Reconnected with the World

For the last two weeks, I've struggled along with one hearing aid while the other one was getting fixed.  And not very successfully - I had a hard time even with one-to-one conversations in a quiet room. Sometimes I needed 4-5 repetitions to understand, and by that time the whole communication interaction was ruined.  After awhile, I stopped asking and found myself more and more disengaged from conversation.  I was also emotionally and mentally exhausted from the effort of listening.  At one difficult meeting at work, I found myself circling the table so I could stand immediately across from whomever was talking.

Today I picked up my repaired hearing aid and immediately felt reconnected with the world - I could hear small background noises, bits of passing conversation, and the sound of birds and leaves rustling in the wind.  I thought back to when I was in 2nd grade and wore glasses for the first time - I could see leaves on the trees!  Frankly, I was surprised that I could hear so much more wearing the second aid- twice what I could hear before - even though both ears are bad and amplification is far from perfect.

I am so grateful to my very patient Kaiser audiology folks - Leslie Hojem, my audiologist for at least the last 10 years who is always there for me, and to Mary, the scheduler, who will always try to fit me in, and to Terri, the audiologist who will see me when Leslie can't.  I could not function without their combined support.  Thank you!

On the Wagon

February is a funny little month - a bridge between January and March, a month with lovely holidays. And it reminds me of my dad who, when he was a drinking man, always went "on the wagon" (a saying that goes back to prohibition days) during February because it was the shortest month.

February is a quiet and complacent month. My hearing aides are working well, and my amplifier on my work phone is installed and doing its job. I have made some decisions that have released me from the anxiety of indecision and I am enjoying the challenges of my work.

I read that Brian Jacques, the author of the Redwall series, died on February 5 this year. I loved reading those books outloud with my son and was interested to learn more about his life. Of his many different jobs, it was his work as a milk man that led him to writing. His route included the Royal School for the Blind where he would often stop for tea (like Postman Pat) and read to the children. He found the children's books lacking and decided to write his own stories for them, which became Redwall. It is a satisfying story about being open to the possibilities and living a nonlinear life.

I have been mostly "on the wagon" for over a year so I don't look to February for that. I do appreciate the stepping stone to spring and the pink camellias and our mostly mild weather. Even with the gray skies and rain, I am grateful not to be buried in snow. And although I tend to be a linear person, I am playing with being open to possibilities.

Clarity

I spent the afternoon playing with art supplies at a journaling workshop with Cynthia Mooney. There is nothing that brings me closer to my "inner child" or makes me feel closer to my mother. She was an artist and a writer. Although I don't remember ever painting with her, she did encourage us in creative pursuits, particularly writing. One of the last exercises of the day was a writing prompt - what is your word for the year? The word came to me quickly - "clarity".

This year I hope to be more grounded in my speech, if that makes sense. I want what I say to more clearly reflect what I mean. Strange that this should still be an issue at this stage of my life, but it is. With communication as challenging as it is, clarity can only help with understanding.

I'm not exactly sure how to go about working on this. Having just seen The King's Speech, I'm wishing for my own language coach. I've never really thought about this before. Since I only discovered my hearing loss as an adult, I never had the benefit of a speech therapist. In second grade, I failed the hearing screening and brought home a note telling my mother to take me to a doctor. She took me to our dear family friend and pediatrician, Dr. Kahn, who put his watch up to my ear. "Can you hear this?" Of course I said yes. "Oh Carla, there's nothing wrong with her hearing. Look how well she speaks." And that was that.

So now my inner child is asking for a language coach. And maybe I will try to find one.

Amsterdam

My husband Tom and I returned last weekend from eight nights in Amsterdam, a trip that Tom has been wanting to take for several years.

The trip was wonderful - we loved wandering around the canal district, walking through the Van Gogh museum and the Rembranthaus, seeing the old Dutch paintings in the Amsterdams Historisch Museum and the Reijksmuseum. We took a day trip to Delft, where Tom found some parts for his bicycle in a street market, as well as some very authentic wooden shoes. I found time to do some sketching and reading, and Tom had time explore the city by bike.

And yet, the trip was also hard. I was very emotionally reactive, not my usual fairly even-keeled self. Tears came easily and at awkward times - in a train station or walking down a sidewalk. I sometimes felt that even Tom and I were "divided by a common language." I needed breaks for tea and down time in the afternoons to regroup. So, what is it about traveling that is so hard? Is it just that much harder to cope in an unfamiliar place on top of the usual effort to hear and understand what is going on around me? And this in a country where everyone was very kind and spoke English?

I don't know the answers but I am thinking I may need a different kind of preparation for traveling - a plan for how to take care of myself from the beginning, to think about what I need and to reduce the sensory input so I don't hit "overload" so easily. I saw a flyer today about an event at a shopping center for children with autism - an opportunity to visit with Santa with reduced stimuli, lower lights and not so much hoo-haw. I can relate!

Shaking the Leaves

Perhaps it has something to do with the changing seasons. I spent much of the weekend raking leaves and picking up black walnuts, filling a big tub. But no matter how many leaves we raked and walnuts I picked up, each time the wind blew another scatter of walnuts and leaves across the backyard. Some barriers are like that too. We just deal with the same problem over and over, not able or willing to move forward.

For me, each phone call at work is like that. Asking people three times to repeat their name, then asking them to spell it and then still getting it wrong is just not very efficient. I have always been reluctant to ask for accommodations, but today I had it with the phone and asked for an amplification device. I'm not technologically savvy enough to know what specifically to ask for, but I am hopeful that IT will come up with something. Just about anything will be better than what I have now. I'll keep you posted.

