Idk. my hoh story?

[Ian Luna]

Hi everyone! It’s late and I should've been studying for my midterm but I just had to post here. IDK if anyone's going to read this lol.

I've been hard of hearing all my life. I'm not too sure the details on how - but I know that I was born a premature baby to two amazing parents who were musicians. Early on - my parents were concerned that I was extremely hyperactive as a toddler. I was diagnosed with ADHD, but doctors thought it might have been my difficulty in hearing.

The earliest memory I have of struggling with hearing was in the 1st grade when my hearing suddenly dropped and I couldn't hear anything. I remember sitting in class when suddenly I couldn't hear the substitute teacher calling me and saying things to me. I remember being so scared and confused. The entire class was staring at me, some were laughing, and some were pointing to gesture at me. I don't remember what happened then but I vaguely remember being in the doctor's hospital that night. It had to do with my left ear being underdeveloped and infected? I'm not too sure - but I remember I had 4 surgeries for my ear. One was to drain my left ear of fluid, and the others I can’t remember what for.

My left ear was always the weak ear, the underdeveloped ear that never matured as a result of my premature birth at 6 months and 3 weeks. My entire life I relied on my right ear to hear people. Although my left ear was the weak one - my hearing on my right suffered. Something to do about bilateral hearing...? I'm not sure. Anyway after my surgeries that year, I finally got hearing aids. I remember being so happy and giddy about being able to hear more.

I wore my hearing aids day and night - I wore them to church, I wore them to the playground, I wore them to school. That’s when I began to become ashamed of my hearing aids. Every year until middle school, kids would point and laugh at my ears. They would call me “grandpa” or they would try to whisper behind me to see if I could hear them. All the popular, smart kids started to make fun of me. This is when I started wearing my hearing aids less, and began to make an effort to hide them in front of my classmates. It was impossible. How could you hide these massive, beige things resting on top of your ear with a yellow-ish tubes sticking into your ear. They were sweaty, sticky and obvious. So I stopped wearing them at school.

It was about third grade when I finally stopped wearing my hearing aids. I was in a “gifted” class they called “GATE” class – an advanced class for those who were high performing, sort of like an AP class in high school. I struggled to hear in class, my grades dropped, and I had detention every week. Can you imagine? A deaf, ADHD kid running around in a gifted class – it’s like I didn’t belong there. That’s when I started feeling like I didn’t fit in. I’m Filipino-American, but I didn’t fit in with the Filipino’s at school because I didn’t speak Tagalog (both my parents spoke a different dialect and I grew up with that dialect). I didn’t fit in with the cool kids because I was the kid that wore hearing aids. I didn’t fit in with the smart kids because I was failing class. I didn’t fit in with the Latino kids because I was Asian.

I was a lonely kid – so I would always just end up reading books on my own. It was around this time that I started appreciating books, movies, TV shows, etc. I was obsessed with reading and books. I was always by myself - so to have fun I would write about things. I don’t know if my ADHD had anything to do with it – but I was very, VERY imaginative as a kid. I was the kind of kid that would talk and sing out loud, play in my own imaginary world, and lose myself on the playground. I had so many ideas for stories and so many poems that I wrote as a kid. One of them was about a deaf brother and sister (I have an older sister) who were able to travel to other worlds and do anything they wanted. Lul.

Anyway – as a result of my obsession with reading and writing I began to bring up my grades in reading, writing and comprehension. I ruled at book reports and spelling quizzes; although, I had to have the teacher repeat the word at least 50 times. Math on the other hand was difficult for me - you had to explain to a hard-of-hearing kid with very short attention span the multiplication table and fractions. I hated fractions. Usually the teacher lectured about math and then had you do problems on your own – I never knew what was going on or what the teacher said during these lectures. I am 23 years old today and I still cannot understand my professors during lectures. You could only imagine the panic that ensued every time the teacher said, “Okay, go ahead and try it on your own.” Try what? What the fuck is going on?

A teacher would call on me and ask me something - no response. I just see the teacher staring at me, and eventually everyone’s head turning towards me. Did the teacher just ask a question?? Is she talking to me?? I would usually turn red and whisper, “What?” to my classmates around me who were laughing and gesturing me to say something. This is the worst feeling – and I still end up in these situations today. The feeling that everyone around you is staring, laughing because you look stupid for not answering or for having such a blank look on your face. What the fuck did the teacher say?

