Deaf or Hearing: It Doesn't Matter

      Ever have one of those days where you think, "If I was hearing, [insert dramatic situation here] wouldn't happen," or "If I was deaf, [insert different dramatic situation here] wouldn't be so problematic." I have thought, "If I was..." countless times, and each time, I tell myself to snap out of it. Immediately. It's not that these thoughts are bad or terrible, but they sometimes have the ability to make me feel depressed or disappointed in myself, all for something that I HAVE NO CONTROL OVER.
      Other people may wonder "If..." about me, like why am I not more hearing? Or more deaf? This is a pointless question. I could act like I hear, but there will always be some things that I miss. I could act like I am deaf, but I will not deny that I like to hear--especially music and my own voice. I was born in between two worlds, and I must make my in-between world habitable. I still do not know how to that yet...
      But the question, what if I was born differently, is absolutely absurd. Here's why--there is no possible way to know the answer. I cannot clone myself, restore or take away my clone's hearing, mimic exact identical environmental conditions, and accurately measure results. Even if that experiment could somehow happen, what would I do with the results? If both clones do 'worse' than me, than I should be happy where I am? Or if one or the other clone does 'better' than me, how do I use that result for my own benefit? I am not going to make multiple 'mini-mee's" just so that I can truly know whether I'll be better or worse off! It is however, entertaining to ponder this questions. So let's see what could happen if the above hypothetical scenario played out:

• 100% hearing me: I would imagine her to be a fast-talking debater with a huge social outreach. She probably would be easily distracted in class, she can hear every word the teacher is saying wihtout using a microphone and she would be engaged in whispered side-conversations. She would excel in some classes, do so-so in other classes, and fail study hall (the reason is that she's too busy talking with friends). On the whole she would be a good student, a good conversationalist, but she has no connection to the Deaf world. She might never hear about the Deaf world, and think deafness is for aging people who just need powerful hearing aids to get by. As a result, she's not as empathetic with people. And she would not have a dog, no matter how many times she pleaded with her mom.

• 100% Deaf me: Let's say that cochlear implants were not an option. Her parents start learning sign language, but also try to do some speech therapy. She is happier signing, so her parents sned her to a school for the Deaf. She has a huge support community and friends who also sign. Like hearing me, she can understand the teacher and engage in side conversations with friends, but with ASL. She is a good student, probably a math champion. Unfortunately, the deaf school is a boarding school. She still sees her parents on weekends and holidays, but she is gone for so long. She probably still would not have a dog, because she is away at school most of the time.

      Both "mini-me's" are good students with skills and strengths, but hearing me loses empathy, while Deaf me loses a tight-knit family, and both certainly do not have a dog (I think this last point especially is a deal-breaker for me). I have the best of both worlds--I am a good student; I am empathetic towards others; and I have a great family, which includes Oreo, the dog (Thanksgiving).
      My conclusion from my thought experiment: I like who I am!

The Cheerleaders

     You are a freshman.  It is the home meet.  You just finished the C-team race, and you did well.  You feel well.  You feel great.   Now it is time to cheer on the Varsity team.  Your top five girls are fast, strong, and at the head of the pack.  You cheer your loudest for them.  You stay in the same spot for the last two girls.  The sixth girl ran by and not far from her was the seventh.  You cheer your loudest, but now your speech is deteriorating.
     The seventh girl ran by.  Your speech slipped.  Where there should have been two syllables, there was one.  Where there should have been a ‘z,’ there was an ‘sh.’  It was a nonsense sound, but it should have been a name.
     Two cheerleaders were near you.  They heard your slip.  They walked over to you – one put her arm around you.  They corrected you, cooing “See that girl over there.  Her name is –.”  Numbly, you nodded your head.  They were seniors, probably with good intentions, yet so, so mean.
     They continued cheering on their friend, but you were breaking.  You plummeted from high to low.  You turned so they wouldn’t see your tears.  You walked, trotted, ran away to a tree, a big, far-off tree. You sobbed in the safety of that tree.
     You needed a tissue.  The meet was out doors, and there was a line for the port-a-potty.  You tried to maintain a calm composure, but there was no hiding your red eyes, your puffy cheeks.  You grabbed a handful of toilet paper and left for the tree again, ignoring the next race, the spectators.
      A friend noticed you.  You couldn’t talk.  She hugged you.  When you calmed down, you two walked on the racecourse together, cheering on the last race.  You told her what had happened.  She said not to worry about it, the cheerleaders acted stupidly.   You could not take her words to heart, but thank God for that friend.  She comforted you at your lowest and helped you back on your feet.
     This was four foxtrot years ago! It's a true story.  I thought I had gotten over it, but when I was listening to another story of mean ol’ cheerleaders, all the emotions came flooding in.  The pain of my mistake was enough on its own, but the cheerleaders added to my guilt and turned it into grief and trauma.
     It was accidental on the part of the cheerleaders, but they did many things wrong that day.  They were complete strangers, even though we were part of the same, small school and all of us were in our school’s athletic garbs.   They dared hug me when correcting me on a mistake.  They patronized me as if I was a toddler, not even a freshwoman.  They did not know the long-term effect that meeting would have.  After that meet, I rarely called anyone by his or her first name, until a year ago.  At meets, at practice, I never used names, instead cheering on groups and using encouraging, but still generic, pep talks, until a year ago.
     A year ago, I decided that I was becoming too distant and I was too fearful to talk to people.  Names are very powerful, just remembering a name can do a lot for a healthy relationship, and I was refusing to say a single name.  That had to change.  There was a remarkable improvement in my social life once I made effort to greet everyone by name, to cheer on people individually, to talk to people.  The cheerleaders had a far greater impact on me, than anyone should ever have.

