hearing aid

Deafie on Deafie is easier, right? Um, no.


I’m often the identified person who is expected to attend to someone else with a hearing problem. Yes, I do have a lot of information, but most people don’t know that. What I am is up front about my hearing loss and ask for access so the hearies think I’m the expert and I’ll help everyone else with hearing loss because I have some vast store of insider knowledge and know just what to do.

I know about my hearing loss. I don’t have insider information on anyone else’s hearing loss. I’m not an audiologist nor an ear doctor, just one more deafie in the world trying to live my life and maybe help a few other people along the way.

I recently met a guy with bilateral hearing loss that is probably in the serious range, maybe headed towards profound. (See chart below) It took a few encounters, but it has become apparent to me that his loss isn’t just one of not being able to hear at a normal volume, he is missing chunks of tonality. And like many older people with hearing loss he’s got problems with upper registers, which includes women’s voices, birds, dripping faucets, and fricatives such as the /f/ in the word fine. It creates conundrums of being able to hear a phone ring but barely able to distinguish the conversation.

Unfortunately, many of the older late deafened are not tech savvy and are at a distinct disadvantage. Many have no hearing aids, have no idea about any services to help with hearing aids, don’t know the difference between analog and digital aids, and some don’t have computers, let alone smart phones, and rarely do they know ASL. The gent I met has no hearing aid, no smart phone, no cell phone, and barely has a functioning desktop computer. He also doesn’t have a clue about taking a pencil and pad of paper with him.

He has not acted on information I emailed to him; when I’ve asked about his follow up I get non-sequiturs. That tells me he is guessing at what I’m saying. Next time I know I’ll be seeing him I’m going to take my iPad and type in what I’m saying so he can understand me. Maybe I can show him that a pencil and paper or a tablet can enhance his ability to understand conversations. That’s about the limit of what I can do unless he follows up.

So, hearies, we deafies really don’t have an easier time of it with another deafie than you do. Not unless we both sign or we both understand a least something about coping with hearing loss through things like shared knowledge about equipment that can make life easier. One thing I do have that many fully hearing people don’t is nearly infinite patience dealing with a late deafened adult trying to cope.

Even if I do know about services and equipment it only goes so far because the other deafie needs to be able to gain my knowledge and then act on it. Denial is a wide river and people seem to be afraid of moving out of a comfort zone, no matter how uncomfortable that zone has become.

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That Voice of Mine


Although my hearing loss is  pre-lingual (18 months old) I apparently had better hearing as a little kid than I have later in life because I picked up speech. I might not have been able to hear everything other people did, but I heard enough that I have a good speaking voice.

Because I have a good speaking voice it seems to confuse people who equate the ability to speak normally with having no hearing loss.

I can’t hear you.”
“Yes you can, you’re talking to me.”

And, no, I don’t have a “deaf accent.” The “deaf accent” is not  an accent but a unique atonality in which the voice sounds “hollow” or “flat” as a result of not hearing normal voice resonance hearing people can access normally.

At any rate, I have two speech modes: soft and loud. What I consider a “normal” tone of voice is considered loud by anyone other than another person with hearing loss.

I’ve been asked why I don’t have a middle volume. Probably because I have no idea what that volume is. When I wear a HA I can hear myself better so I tend not to project as much. We can probably attribute that facility with project on all drama training in high school learning to project to the back of the auditorium. But, even with the HA I’ve been told by a number of people that I still speak too loudly.

At my age I’m not sure that there is a cure for this idiosyncratic way of speaking. On the other hand, HoH people love how I enunciate and project, so that’s the flip side of the issue.

I bet you thought I died


Its been awhile.  That’s what happens when life runs away with you.

I lost my HA in my travels and need to get a new one. I’ve finally determined after an arduous search that it is not between the seats in my car. 😦  I hope my insurance is still in force, although even with that it is $750!  If not – there’s no way I can come up with another $3k.

Yesterday I took a friend to a major medical center in a major metro area I’m not familiar with. The ER was not private vehicle friendly and my friend is in a wheel chair. I ended up having to use the ambulance area because that was the only way to get her in and time was of the essence.