My parents were pretty social, fun and outgoing. They were musicians and they had tons of friends from the Philippines and in the US. My sister was the same – she was 12 years older than me and she was the popular cheerleader in high school. My immediate family consisted of the most outgoing, fun and obnoxiously loud people. Then there was me. The quiet kid. I was quiet around new people because I was scared that they would find out that I had a hearing problem. I was scared that they would ask a question and I’d look dumb and terrified on the spot. I was scared to play with my parent’s friends’ kids who were my age. I couldn’t do it – it was terrifying.

My parents had played music since they were little. They were basically stars since youth in the place they came from. They had played together since their teen years and with my sister they had formed a band. My father played the piano/keyboard, my mom played the bass and sang backup, and my sister sang lead. “Muzikman: the One-man Band.” They were all amazing vocalists. Not me, fuck that – I’m too shy to even try karaoke in my most drunken moments.

Since I was little, I always helped my dad set up instruments at the gig. We had massive, tower speakers that we would always lug around to every single gig. Anyway – my dad had been gigging for such a long time at this point that his hearing had deteriorated. He knew what I was going through. He would always be frustrated when he couldn’t hear his piano or he couldn’t understand someone in a conversation. English was not his first language – so he became even more frustrated as his hearing deteriorated. I would always have to repeat the other person for him with my hearing aids on. We were a team at times – we were always traveling together. He was my best friend – the first and only friend who understood what I was going through – even if he didn’t acknowledge it out loud. He was always so proud of me – any little accomplishment I achieved, any little thing or hobby I was excited about. He would even brag about some petty ass thing that I was excited about to his friends, like “Hey my son Ian just got a 9/10 on his quiz.” “Ian just got a new toy!” “Ian is learning piano!”

Any little thing, he was so fucking proud of. He spoiled me and took care of me in a way that I could never thank him enough for. I really took him for granted and I regret not spending every single day with him while he was alive. He will never understand what he did for me and how much I appreciate and miss him every single fucking day. I was in college the day he passed away, I lost a huge chunk of my heart. I lost a huge part of my life. I lost my best friend. I lost someone who had an idea what I was going through in our hearing loss. I lost someone who understood me and told me he loved me through his ruffling of my hair – never acknowledging it out loud. He didn’t even make it a year after his diagnosis.

My mom, my sister, my other family members never really understood what was wrong with me or understood how I acted how I acted. They never understood what I was going through, what I went through every day as a kid. The same with my peers and my teachers at school. My teachers were always fed up with me – and I grew accustomed to hating all my teachers. Until high school.

I didn’t think I’d make it to high school. It’s a weird thought – but I was constantly failing classes and getting detentions. I went from gifted kid to absolute loser. It wasn’t until high school that my appreciation for writing came back. I loved my first high school English teacher – and I loved all my English teachers. They allowed me to express myself through writing. Every other class, I hated – especially math. Again in high school, I would keep my hearing aids off – terrified of losing what “reputation” I had left. I mean, itt was high school – a fucking savage time in a savage place. This was no place for me to be wearing a hearing aid and look stupid in front of the girl I crushed so hard on in French class.

French class. Fucking French class. In any language class – you need to participate to get participation points which were part of your grade. I never raised my hand, my teacher hated me and I knew it. I failed that class and had to retake it again. In my retaking French I class, I saw and met the girl of my dreams. It was an unhealthy obsession. Seriously.

 

[Ian Luna]

There were many, MANY situations where I was caught in the “Huh, did you say something?” situation. So many people that I tried to make an effort to avoid because I had made a bad, awkward first impression. So many times when people would ask me something in class only to receive my head nodding stupidly. “Bro, I asked what you got on the exam, wtf?”


I was struggling and failing classes left and right – but I didn’t tell my parents or tell anyone for that matter. I just thought that I was a terrible kid who struggled to learn anything new. On the inside – I loved English, I loved history, and I actually loved math – I just wouldn’t discover that until college. I made an effort to avoid teachers to avoid being called on in class – because I was scared that I wouldn’t hear the question or say something stupid yet again. I made an effort not to seek help because I didn’t want counsellors or teachers knowing that I had a hearing problem.


