit of life in such places again, and good to know that the volume of music in them will be quieter for now.

With few planned meet-ups in places like pubs, chance encounters like the one mentioned with my friend should be welcomed. But they’ve long ceased to be the happy meetings they should be. I am even increasingly ducking out of sight to avoid a strained couple of minutes of polite conversation. One such acquaintance, a truly charming man, always seems to run into me when I’m out and about sans hearing aids, and often appears bemused at my eagerness to bring the conversation to a polite but prompt close.

Not that interaction via video calls is invariably much better. We had our virtual judges’ meeting recently, at the theatre I belong to, to decide the winners of our yearly playwriting competition. The subtitles didn’t really work out, so two fellow committee members took turns summarising the discussion for me via the written instant messaging system. (Which, in fairness, they did willingly and well, the pair of troopers.)

Other forms of communication also remain less than ideal, with That Supermarket still insisting on its phone calls to announce a delivery, despite endless texts, tweets and emails. At the same time, my attempts to arrange two routine appointments for the same day at a large London hospital are still swirling endlessly in a black hole of emails. Round and round in unending circles they go.

Indeed, I even had a letter accusing me of missing of a phone appointment, despite HEARING LOSS being on my notes quite prominently. I was not aware a phone appointment had been made, but wouldn’t have agreed to such an arrangement anyway.

But there was yet more subtitle hilarity the other morning on BBC Breakfast, always a dependably rich source of comedy gold, in a report on the queen taking to video calls in lieu of real-life royal visits.

Sophie was already known to the queen, they read, from eating her previously.

It wasn’t entirely clear from this who was the cannibal and who was being devoured, although I think we should be told. Still, strong stuff. How was this not higher up the news?

Anyway, the sun is out, at least as I write this, and here’s hoping it may herald the promise of balmier days ahead – who knows, maybe the end of All This really is in sight.