Thankfully, someone came out to help her while I darted inside trying to get help. The problem came when I got boxed in by ambulances and could not go out the front or the back. I had one in front, two to the sides and one behind.  Unfortunately, the car does not have thrusters like a Harrier Jet and cannot rise straight off the ground. Need to look for that option next time. (right…)

A guard asked the (no lights/no siren) ambulance behind me to move. This made no sense as that one had a passenger it needed to drop off and the one in front of me did not.

Let us add to that a winding drive going down a hill with huge curbs jutting here and there. And a passive-agressive ambulance driver who moved barely enough to let me out. I’m sure he was irritated, but really…it made me take longer.

And then the fact I couldn’t understand – or sometime see – ear
the guards who stood behind me to yell at me which way to move. I kept saying, “I’m Hard of Hearing! I can’t hear you!” So a bunch of them gathered – behind me.  (sighing)  On my deaf side.

It was a mess. And my wee little doggie was still alerting about how sick my friend had been.

I did get out without hitting the curbs or the ambulance. Whew!

I acquired a few spectators who stood around shaking their heads and shaking their fingers including a guy who looked like Santa in a wheelchair with hair almost down to the ground who was very condemnatory. What? There’s nothing on TV? No reality show?

I wanted to jump out of the car and yell at them – you try doing what I did – crossing an unfriendly border with a sick person in your car who is having problems breathing. And do it while remaining calm and chatty to keep the person more at ease. And then drive to a major hospital in a part of a metro area you’ve never been to before. Where there is no non-Ambulance drop off point. See how well you figure things out.

I did not get out. I did not yell. You’d have thought the half-dozen guards there would have done some crowd control, but nooooo.  I drove down the block, stopped at a fast food restaurant, let the dog out and calmed her down before our long drive back.

Just another day in the life of the HoH woman engaging in random acts of kindness.

I hope my friend is okay. I haven’t heard anything yet. No news is good news?

To wear or not to wear – that is the question.


I’ve been battling ear infections for a good six months – mostly otitis externa, but some otitis media. I never had an ear infection before I got hearing aids (HAs). I’m tired of oral and external antibiotics, drops for dermatitis in the ear canal, and oral pain meds.

For the past week I’ve been unamplified. On purpose. At first my HA fitted ear was sore to the touch. Then, over time, with no medication applied to it, it started to clear. It is starting to heal from the inside out. The itchy, flaky skin is turning supple. I no longer have oozing lymphatic fluids leaking from the ruptured skin.

I don’t hear worth a hill of beans, but I’m not in constant pain.  I plan on cleaning the ear mold exquisitely well before using it again. I may go back to only using it when I need it rather than wearing it all the time. My body doesn’t like plastic, particularly in the confined space of an ear canal.  I’m not sure I am a candidate for a CI nor that I want one. Maybe. Someday. Or not. I’m not sure.

I wish I knew more deafies locally.  But I don’t. And there won’t be any where I’m going – to the best of my knowledge.

I often wonder how many other people are also allergic to their “non-allergenic” ear molds.

The Dreaded Adverb


I stand in the gazebo in the middle of the Townsend Common and peer into the shadows of massive deciduous trees. The towering oaks and maples create a deep well of shadow. Hidden in the shadow are dark green picnic tables, freshly painted for the summer season.IMG_1880

Feathering out from each side of the shadows are graceful dark wood park benches with black wrought iron trim. The benches are cast in artful design around the gazebo. They surround it in a seemingly haphazard manner. Perhaps they are at the best places for hearing. Perhaps a whimsical designer arranged them. They’ve been in the same places for the last year.

The church to the east begins a muffled peal. Well, to me it is muffled, but the dog startles a bit. Loud. It must be loud. I don’t have my hearing aid in to walk the dog. I look at the clock faces on the front and side of the bell-tower and realize they display different times. How many peals will there be? Nine. Ten.  I check the time on my smart phone. Noon. Exactly. Neither of the clock faces reads twelve o’clock.

Brass colored folding chairs for the Thursday night concert lean against the wall or slump on the floor, tossed hither and yon by recent stormy weather. I envision how, tomorrow, they’ll be arranged in ordered fashion for the band, unlike the graceful litter of  wooden benches.

IMG_1886Here and there, black light poles erupt from the ground. They match the bold black metal fencing that marches around the edges of the Common. Half-barrels full of flowers line Main Street – ten of them – filled with a riot of brilliant magenta petunias. Several more of the half-barrels are next to the sidewalks in the Common itself, filled with a softer pink flower reminiscent of roses.