P.S. My mom told me after this event, "Don't let anyone take your mojo." I should listen to her more often.

Taiko Workshop

     Just a few weeks ago, my mom and I attended a workshop to learn how to play Taiko drums.  Taiko is a Japanese drum and super cool.  What I love about Taiko is that it’s not just about hearing the drums, but feeling it in your body.  The beats are so loud and powerful, I could feel it in the air and in my chest.
     I think drums are great for deaf musicians because they mostly depend on counting and rhythm and not so much on pitch, which I find the hardest part of being a musician. 
     Playing on the drums is just as cool, if not cooler, than listening.  At the end of the workshop, we did some improv; improv means playing in a group and watching each other for cues on beats and rhythm.  Because of our skilled student teachers, we all sounded pretty good even after only an hour of playing. 
     Drums are not the only instruments that deaf can play.  I believe that any instruments that can vibrate and be felt is playable without being able to hear.  I will expand this in another blog, but Exhibit A is me!  I play the violin, the viola, and the cello (and I’m learning the ukulele and piano), see Music to My Ears.

     Two examples of professional deaf drummers are Evelyn Glennie and Vaughn Brown. 

• Glennie:  https://www.ted.com/talks/evelyn_glennie_shows_how_to_listen
• Brown:  http://www.columbian.com/news/2015/jan/01/blind-deaf-drummer-vancouver-vaughn-brown/
• Stanford Taiko: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IdfCnLiGDN4

First Book Review! - El Deafo by Cece Bell

     I recently read El Deafo, by Cece Bell, in just under an hour.  While I knew I should have been studying for my math midterm the next day, the book was so good I couldn't put it down.  I had been wanting to read this book for weeks ever since I have learned of it. 
     El Deafo is a graphic novel about a girl who wears hearing aids and goes to a mainstream school.  It is based on the author's own life, and parts of the book resonate with my own life.  I highly recommend reading this book.  It is a light read, very enjoyable, and especially suited for someone looking for a fun study break or a bedtime read.
     Here is another review from the New York Times, written by author Katherine Bouton - El Deafo in New York Times.  Check out the author's other children's books and a writer's blog - Cece Bell's Page.
     Inspired by this book, I decided to try my own hand at drawing some scenes from my childhood.  There was one particular quote from the book that struck close to my heart - the "bubble of isolation."  This was a phrase that I have often used, even before I read this book, to describe how I felt, and still feel, about my hearing loss and my interactions with hearing peers.
     Here are three illustrations (no where near as good as Bell's illustrations in El Deafo) that show my "bubble of isolation."

• My Bubble of Isolation  This is my bubble, which not only protects, but also isolates me from children's paradise.  Being inside the bubble is not too bad.  Much like in the book, I can't always understand what everyone is saying 100%.   Everyone is so full of life and yap-yap-yapping away, but inside the bubble it is so quiet, that it almost seems like everything is dead, like the lawn in my bubble.

• Broken Bubble  There are two possibilities of what happens when I "burst my bubble."  Sometimes this happens when someone speaks to me; I might become really frightened and scared of miscommunication with fellow human beings.  Other times I choose to venture out and try to engage in communication with my peers.

• When I Go Out  This demonstrates efforts I take to leave my bubble.  It is similar to deep sea diving or conducting long extra-vehicular activity (EVA) in space.  EVAs can be very dangerous, but the reason why astronauts take risks in their protective gear is that they have an entire world, nay, universe to explore.  This is the same attitude I have when I take my bubble for a spin; the hearing universe can be scary and frightening to someone who can't hear, but it is a cornucopia of endless wonders that I want to explore! 
  
  
  
  

     When I was drawing these pictures, a hearing colleague walked by and noticed them.  He pointed to the bubble and said, "Oh, I feel you there.  I have that same problem too!"  This bubble of isolation is not unique to deaf children, but to nearly everyone.  Everyone might have his or her own bubble of isolation, although it may come in different forms; the concept is the same.  But always, beyond that bubble is a universe of endless wonder.

