Miss-Delectable
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http://english.people.com.cn/200604/20/eng20060420_259778.html
When a pregnant mother is asked if she would prefer a boy or a girl, the response is pretty formulaic "I don't mind as long as it's healthy." But what if the expectant mother or father actually preferred it if the baby wasn't "healthy" in the sense that we understand the word, but instead was profoundly deaf?
This is how Paula Garfield, artistic director of the London-based theatre company Deafinitely Theatre, felt when she was expecting her baby daughter, Molly. "When I was pregnant I did hope the baby would be deaf. Obviously, I would have loved a hearing baby equally, but inside, I really hoped she would be deaf like me."
For Garfield and her partner Tomato Lichy, an artist and writer, the diagnosis that Molly was profoundly deaf was a cause for joy rather than sadness. "When the doctor told us she was deaf I really wanted to smile, but I felt I shouldn't because the medical staff obviously thought deafness was a problem. Once we got home we celebrated though."
So, why? The answer, Lichy argues, lies in language. "Being deaf is not about being disabled, or medically incomplete it's about being part of a linguistic minority. We're proud, not of the medical aspect of deafness, but of the language we use and the community we live in. We're delighted that is something our daughter can share as she grows up."
Taking into account the widest spectrum of hearing impairment from slightly hard of hearing to profoundly deaf the UK's Royal National Institute for the Deaf estimates that out of a total population of 60 million, close to 9 million people in Britain have some degree of hearing loss. Around 55 per cent of Britons over 60 have some degree of hearing loss compared to just 2 per cent of young adults.
According to UK disability campaigners, somewhere between 30,000 and 70,000 deaf people use British Sign Language (BSL) as their first or preferred means of communication. Most of them will have either lost their hearing through illness such as meningitis in childhood, or, like Garfield and Lichy, have been born with congenital deafness to hearing parents.
For the couple, it is very much Deaf with a capital D, denoting their identity within a cultural group, rather than a medical aggregate of people with less hearing than the majority.
British Sign Language, with its own complex vocabulary, regional dialects and syntax, is one aspect of this culture. And deaf people aren't lonely, lifeless individuals who lie awake at night lamenting the tragedy that they can't hear the birds sing. In fact, Lichy laughs, "deafies" (a term many of the signing deaf community have reclaimed to describe themselves) "are the deepest sleepers around." No cockerel crowing, drunken shouting or Audi alarm will keep deaf people from their slumber.
In Lichy's view, deafness is not about loss, it's about gain. "If only people knew about the deaf community, our rich culture and history, our parties and the closeness and pride that we feel in our shared identity. Our language is so colourful, so alive. That's our sound, that's our music."
There are more than 300 deaf social clubs across the UK and three universities (Bristol, Wolverhampton and Central Lancashire) that have academic centres for Deaf Studies and BSL.
A specialist mail-order bookshop (Forest Books) stocks more than 1,000 titles about sign language, deaf issues, history and culture. There are two terrestrial TV magazine shows, both presented in BSL by deaf presenters, and a deaf drama, "Switch" (which Garfield stars in) which has just finished its fourth series on BBC TV.
Deaf DJ and club promoter Troy Lee organizes regular deaf raves that fill huge venues with thousands of deaf partygoers from all over the world. And an exhibition of deaf art (Deaf Wish) is on show this week at London's Woburn Gallery.
This is just a sliver of the deaf world that has led Garfield and Lichy to view their daughter's deafness not as something that needs to be fixed, but as a passport to inclusion in a rich and varied culture. Perhaps, then, it is not so surprising that they have taken the controversial step of refusing hearing aids for Molly, who is now 14 months old.
"We both grew up forced to wear hearing aids. It's pretty awful to have this piece of equipment stuck to your ear from the moment you wake up to last thing at night," says Lichy, who, like many deaf people, discarded his own hearing aids once he reached adulthood. "The first day I stopped wearing my hearing aids I found it quite stressful, as I relied on them so much. But by the fifth day, I noticed my memory and concentration were starting to improve, and I felt more connected to myself and peaceful inside. I began to see more colour, light and harmony in my vision. Everything became more alive and vivid."
The couple's stance has been questioned by medical professionals. For Garfield and Lichy, this is all about accepting Molly as she is, rather than trying to remould her into the hearing child she isn't.
