And the Answer is?

Explaining Sue’s hearing loss to other people

Sorry to repeat myself but it’s worth saying again. The better a deaf person copes with life the less people will realise they are deaf or understand the problems that have to be lived with. It’s no different for anyone living with any type of life-changing problem (mustn’t say disability) and, I guess, should be interpreted as success.

And it has to be admitted, we (the ‘sufferers’ and families) can be a real bore about the problem condition as it tends to become the governing part of our lives.

Yesterday, someone Sue and I know asked me how helpful Sue’s hearing aid was. I explained (very, very, briefly) how the noises didn’t equate to words etc. to which she replied “well, that’s not too bad as she lipreads.” As your life will flash past as you plummet from a cliff, I skimmed through the truths about Sue’s communication difficulties, about how hard her life can be and all the things she can no longer enjoy while I decided what say to that rather dismissive comment.

I settled on “it took three years for her to learn lipreading and it’s the best thing she’s ever done”, because it’s true. I can’t overstress how lipreading classes not just gave Sue a way to know what was being said, but gave her a way of leaving solitary and getting back into a group situation – something she’d been avoiding for a long time. The other students were welcoming and, best of all, understanding, and Sam, the tutor, has made a massive difference to Sue’s life. I know we are in the midst of financial disaster and cuts must be made, but cutting back free lipreading isn’t just saving money, it’s condemning hearing impaired people to misery.

Off the soapbox and back to that conversation about Sue being okay. Instead of what I did say, I could  have banged on about how hard life is for a deaf person, about the loss of what us hearing folk expect for everyday activities and all the enjoyment Sue can no longer participate in. That would have been truthful. And would have bored and probably alienate the questioner as well, who was only being friendly and concerned.

In an ideal world we’d all understand each other’s needs and requirements and live life to help. Life isn’t ideal. I have an understanding of life for a deaf person but, unless I lose all my hearing, I’m never going to really understand what it’s like not being able to hear. The same applies when I meet (for example) wheelchair users or non-sighted people, no matter what I may like to think about my concerned and considerate attitudes I’d have to live that person’s life to actually understand it.

So I can’t react unfavourably if someone is slightly dismissive of Sue’s needs, or what she’s lost. I must, in fact, encourage their interest or risk that person acquiring an attitude of ‘bloody deaf people, they moan on and on and want the world changed for them’. Extreme, but entirely possible.

Now for someone I could have slapped; a few years back, when Sue’s Meniere’s was at its worst and she was hitting the deck etc. two or three times a day, a work colleague told me Tiger Balm would completely stop all that, as she used it for her headaches. For many reasons, I didn’t pass on the advice and a few days later, when I’d arrived late after picking Sue off the bathroom floor and cleaning her up, the co-worker asked if the Balm had helped.

I said we hadn’t actually tried it yet and her response is still ingrained in my memory, “oh well, if you’re not going to help yourselves I’m not wasting my time on you.” I’m still proud of myself. I didn’t release my pent up anxiety by beating her to a pulp, or slamming her head into the photocopier to take increasingly desperate images of her face as I choked her, I simply picked up my call sheets and went out on the road – to think mean thoughts whilst furiously smoking a pipe, I got through three day’s supply of tobacco that morning. And by the way, smoking is bad for you, so don’t – I‘ll do it for you.