Miss-Delectable
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NewsSun.com
Pennie Fuller, 45, was born with auditory nerve deafness. That means she cannot hear, and will probably never be able to do so.
That fact doesn't bother her. She has accepted her lack of hearing as being a part of God's larger purpose. She is content to wait until she's in Heaven, when she knows she will hear perfectly.
Her eldest brother, on the other hand, who was born with the same condition, would be first in line for any breakthrough that allowed him to hear.
The siblings reflect the diversity of opinions among the deaf.
For people who have never heard, suddenly being able to do so can be overwhelming, even distracting to the point of a mental breakdown. Hearing people learn early on to block out what they don't want to hear.
Some deaf people consider their deafness a blessing, because it allows for intense concentration. It also makes them far more observant than the average hearing person.
Fuller, for example, drives a car legally as long as she has outside rear view mirrors in addition to the interior. Totally focused on the road and fellow drivers, she is often aware of emergency vehicles sooner than hearing individuals.
She worked 18 years with the U.S. Postal Service, running complicated sorting machines of several different types. Again, the ability to close everything out made her a highly efficient worker.
Unfortunately, her world turned upside down when she slipped and fell one day (not at work) and badly smashed her knee and shoulder. It meant she could no longer work on her feet, and the shoulder injury made it impossible to operate the machines. She had to take early retirement and lives on disability.
She pointed out that before the accident she did not consider herself disabled.
But that isn't what this story is about.
Where Fuller has difficulties is living in a hearing world among people who don't understand and sometimes irrationally fear her.
"Highlands County is in the Dark Ages" when it comes to the deaf, she said via sign language interpreted by her mother, Georgia Jones.
The most important point she wanted to make is that deaf people are no different from anyone else. They simply don't hear.
Maybe, she thinks, it's because of the undifferentiated sounds a non-hearing person makes, or the mystery of sign language, but she has met too many people who have no idea how to respond to her and think of her as simple-minded or diseased or just drunk, rude and stuck-up -- in any case, a person to be avoided.
Fuller outlined many of the hurdles she faces in life, most as a result of community ignorance and lack of support.
What causes frustration is that most of those problems would fade away if only she had regular access to sign language interpreters.
For example, new technology, by way of Web-cams and sign language interpreters, means she can now keep in touch with friends and conduct business over the phone. Fax machines also have made her life easier.
The new technologies allow her brother to have his own business, a cabinet shop in North Carolina called Deafinitely Cabinets.
Those technologies have an added importance because reading lips is much more difficult than most people think. Many movies greatly exaggerate the ability, Fuller said.
This means that interpreters are as important to the deaf as they are to the hearing people with whom they need to communicate.
And there is the crux of her problem -- a lack of interpreters in the county, despite the fact that South Florida Community College offers sign language as a foreign language.
Born and raised in Palm Beach County, Fuller and her family had ready access to communication.
She and her brother both graduated from the St. Augustine School for the Deaf. She has strong skills -- she's even taught her dog to read sign language -- but they are useless if there is no one who can understand what she signs.
Jones, who also has two hearing children, knew nothing about deafness when Lee, her eldest, was born.
"I noticed he didn't react to his name as an infant," she said, adding that he was diagnosed at eight months.
Her first reaction was to try to find a "cure," taking him to hospital after hospital.
When it became clear his condition was permanent, she adjusted to the situation, learning sign language herself, as did her husband, the best he was able.
An unintended consequence of moving to Highlands County, however, is that by default Jones has become her daughter's primary interpreter, a situation that worries both of them as Jones gets older and also doesn't allow Fuller any privacy.
It also happens to be against the law -- a relative may not sign for another in any official capacity.
One of the worst moments in Fuller's life came when she smashed her knee.
Her son, Andrew, is a junior at Sebring High School. He hears, but knows how to sign and was 12 at the time.
Taken to an emergency room in Wellington, the hospital did not provide an interpreter, although according to Fuller there was a sign on the wall announcing their availability. The burden fell on Andrew to do the communicating with the emergency room personnel. That meant he had to view the work being done to his mother, witness her pain and suffering, and still get everything right.
Fuller wants people to know how important it is for the deaf to have access to interpreters, especially in emergency situations.
But it isn't as easy as it sounds. Beyond the issue of having the skill, is who will pay for the service.
Fuller said that in 1984, under the auspices of the Federal Communications Commission, laws were put in place mandating interpreters for the deaf and those who don't speak English.
Currently it falls on physicians to provide for the interpreters, but insurance typically doesn't cover the cost -- unless it is a Workman's Compensation claim. That means the interpreter's fee comes out of the doctor's pocket, and in some cases, like with Medicare, the cost of the interpreter is higher than the fee the doctor will receive to treat the patient, so the doctor has to work for free or even lose money with the patient.
On the other hand, many of the deaf don't have the ability to pay for an interpreter themselves, no matter how urgent the need.
As a result there is confusion, and sometimes ill will that works both ways.
Writing notes back and forth can be helpful, but when it comes to the finer points of how to take a medication, or explaining a pain, notes often aren't enough.