When a pregnant mother is asked if she would prefer a boy or a girl, the response is pretty formulaic "I don't mind as long as it's healthy." But what if the expectant mother or father actually preferred it if the baby wasn't "healthy" in the sense that we understand the word, but instead was profoundly deaf?
This is how Paula Garfield, artistic director of the London-based theatre company Deafinitely Theatre, felt when she was expecting her baby daughter, Molly. "When I was pregnant I did hope the baby would be deaf. Obviously, I would have loved a hearing baby equally, but inside, I really hoped she would be deaf like me."
For Garfield and her partner Tomato Lichy, an artist and writer, the diagnosis that Molly was profoundly deaf was a cause for joy rather than sadness. "When the doctor told us she was deaf I really wanted to smile, but I felt I shouldn't because the medical staff obviously thought deafness was a problem. Once we got home we celebrated though."
So, why? The answer, Lichy argues, lies in language. "Being deaf is not about being disabled, or medically incomplete it's about being part of a linguistic minority. We're proud, not of the medical aspect of deafness, but of the language we use and the community we live in. We're delighted that is something our daughter can share as she grows up."
Taking into account the widest spectrum of hearing impairment from slightly hard of hearing to profoundly deaf the UK's Royal National Institute for the Deaf estimates that out of a total population of 60 million, close to 9 million people in Britain have some degree of hearing loss. Around 55 per cent of Britons over 60 have some degree of hearing loss compared to just 2 per cent of young adults.
According to UK disability campaigners, somewhere between 30,000 and 70,000 deaf people use British Sign Language (BSL) as their first or preferred means of communication. Most of them will have either lost their hearing through illness such as meningitis in childhood, or, like Garfield and Lichy, have been born with congenital deafness to hearing parents.
For the couple, it is very much Deaf with a capital D, denoting their identity within a cultural group, rather than a medical aggregate of people with less hearing than the majority.
British Sign Language, with its own complex vocabulary, regional dialects and syntax, is one aspect of this culture. And deaf people aren't lonely, lifeless individuals who lie awake at night lamenting the tragedy that they can't hear the birds sing. In fact, Lichy laughs, "deafies" (a term many of the signing deaf community have reclaimed to describe themselves) "are the deepest sleepers around." No cockerel crowing, drunken shouting or Audi alarm will keep deaf people from their slumber.
In Lichy's view, deafness is not about loss, it's about gain. "If only people knew about the deaf community, our rich culture and history, our parties and the closeness and pride that we feel in our shared identity. Our language is so colourful, so alive. That's our sound, that's our music."
There are more than 300 deaf social clubs across the UK and three universities (Bristol, Wolverhampton and Central Lancashire) that have academic centres for Deaf Studies and BSL.
A specialist mail-order bookshop (Forest Books) stocks more than 1,000 titles about sign language, deaf issues, history and culture. There are two terrestrial TV magazine shows, both presented in BSL by deaf presenters, and a deaf drama, "Switch" (which Garfield stars in) which has just finished its fourth series on BBC TV.
Deaf DJ and club promoter Troy Lee organizes regular deaf raves that fill huge venues with thousands of deaf partygoers from all over the world. And an exhibition of deaf art (Deaf Wish) is on show this week at London's Woburn Gallery.
This is just a sliver of the deaf world that has led Garfield and Lichy to view their daughter's deafness not as something that needs to be fixed, but as a passport to inclusion in a rich and varied culture. Perhaps, then, it is not so surprising that they have taken the controversial step of refusing hearing aids for Molly, who is now 14 months old.
"We both grew up forced to wear hearing aids. It's pretty awful to have this piece of equipment stuck to your ear from the moment you wake up to last thing at night," says Lichy, who, like many deaf people, discarded his own hearing aids once he reached adulthood. "The first day I stopped wearing my hearing aids I found it quite stressful, as I relied on them so much. But by the fifth day, I noticed my memory and concentration were starting to improve, and I felt more connected to myself and peaceful inside. I began to see more colour, light and harmony in my vision. Everything became more alive and vivid."
The couple's stance has been questioned by medical professionals. For Garfield and Lichy, this is all about accepting Molly as she is, rather than trying to remould her into the hearing child she isn't.