Hearing loss can affect the lives of those around us.
January 20, 1999

We were standing in church. The organist was playing. Others were singing.

My husband looked at me and motioned (in our private sign language), “Why aren’t you singing?”

I let him know I did not know the song. He stopped singing and looked forlorn. We proceeded to do what you are not supposed to do in church – we wrote notes back and forth. I am a lousy whisperer and cannot hear whispers.

For years my husband enjoyed my singing, especially with a good old gospel song! Over the years, my hearing ability has declined to profoundly deaf. Distinguishing different tones is very difficult. If I do not know a song well, I don’t sing in public. And I don’t sing unless many are singing louder than me! I can’t hear myself very well.

I think this incident was my first vivid sign that my loss affects others. My hearing loss affects anyone with whom I communicate. Not just me.

My husband feels sad when I choose not to sing, knowing I love to sing. My daughter became quiet when I strummed my old guitar I gave her. She said she missed my playing.

Both daughters are teaching their children sign language. My son and (one) daughter use TTYs and on-line communications to stay in touch. Michael is stationed in Hawaii in the Navy. He makes a point of repeating whatever he had told his Dad already.

Others include clerks who patiently write messages down for me or turn the display so I can read the total of my purchase. And the airline flight attendants who compensate by showing me personally where the emergency exits are located. And my coworkers who cannot easily pick up their phone and dial my extension to ask a quick question. They must dial through the relay, send me an e-mail, or seek me out to talk with me. A friend who is recovering from surgery must wear a mask in public to protect herself. But when she sees me, she removes the mask so I can read her lips.

There are many who want to understand what my silence is like. These caring people hesitantly ask me question after question to figure out what I can actually hear.
Another person affected is my audiologist who had to tell me, when my hearing took a huge drop, that the problem was my ears, not my hearing aids. And she cried with me.
I wrote those incidences in five minutes. If I took a long time to think, I could write all night. No one who knows me wants me to have this loss of hearing. If affects them deeply. To deny this is unfair and unloving.

In the past, I often accused people of sounding angry with me when they had to repeat something. Maybe they were angry. But not with me. Throughout change we all had to learn. Sometimes it is painful. Sometimes it is humorous – but always progressive!

Recently I was listening to a choir. The music was ethereal. But my first impulse was to leave. I felt a pain I could not bear. I could not understand. But I remained and listened. I could have turned my hearing aids off but did not.

Later, I told my youngest daughter that the emotion confused me. She said it sounded like a bittersweet experience. I got to thinking about that word, bittersweet. The plant is beautiful with bright orange berries, but how like life that word – bittersweet. Beauty mixed with pain, but coming through shining brightly like the plant.

In the winter, bittersweet is easy to spot amid the brown of the landscape. Lives can be that way, too.

Don’t kid yourself. If you have a loss of a physical ability, it affects those around you. I want people to look at me, Liz, first, hearing loss second. Most do.

So, you may ask me why I keep writing about it, sharing and educating what life is like with a hearing loss. Why not keep quiet, go sit in my office or den, and just get on with life? This is my way of getting on with my life.

I want to help others who are struggling with this same inner grief I have come through and still experience at times. Sitting in my office and forgetting that my life, and the lives of those surrounding me, changed because I lost my ability to hear, serves no purpose. There must be a purpose for my having this loss.

So please do see Liz, or any person, first. But remember we hard-of-hearing folks have special needs to communicate effectively. We can do most things, we just can’t hear very well.

I urge all who are hard-of-hearing to remember your loss affects others. Think about teaching others, gently, what could improve everyone’s quality of life. It is easy to become myopic about anything that affects us personally. It is happening to us, not “them.” But it is happening to “them.”

Think about it. Don’t kid yourself, like I did. Work with hearing people to seek solutions. Communication will be more enjoyable.

You will be easy to spot amid the busy landscape of life.