When things fall apart

Yesterday was a terrible day. I found out our car needs $400 of work due to a leaking air conditioner. And then my hearing aid just stopped working. I first became irritable with my coworkers, giving short, barking answers to innocent questions. Then, I went into a brain fog and couldn't concentrate. I called my husband Tom who came to get me in his pick up truck. Once home, I went to sleep for a few hours and then woke up and rallied for the evening. I found an old hearing aid that I could use as a back up, and entered the world again feeling both sheepish and revived. Today I functioned pretty well with the back up aid. My coworkers were understanding and forgiving.

So what is my lesson from all of this? Sometimes things fall apart, and when they do, sometimes taking a time out is the best strategy. Trying to hear without a hearing aid is frustrating and exhausting. It is not much better for my communication partners.

The car is still in the shop and my hearing aid is still broken, but both are going to be fixable or, if necessary, replaceable. When I explained my plight to a coworker, he said he understood - he had a back-up leg. I laughed and he said "no really", meaning that he really does have a prosthetic leg and a back up. Once again, I felt sheepish but appreciative. We all make do the best we can, and having a back up can make a huge difference.

Movement

Today I gave a presentation on Section 504 to a group of school nurses. It was a large group and I had a mix up about the location, so I was a bit flustered at the beginning. All went well though until the questions started. I was up in front on a platform behind a podium with a mike. Although there were mikes for the people asking questions (thankfully!) I often couldn't hear the question even with the mike. I had to walk down off the podium and get close to hear several of the questions, then walk back up to the podium, repeat the question (not sure why, but I appreciate it when others do this) and then try to answer. Cumbersome, yes, but it added some movement so it might have actually enhanced the presentation!

Blessings

As I was walking through Laurelhurst Park on the way home from a yoga class, I passed a family also walking through the park. Several adult children were taking their father for a walk in a reclined wheelchair, a cross between a wheelchair and a hospital bed. They had stopped for a moment to ask him if he wanted to keep walking or go back to his room. He was not responding, as far as I could tell.

I thought of my mother who, in her last years of advanced Alzheimer's, also did not walk and did not talk very much. Ten years earlier, just before her diagnosis, I went with her for a visit to an audiologist in Florida, where my mother and father spent their winter. I had convinced my parents to get their hearing tested, and this was the follow up visit for my mother. The audiologist explained to my mother that her hearing was not good and hearing aids would help. Although my mother had worn contact lenses almost her whole adult life, she was resistant to putting something in her ear. She thought her hearing was "good enough". Maybe, she explained, if she had a job where people depended on her, hearing aids would be a good idea. But in her current life, she didn't really see the point. Perhaps she had gotten used to a quiet world by then, and perhaps she liked not hearing my dad so well.

My mother also lost most, if not all. of her vision to glaucoma. As her world became quieter, it also became unfocused. She was in denial about losing her vision as much as losing her hearing, but I watched her cut vegetables staring off into space, and I could tell that she did not rely on her eyesight for much of anything. As her Alzheimer's progressed, she sometimes sat for hours "reading" the newspaper. Honestly, I cannot imagine losing all of one's faculties. And yet, she was gracious and gentle to the end. As my dad would say, it was not her nature to complain about her ailments.

And so today I count my blessings. I am in good health, I live in an era where contact lenses and hearing aides help me function in a world that would otherwise be inaccessible to me, I can walk through the park and appreciate the light filtering through the trees, making the leaves sparkle and dance in a slight breeze. My mother used to say that when she was too old to do anything else, to put her on the train at the state fair and let her ride around and around. I would say: take me for a walk through the park, and if I don't answer you, the answer is "yes", just keep walking.

Listening

At my mother's memorial service back in January, Dr. Kantor, her eye doctor, stood to speak about her. He said that while my mother had lost her eyesight to glaucoma, she never lost her vision.

Today that thought came back to me. When hearing is a challenge, what does that mean about listening? How can I let someone know that I am listening when I miss so much of what is said? The act of listening is so much more than hearing - it is bringing one's focus to bear on someone else, fully, without distraction, and taking in not just the words and the context, but the fuller meaning behind the words. Perhaps if I am more intentional about my listening, screening out distractions inside and out, I will not only be a better listener but hear better as well.

Feedback

Perhaps it is the new hearing aids I bought in January or maybe too much rain, but as I was walking home from the bus yesterday I landed on this idea for a blog. My new hearing aids are called Epoq, made by Oticon and I also bought a gadget called a Streamer. With the streamer, my hearing aids function as headphones for my cell phone. When the technology works it is great. And I am learning more about how to use this equipment every day. But right now the rain is a problem and I live in Portland OR where rain has been constant. I put my jacket hood up when it rains, and with my old aids that was no problem. These aides give me feedback (loud squealing) with the hood up. Sometimes I can coax the feedback to go away, but not always. I am not excited about having to keep track of an umbrella!

I have had hearing aids since I was in law school in my late 20's, but didn't start wearing them consistently until my hearing got worse a few years later. I'm on my fourth or fifth pair now. I have seen my audiologist for so long her children have grown from preschoolers to driving. I have a mixed type of hearing loss - mostly sensory-neural but with a topdressing of otosclerosis. I had a stapedectomy about 18 years ago, and a clean up a couple of years ago. My hearing has gotten worse recently, so much so that when I take my hearing aids out I am in a very quiet place, a place where I don't hear much of anything. That's not to say quiet is a bad thing - I like quiet, and prefer it to noise. But after my last hearing test, my husband and I both asked the same question - should we be learning sign language?