Miss-Delectable
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Deaf for a Day: ‘A source of frustration ... always ready to pounce’ | news-press.com | The News-Press
Staff writer Dayna Harpster took up a challenge posed by Energizer Battery to be “deaf for a day.” She wore tight-fitting ear plugs, simulating one type of hearing loss: volume. She compared notes with Fort Myers chiropractor Chad Luce, who has been deaf since age 3, and other sources.
'But I don't want to be deaf!'
My first problem: Finding a day to conduct the experiment.
It couldn’t be a Saturday or a Sunday, the days when I work with a writer friend who’s blind. I would be able to read his manuscript aloud as usual, but I wouldn’t be able to hear him when he dictated editing changes to me.
It couldn’t be the day I would supervise my middle-schooler’s class field trip to Epcot. Although I was cheered by the prospect of having a hearing impairment while stuck on the charter bus with 50 kids, I thought about how my temporary disability might affect the five kids I would chaperone. More than one audiologist interviewed for this story said untreated hearing loss could be dangerous to people around me, or myself. And this would be my first trip to Epcot; I wanted to hear what I’ve been missing.
I was mulling all this one morning. As my daughter left the house to walk to the bus stop, she yelled “Bye, Mom!” as usual. I’d miss that on experiment day. And I also knew that she’d probably stand at the door yelling her face red, aggravated that I wasn’t answering her, and then stomp her way to the bus stop, peeved.
As usual, I listened to make sure my obnoxious, temperamental toilet had stopped running. I made a mental note to leave extra time on my hearing-impaired morning so I could stand over the tank to watch it fill. Or call Charlie the plumber — while I could still use a regular phone.
'I am temporarily deaf.'
I was ready with that phrase all day — but rarely used it. The one time I did, at the bank, I was nearly moved to tears when a teller I’d talked to several times before, without a hearing hitch, enunciated so I could read lips if needed and replied, “Oh, don’t worry, I’m hard of hearing anyway.”
But I still worried during the transaction that I was broadcasting my financial news to everyone.
All day, I waved and smiled at people I probably would have talked to, but a full-on conversation often seemed too difficult.
A friend came by my desk with sad news about a relationship not working out. I hoped I was able to hear enough to be helpful.
At the local Hess station, I watched the read-out on the cash register to see what I owed for a Diet Pepsi, a pack of gum and a Powerball ticket: $2.04. I knew right away the clerk had forgotten to ring up the gum. I was convinced I had noticed her mistake more quickly by reading the total than I would have by hearing it.
Back in the car, I turned the radio on, then off. I couldn’t hear it well enough to enjoy it.
I drove to work in silence. I know I watched the roads more closely because I couldn’t hear.
A weird side effect was how much more attention I paid to my body and even slight discomforts. A fairly insignificant headache felt like the plague. I was myopically focused on whether my jaws meet properly. It was as if I was alone with myself.
The unaccustomed quiet made me sleepy.
I couldn’t stand to hear myself chew gum or eat an apple. Later, patient Ron Klewin told me those sounds were common with the old-style hearing aids, but not the new ones.
There were other unexpected frustrations.
Since I couldn’t hear my phone ring, checking it for missed calls became an obsession. My kids have text-messaging, so I could still communicate with them. But my spouse was working out of state and doesn’t text. He’s dyslexic, so he prefers talking on the phone. I wondered how we’d handle being apart if I couldn’t hear.
That day I noticed how many times I’d look for something and couldn’t find it, whether it was my keys or a pen or something else. Every time I searched fruitlessly for something, the urge to take out the earplugs was nearly irresistible.
Obviously being able to hear better wouldn’t have helped me find my keys: I realized that hearing loss was a low-level but constant source of frustration to me all day. It receded to the background from time to time, but it was always waiting, ready to pounce.
Staff writer Dayna Harpster took up a challenge posed by Energizer Battery to be “deaf for a day.” She wore tight-fitting ear plugs, simulating one type of hearing loss: volume. She compared notes with Fort Myers chiropractor Chad Luce, who has been deaf since age 3, and other sources.
'But I don't want to be deaf!'
My first problem: Finding a day to conduct the experiment.
It couldn’t be a Saturday or a Sunday, the days when I work with a writer friend who’s blind. I would be able to read his manuscript aloud as usual, but I wouldn’t be able to hear him when he dictated editing changes to me.
It couldn’t be the day I would supervise my middle-schooler’s class field trip to Epcot. Although I was cheered by the prospect of having a hearing impairment while stuck on the charter bus with 50 kids, I thought about how my temporary disability might affect the five kids I would chaperone. More than one audiologist interviewed for this story said untreated hearing loss could be dangerous to people around me, or myself. And this would be my first trip to Epcot; I wanted to hear what I’ve been missing.
I was mulling all this one morning. As my daughter left the house to walk to the bus stop, she yelled “Bye, Mom!” as usual. I’d miss that on experiment day. And I also knew that she’d probably stand at the door yelling her face red, aggravated that I wasn’t answering her, and then stomp her way to the bus stop, peeved.
As usual, I listened to make sure my obnoxious, temperamental toilet had stopped running. I made a mental note to leave extra time on my hearing-impaired morning so I could stand over the tank to watch it fill. Or call Charlie the plumber — while I could still use a regular phone.
'I am temporarily deaf.'
I was ready with that phrase all day — but rarely used it. The one time I did, at the bank, I was nearly moved to tears when a teller I’d talked to several times before, without a hearing hitch, enunciated so I could read lips if needed and replied, “Oh, don’t worry, I’m hard of hearing anyway.”
But I still worried during the transaction that I was broadcasting my financial news to everyone.
All day, I waved and smiled at people I probably would have talked to, but a full-on conversation often seemed too difficult.
A friend came by my desk with sad news about a relationship not working out. I hoped I was able to hear enough to be helpful.
At the local Hess station, I watched the read-out on the cash register to see what I owed for a Diet Pepsi, a pack of gum and a Powerball ticket: $2.04. I knew right away the clerk had forgotten to ring up the gum. I was convinced I had noticed her mistake more quickly by reading the total than I would have by hearing it.
Back in the car, I turned the radio on, then off. I couldn’t hear it well enough to enjoy it.
I drove to work in silence. I know I watched the roads more closely because I couldn’t hear.
A weird side effect was how much more attention I paid to my body and even slight discomforts. A fairly insignificant headache felt like the plague. I was myopically focused on whether my jaws meet properly. It was as if I was alone with myself.
The unaccustomed quiet made me sleepy.
I couldn’t stand to hear myself chew gum or eat an apple. Later, patient Ron Klewin told me those sounds were common with the old-style hearing aids, but not the new ones.
There were other unexpected frustrations.
Since I couldn’t hear my phone ring, checking it for missed calls became an obsession. My kids have text-messaging, so I could still communicate with them. But my spouse was working out of state and doesn’t text. He’s dyslexic, so he prefers talking on the phone. I wondered how we’d handle being apart if I couldn’t hear.
That day I noticed how many times I’d look for something and couldn’t find it, whether it was my keys or a pen or something else. Every time I searched fruitlessly for something, the urge to take out the earplugs was nearly irresistible.
Obviously being able to hear better wouldn’t have helped me find my keys: I realized that hearing loss was a low-level but constant source of frustration to me all day. It receded to the background from time to time, but it was always waiting, ready to pounce.