Exhibit A: Sophomore year, in world history class. I had an old, mean, gruff, and strict Black teacher. She was mean as balls – but actually a sweetheart in private. One time during class, she called my name during a test. “Ian.” I didn’t have my hearing aids on. Everyone started to look up – I looked up but only in confusion. She called me repeatedly. People started staring at me laughing, and then finally a student close to the teacher mentioned that I wore hearing aids. It was an old classmate who remembered that I wore hearing aids back in elementary school. How could you let her know my secret? The teacher asked out loud, “Ian, do you wear hearing aids?”


I replied, “Huh?” The class busted out in the rowdiest laughter ever.


I remember leaving class shaking in embarrassment and anger. I remember fighting off tears as I went home that day. I was failing classes and I was going through the same thing that I went through as a kid. Something had to change – so I finally spoke up and talked to my parents.


I had been doing research and I had found out about hearing aids that were discreet. In-the-Canal hearing aids were hidden inside your ear canal so that no one could notice from far away. They were small, it was the most advanced nanotechnology available at the time, and it was fucking expensive. Even with insurance. My dad was upset because he knew he couldn’t afford it for me – and if he had the money, he would’ve bought them without hesitation.


My parents made decent money and we were covered by decent insurance. These hearing aids were still expensive. After two years of saving, we were finally able to afford them in my senior year of high school. At this point, I’m barely eligible to walk and graduate high school provided I made up for my credits at adult school. It was at this point that I decided that I wanted to do something for my future. I wanted a career and I wanted it in the military. It was a long shot, but ultimately I was denied during pre-screening for the Marines due to pre-existing asthma.


I was devastated. I had been working out, taking strength and conditioning classes as an elective, studying and positioning myself to become a Marine. When I talked to my recruiter – my dreams were shattered. Short-lived dreams anyway.


It was during senior year that I was like “fuck it.” I was going to graduate anyway, so senioritis was in full effect. I was going to have fun in my senior year. I was going to get over getting denied into the Marines. It was also the time for experimenting. Everyone was trying out ecstasy at this time. No one really forced me into it, I just asked someone to get me a pill and I took it. I started doing ecstasy. It made me brave, it made me confident, it made me happier and opened me up to a world that including a more social me. I started going to parties, hanging out with the cool kids, and playing the drums in a metal band. Bad idea – being in a band probably made my hearing worse. I even got a tattoo in German. I’m not even German nor can I read German. (Rammstein lyrics)


The old, shy and nervous me was gone and this new, braver, and more fun Ian was starting to make friends with everyone. I would never endorse illegal activities or substance abuse ever – this is just my telling of my story. When I started doing E, my whole defense mechanism and avoiding people just collapsed and I was a brand new, open and free Ian. I was able to talk to people without fear, without hesitation, and without any preconceptions. I remember taking a pill before class and rolling on E during class with the girl I crushed so hard on in French class. She didn’t notice anything and I tried to keep calm and normal. I was smiling more than usual and feeling giddy – we talked on and on and on. We became friends that year and for a few years after high school, but nothing more. We eventually lost touch.


Strangely, ecstasy was my gateway drug to alcohol, marijuana and eventually coke. My psych now tells me that I might have been trying to self-medicate myself since I wasn’t medicated as a child with ADHD. Something about the chemicals in my brain not balancing themselves so I was easily addicted to drugs. I’m clean now and it’s because of the girl that I meet right after high school. The one. THE one.


It was a month after I graduated high school and the feelings of joy, freedom and ultimate bliss were still strong. I was still talking and hanging out with my crush. I was hanging out with friends, free of any fear of miscommunicating or mishearing things. I had accepted my hard of hearing condition and began wearing my hearing aids more freely as a result of this. I just wish I had this confidence earlier.


My cousin and I were working on writing music during the summer after I graduated, when she came out of nowhere. An old family friend had called us up and asked us to watch his daughter and to show her around the city. I was confused – because I never recalled this family friend having a daughter let alone a partner to conceive said-daughter. She was his daughter, from a previous relationship years before I met him. She lived with her mom and her stepdad.

In England.

 

[Ian Luna]

I remember meeting her for the first time – strangely we had our first meeting recorded on video. I had been expecting a little girl that I was going to baby sit, as I did for my sister’s daughters. I did not expect a tall, gorgeous girl two years younger than me. To be honest, I’m still dumbfounded about when we met.


