Melanie Jayne Ashford: My fear of losing more of my hearing

I was diagnosed with moderate hearing loss at 26, which is terrifying by anybody’s standards. Now, at 30, I’m recovering from an ear infection, which temporarily decreased my capacity to hear.

I’m unsure whether the pandemic fuelled extra anxiety, or whether I am afraid of losing my hearing completely, but either way, when my hearing got worse, I freaked out. The obvious thing was to ring the doctor, but, as anyone with hearing issues knows, it’s not as simple as that. When you’re deaf, you can’t ‘just ring’ anyone.

With the kerfuffle of a phone call out the way, I took the prescribed course of antibiotics and hoped that would be it. It wasn’t.

Having relied on a telephone consultation before (let’s not get into how ridiculous that is), I was given a physical appointment this time around. One ear still wasn’t happy, so I went on my way, armed with Otomize spray. It was unpleasant, but it seemed to do the job. I’m finally free of pain, itching, and vertigo, but my hearing is still filtering back, slowly.

Throughout all of this, I was (and still am) overwhelmed with anxiety and fear. I kept running through all the things I’d miss if I lost my hearing completely. I worried a lot. I live alone, so I’d worry about things like – how would I even get medical attention? There’s no one to phone a doctor on my behalf. What would it be like walking the dog without being able to hear? What would it do to my mental health?

My experience of deafness is closely tied to mental health. Before I got my hearing aids, my self-esteem was rock bottom. I was depressed a lot, and the isolation and anxiety was a huge problem. I didn’t want to socialise because I couldn’t hear most of what was going on, and I started avoiding interactions with other human beings, I would put off going to the doctors, or the bank because I knew I would make a fool of myself.

When I got my hearing aids, my confidence soared. I could even use the phone in certain situations. I also gained a new sense of being able to fight for myself. The average person isn’t going to be aware of my hearing loss, and they treat me the same as everyone else.

On the one hand, that’s great, but on the other hand, I need people to make specific changes to how they communicate with me so that I understand what they’re saying.

Giving me aftercare instructions for my dog’s operation is not the kind of thing you can tell me over the phone. I need it in writing. With more confidence and acceptance of my hearing issues, I began fighting for myself a bit more. Instead of just not knowing what someone said, I made sure I heard it. Whether that was by asking them to repeat themself or saying, “Hey, I can’t hear you,” I started helping myself out more.

But then I got an ear infection. And, even with my hearing aids, I was back to square one.

I guess I am afraid of the isolation, and the effect on my mental health, more than the actual deafness. But when I think about what losing the rest of my hearing would mean, I can’t bear it. I’m grateful that I was born in a time of substantial medical advancement, and some accessibility awareness in the world. However, from my experience, especially the last month with the ear infection, there is such a long way to go in the accessibility and awareness fields.

Currently, I still have concerns about my hearing, and my ears still feel ‘wrong,’ but I am learning BSL (out of interest, more than anything), and I am trying to remember to fight for myself, even if my hearing gets worse.

Mel is a Welsh woman with moderate sensorineural hearing loss, and bilateral hearing aids. She is studying for her Level 1 in BSL and writing deaf/HoH-related articles as a way of embracing her hearing loss. Mel has a tortoiseshell cat and a French Bulldog puppy.