Concrete walkways crisscross the Common with a long St. Andrews Cross from corner to corner and a short path east to west across the middle. Today it is me, the dog, and ten thousand starving mosquitos. The dog and I descend the stairs of the gazebo, walk back to the car, and breathe a sigh of relief when the mosquitos are outside and we are inside.

Death to Adverbs – stripping adverbs from writing.

The benefits and drawbacks of being hard of hearing


Benefits

1. When my daughter and one of the grandkids are having a conversation and need a little privacy I can look away from them and they have privacy – all I hear is the murmur of voices.

2. If they need even more privacy because the conversation is, um, energetic, I can take my hearing aid out.

3. When my grandson is playing games on the iPod that are annoyingly loud, I can take my hearing aid out.

4. The younger generation loves texting. I love texting! Win-win!

5. I do not need to hear to crochet. 🙂

Drawbacks

1. Talking to me from the next room makes communication impossible.

2. Yelling down the stairs is similarly pointless.

3. Talking to me when the TV is on, the X-Box is being used, and someone is listening to music on the iPod means your chance of success is very poor.

4. I am often baffled by what that potential noise is. I refer to this (mentally) as the Name That Noise Game. Yesterday night I leaned out the door, looking around to see if we were having another rainstorm. It was the shower upstairs.

5. The sounds of chewing. Do you hearing people actually get used to that?  Hearing aid out.

Networking


The problem with being deaf or seriously hard of hearing (HoH) is that unless we are part of a larger Deaf community or involved with organizations for the hard of hearing we tend to be isolated souls.  It is not that we want to be, it is simply a fact that oral communication is generally limited for us. However, now and then we have a breakthrough.

There are blogs for the D/deaf and HoH. Blogs dealing with Meniere’s and blogs about CIs. There are groups on FaceBook (FB) that cater to the D/deaf and HoH in a variety of capacities. I’m in 3 such groups – one professional, one focusing on ASL and another that is more conversational.

Not long ago one of my blogging pals, Wendy of Picnic with Ants mentioned she no longer needed her relatively new hearing aids (HAs) because she now has bilateral CIs. Recently on FB another individual mentioned a need for replacment HAs that could not be met because of no longer being a part of the work force.

A contact with Wendy and a contact with the FB gal (who happens to have a blog on ASL on a different blogging site) and a connection was made – much to the delight of both parties. And I was more excited than both of them together. 🙂

I’ve previously returned older, serviceable digital HAs to my audio service provider who sends them on to be refurbished and donated to children who cannot afford them. That’s great. But what about adults who are not working and cannot afford them?

In general, insurance does not pay for HAs. And there’s the rub, because it is now known that untreated hearing loss leads to a loss of brain density which is related to dementia. Dementia is a huge problem in our elderly population today and is a drain on financial resources. If $6k in HAs every few years could prevent tens of thousands of dollars or hundreds of thousands of dollars in custodial care costs it appears to me to be the height of stupidity on the part of the medical insurance industry not to market hearing insurance aggressively. Keeping people functional would be an enormous cost savings. What is wrong with the bean counters that they are missing this? I’m not sure, but I’ve a niece in the health insurance business so I shall ask her about her thoughts on this.

Back to networking:  It appears the Lions Club accepts donated hearing aids to benefit men, women, and children who cannot afford them. It also appears that the Starkey Hearing Aid Company accepts donations, but I’m not sure how they are handed out. Hearing Loss of America has a financial assistance program. In Massachusetts the Massachusetts Commission for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing helps individuals get hearing aids, although funds are limited. Not every state has a commission for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing, but it might be wise to contact state government and see if your state has assistance.  Of course, for individuals in the workforce your state’s Vocational Rehabilitation office can assist in paying for hearing aids so long as they are related to employment.

It is important that deafies or HoH folk network so that HAs that are functional but live in dresser drawers (unless they are the backup HAs one should have) find their way to people who need them. Behind the Ear (BTE) is the only kind that can be easily recycled (a new ear mold will do it) although In the Ear (ITE) can be donated and the parts used to build another HA. My hearing loss is at such a level that an ITE won’t work for me anymore – I’m BTE from here on out now.

It is estimated that only 10% of people worldwide get the support they need to deal with hearing loss. We need to start engaging in some serious networking and rabble rousing to have HAs covered by all insurance.