I remember just absolutely dropping everything – from the music, to meeting up with my crush, to joining the Marines, to college. Everything was just about her. Her eyes, her silly ass laugh, her soft voice, her intelligence, did I mention her eyes? At the time she wanted to be an art student, and she showered me with her knowledge of arts, fashion, music, everything. There were times when I didn’t understand her due to her accent and my HOH – but that didn’t matter because we awkwardly laughed it off.


She went back to England and we kept in touch. It went from short Skype sessions late at night to Skype sessions that would end for days – we wouldn’t hang up the call and just left each other at the computer (note the difference in time). We would text each other, message each other, and call each other and I could understand her perfectly because it wasn’t face to face. We were able to communicate everything, talk about everything and she became my best friend. We started dating a year later and we had been together for four years. A long-distance relationship for four, long and hard years. In that time, we grew up together and went through so much together despite being far away from each other. We saw each other during the summers when she’d come down to visit and I’d come up to visit her in England. I absolutely loved her.


The struggles in our relationship started early on – and I could see the signs. Years of my keeping to myself and internalizing everything was already straining us early in the relationship. I had learned to keep everything to myself due to my fear of basically socializing with anyone. When I would be upset or mad about something, I wouldn’t tell her and it would erupt later into an argument. It would take me a long time to change that, and I still have yet to learn.


We had many arguments – much of which was due to miscommunication and really, just differences in our cultures. British people naturally talk sarcastic, witty and matter-of-factly (the tones and inflection patterns) – it translated over as cold, rough and “bitchy” to me. We both wanted to change each other and see ourselves in the other person so bad – but it wasn’t working out. We had so many huge arguments – most of which ended up with my outburst and destruction of something valuable in the house. She made me realize how inverted, un-socialized and childish I was being – but I couldn’t change because that is how I had always been. Whenever something bad would happen to me at school, I would go home and take it out on anything around me. As a kid, my classmates laughed at me miscommunicating someone – bye-bye favorite toy that I’m going to smash at home. Imagine that in someone the size of a tiny fucking bear – it’s terrifying.




I loved her – more than anything in the world. And I made her cry, so much. I tried repeatedly to break us off, more times than I can count – but she would forgive me and insist we make things work. I loved her so much and she deserved better than that. She was someone who made me better, made me grow as an adult, made me realize my potential, and made me who I am today. I absolutely love her for that.


Shortly after my dad died, I went to visit her in England. I wanted to forget about my dad dying and so I wanted to spend time with her that Christmas. I was used to her accent so I was able to understand her most of the times – aside from when she was quiet. She would get mad at me for not understanding her at times, but I couldn’t do much about that. English people on the other hand, were a completely different experience. I felt like they were speaking a different language – but no, we’re in the fucking motherland. Huge variety of accents, fast and rapid-paced responses, to a HOH person. I even struggled to understand her stepdad. But she was with me every single step of the way.


I was there for two months until I had to leave. That’s the worst part about long-distance relationships. The leaving part. The airport. The heavy, burden of your chest sinking to the floor as you approach LAX or Heathrow. The first time I brought her back to LAX, I was with my dad and my cousin. I kissed her quickly because we were awkward and we had just started this relationship but I wish we had kissed a little bit longer. I remember watching her go up the escalators to her gate, and tearing up. Remember how I said a bunch of people staring, laughing and pointing at you for being HOH was the worst feeling? Wrong. It was watching her leave. It felt like the most gut-wrenching, nauseating, twisted fucked up feeling inside of you.


If I had known that the last time I was going to see her when I left in England, I would’ve called off the taxi, run back to her dorm and hug her so fucking tightly in the hallway. I would have kissed her and never let her go. There was a moment when we were walking back from Tesco’s to her dorm room, and we took a shortcut through the fields. It was pitch black and the cold wind sliced my skin. I stared at the night sky hoping to immortalize that moment. I remember that night like it was yesterday. She grabbed my hands, sternly saying, “Ian, let’s go! I’m cold.”


When I was home I was depressed. It was the first time I had been home without my dad and without her. When I had left home, we were constantly holding prayer parties, funeral parties, basically parties for any reason in memory of my dad. When I had got home, it was just me and my mom. In an incredibly quiet house. No hearing aids on. No loud sound of my dad blaring his keyboard, no sound of prayers mourning of his death, no sound of her waking next to me in bed. No sound, just the soft ringing of the tinnitus that had hit me earlier. Nothing.