Freshmen Orientation

     If you become a freshman at any college, there will generally be some sort of freshmen orientation.  My orientation lasted nearly a week, during which time I met all sorts of new people, learned the layout of my school, and discovered student activities.  It was fun and exciting for the most part, but incredibly chaotic. 
     Before I go into all the specifics of my freshmen orientation, let me tell you about what I did before I arrived on campus.  First, I researched the Office of Accessible Education.  This office takes care of things like accommodations in class and living in dormitories.  They make sure I have a strobe and horn fire alarm, that also vibrates the bed, and that my resident directors know about my hearing loss.  Second, I found out that there was a second Office of Diversity and Access.  This office takes care of communication access at recreational events, such as the freshmen orientation.  They make sure organizers know that I need the speakers to use the microphone and they arrange CART for some of the large lecture events.  I emailed and met with both offices before the start of orientation; however, it was still up to me to tell my peers about my hearing loss.
     Hearing loss can be an invisible disability, especially for someone like me, who is primarily oral and has long hair that hides my hearing aids.  People do not realize that I might need help communicating.  It was tough to figure out how to share this with my fellow freshmen, without sounding like I am looking for sympathy.  I have learned from past experience that it’s much easier to let people know in advance of communicating, because once the communication starts flowing, it’s hard to interject “Help!” “Slow down!”  “Please repeat that!”
     My school created an accepted freshman FaceBook page long before school started.  Many freshmen posted short intros about themselves, e.g. where they were from, their hobbies and other interests.  I decided to take the plunge and put it out there…

Fred Flintstone

     I was nervous, but in the end, I received many thoughtful questions and offers from people to help me.  By posting information this way, I let all 1,719 other freshmen know a little about me before we even met!
     The orientation was very tiring and wore me out, not necessarily because of my hearing loss as my hearing peers were equally worn out, but because of the huge quantity of information and activities covered in such a short time span.  There were campus and building tours aplenty, move-in day itself, first lecture of the year, mini sex and alcohol education play, encouraging diversity lecture, meetings with advisors and teachers, attending dorm meetings, crazy-late-night-playing marching band, and much more.  I should not forget to mention meeting my peers and especially my roommate.
     This was all very exciting, but my advice to future freshmen, deaf or not, is to communicate in advance what you need, sleep as much as possible so you don't fall asleep during the showcase of science classes, find some quiet places to regroup, and you don't have to follow the band until 2 am (even though it is fun)!

Revised Contact Info and Update

     Hi everyone!  Happy Thanksgiving!
     I set up an email for this blog: hearchloe@gmail.com.  If you don't want to ask a question or make a comment in public, then shoot me an email!
     Also, as a reminder, I am now a freshwoman in college, struggling with midterms and time management, the woes of all freshmen.  Rest assured, I have a few good ideas for blog postings in my mind, but the real trick is finding the free time and putting them down on paper (computer).
     Will write soon!

Safety First

     Recently, I was working alone in my office building.  Normally it is full of college students, but nearly everyone had left for the summer to return to college.  My hearing aids were off so I could focus on writing a simple computer code.  The fire alarm went off.  Of course, I only heard a beeping sound, which sounded like it was from someone’s computer.  If my hearing aids had been on my ears, I would have heard the shrill voice of the alarm.  I didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary until people came back and a co-worker entered and asked “Were you inside for the entire drill?”  “Aaaaah!” 
     Yes, I definitely could have gotten into BIG trouble there.  Here are some things I could have done to avoid getting burned up in a building inferno.  These are things I will do and highly recommend for everyone.

• Communicate with the health department or office at your company.  Sometimes offices will assign someone to help in case of evacuation, especially for people with physical disabilities (or in my case, people who won’t hear the fire alarm as a result of a hearing loss).

• Communicate with your co-workers and tell them you cannot hear any alarm and so you will need to be alerted.  My co-workers who knew about my deafness were already at college that day.  I needed to inform the people who stayed about my deafness.

• Move my desk to a place where I could see the fire alarm.  For example, from only two desks over I could see one of the building’s fire alarms.

• Inquire with the facility manager if it is possible to install horns and strobes nearby.  That's what I have in my dorm room to alert me.

• Lastly, but most importantly, wear my hearing aids!

     These suggestions are applicable everywhere - in an office, school, even hotels.  Most hotels have a “deaf kit” that includes fire alarm, alarm clock, and a hotel alert system for assistance in the case of emergency.
     Knowing when the fire alarm goes off is a critical safety skill.  You don't want to be in a burning building; not only is your life in danger, but anyone who comes to rescue you will also be put in danger.  Being proactive and knowing what to ask for and do in the event of an emergency situation is a critical skill that not only benefits you, but everyone else around you.
     Be safe!

Safety first, safety always!