Weeks later we had a few arguments and I watched her cry again – over Skype or Facetime, I can’t remember. It’s impossibly hard to watch her cry knowing that I can’t say sorry, hug and kiss her, and console her with some chocolates, ice cream and a movie. It was that moment that I knew what I had to do. I did the hardest things in my entire life – I broke it off.

I wanted her to get over me and find someone who could be there for me, who could be more for her, who could physically be there and console her. It’s such an awful fucking thought, but the thought of her bearing with me for a few more years of us in college was difficult. The thought of her being with someone who could make her smile and wipe her tears away was even more unbearable; but, it was someone who could understand her, communicate with her better and be more emotionally stable for her. I did not sleep, I drank and I did the most I could do to absolutely wreck my body.


It wasn’t until months later, I remember something my dad said. There was one time we had another fight while she was visiting and I was absolutely blowing up, I left and drove off. I disappeared with my Jeep. I came home late and I was sobbing – and my dad came out to the door. “Don’t hurt her, just be there for her. Be nice. Protect her.” My dad had no idea what we were arguing about and didn’t understand my side of the story but I realized – that wasn’t the point. I had to protect her and love her. I threw everything about our argument out that night and made up with her.


“Protect her.”


That still rings with me today. I justify every single day without her as protecting her. I regret every single fight we had, and there isn’t a day that I don’t miss her. Or my dad.


It’s just me and my mom now, us against the world. She recently fought off a cancer-scare and my sister moved in with us after her divorce. I’m stuck in a house with my mom, my sister, and her 3 little daughters. And her female Boxer dog. That’s 6 women. 6 loud women that I wake up to every morning as I get up for class at CSULB. 3 of the loudest, raunchiest nieces that I raised to be like me (not really). I guess I’m not really alone anymore, but I know now to be there for all 6 women. To protect them and to love them unconditionally.


There is another “her” now. We met shortly after I broke it off with the ex. She helped me get over the ex and to forget about the pain. We go on adventures, get pissed drunk at punk concerts, and we take care of each other. Granted – I still can’t hear her at times and she gets frustrated too, but she’s learned to put up with me. I appreciate her for that.


I’m nearly done with college and I’m sitting at my desk right now, typing this up instead of studying for my international business exam. I saw this forum when I googled “hearing aids problems” after having some troubles during my group meeting earlier today. I thought I should just share me. I've been meaning to learn ASL and maybe learn about the HOH/Deaf community? I wonder if its not too late to learn and if I would find a place where I'd belong?

 

[Tetracyclone]

Good of you to share so much (unload). College might have been a lot easier if you'd gone to the disability office (assuming your school has one) so they could help with translation, note taking, and other services often offered to the HOH student. Use this site to learn about technologies that can assist you. Also the posts of working people here can help guide you on how to succeed in the hearing world using various "accommodations".

I wish you well in your journey of self-examination. Learning to tell the truth to ourselves is a life-long challenge. Today's truth will come to look like self-delusion one day. That is just life.

And wear your damned hearing aids. Your brains ability to process language will already be impaired from all that time not using them but you can regain some.

 

[deafdyke]

Welcome! You have a very interesting story!!! Of course it's not too late to learn and of course you belong here!!!! Your story is so familiar!

 

[Reba]

 

[DeafNerdMommy]

Welcome

 

[Beowulf]

Good of you to share so much (unload). College might have been a lot easier if you'd gone to the disability office (assuming your school has one) so they could help with translation, note taking, and other services often offered to the HOH student. Use this site to learn about technologies that can assist you. Also the posts of working people here can help guide you on how to succeed in the hearing world using various "accommodations".

I wish you well in your journey of self-examination. Learning to tell the truth to ourselves is a life-long challenge. Today's truth will come to look like self-delusion one day. That is just life.

And wear your damned hearing aids. Your brains ability to process language will already be impaired from all that time not using them but you can regain some.

Impaired???
*biting my tongue to freeze my fingers*

 

[nazziegirl]

Please do wear your hearing aids, and don't feel embarrassed. Just be yourself and people will like you for who you are. Learning how to sign can open up a whole new way of communicating and looking at the world. I did not learn to sign until I was in college, but I am glad that I did.