Fuller is hoping that by bringing the situation to people's attention, a discussion will develop that can resolve this difficult conundrum.
Pennie Fuller, 45, was born with auditory nerve deafness. That means she cannot hear, and will probably never be able to do so.
That fact doesn't bother her. She has accepted her lack of hearing as being a part of God's larger purpose. She is content to wait until she's in Heaven, when she knows she will hear perfectly.
Her eldest brother, on the other hand, who was born with the same condition, would be first in line for any breakthrough that allowed him to hear.
The siblings reflect the diversity of opinions among the deaf.
For people who have never heard, suddenly being able to do so can be overwhelming, even distracting to the point of a mental breakdown. Hearing people learn early on to block out what they don't want to hear.
Some deaf people consider their deafness a blessing, because it allows for intense concentration. It also makes them far more observant than the average hearing person.
Fuller, for example, drives a car legally as long as she has outside rear view mirrors in addition to the interior. Totally focused on the road and fellow drivers, she is often aware of emergency vehicles sooner than hearing individuals.
She worked 18 years with the U.S. Postal Service, running complicated sorting machines of several different types. Again, the ability to close everything out made her a highly efficient worker.
Unfortunately, her world turned upside down when she slipped and fell one day (not at work) and badly smashed her knee and shoulder. It meant she could no longer work on her feet, and the shoulder injury made it impossible to operate the machines. She had to take early retirement and lives on disability.
She pointed out that before the accident she did not consider herself disabled.
But that isn't what this story is about.
Where Fuller has difficulties is living in a hearing world among people who don't understand and sometimes irrationally fear her.
"Highlands County is in the Dark Ages" when it comes to the deaf, she said via sign language interpreted by her mother, Georgia Jones.
The most important point she wanted to make is that deaf people are no different from anyone else. They simply don't hear.
Maybe, she thinks, it's because of the undifferentiated sounds a non-hearing person makes, or the mystery of sign language, but she has met too many people who have no idea how to respond to her and think of her as simple-minded or diseased or just drunk, rude and stuck-up -- in any case, a person to be avoided.
Fuller outlined many of the hurdles she faces in life, most as a result of community ignorance and lack of support.
What causes frustration is that most of those problems would fade away if only she had regular access to sign language interpreters.
For example, new technology, by way of Web-cams and sign language interpreters, means she can now keep in touch with friends and conduct business over the phone. Fax machines also have made her life easier.
The new technologies allow her brother to have his own business, a cabinet shop in North Carolina called Deafinitely Cabinets.
Those technologies have an added importance because reading lips is much more difficult than most people think. Many movies greatly exaggerate the ability, Fuller said.
This means that interpreters are as important to the deaf as they are to the hearing people with whom they need to communicate.
And there is the crux of her problem -- a lack of interpreters in the county, despite the fact that South Florida Community College offers sign language as a foreign language.
Born and raised in Palm Beach County, Fuller and her family had ready access to communication.
She and her brother both graduated from the St. Augustine School for the Deaf. She has strong skills -- she's even taught her dog to read sign language -- but they are useless if there is no one who can understand what she signs.
Jones, who also has two hearing children, knew nothing about deafness when Lee, her eldest, was born.
"I noticed he didn't react to his name as an infant," she said, adding that he was diagnosed at eight months.
Her first reaction was to try to find a "cure," taking him to hospital after hospital.
When it became clear his condition was permanent, she adjusted to the situation, learning sign language herself, as did her husband, the best he was able.
An unintended consequence of moving to Highlands County, however, is that by default Jones has become her daughter's primary interpreter, a situation that worries both of them as Jones gets older and also doesn't allow Fuller any privacy.
It also happens to be against the law -- a relative may not sign for another in any official capacity.
One of the worst moments in Fuller's life came when she smashed her knee.
Her son, Andrew, is a junior at Sebring High School. He hears, but knows how to sign and was 12 at the time.
Taken to an emergency room in Wellington, the hospital did not provide an interpreter, although according to Fuller there was a sign on the wall announcing their availability. The burden fell on Andrew to do the communicating with the emergency room personnel. That meant he had to view the work being done to his mother, witness her pain and suffering, and still get everything right.
Fuller wants people to know how important it is for the deaf to have access to interpreters, especially in emergency situations.
But it isn't as easy as it sounds. Beyond the issue of having the skill, is who will pay for the service.
Fuller said that in 1984, under the auspices of the Federal Communications Commission, laws were put in place mandating interpreters for the deaf and those who don't speak English.
Currently it falls on physicians to provide for the interpreters, but insurance typically doesn't cover the cost -- unless it is a Workman's Compensation claim. That means the interpreter's fee comes out of the doctor's pocket, and in some cases, like with Medicare, the cost of the interpreter is higher than the fee the doctor will receive to treat the patient, so the doctor has to work for free or even lose money with the patient.
On the other hand, many of the deaf don't have the ability to pay for an interpreter themselves, no matter how urgent the need.
As a result there is confusion, and sometimes ill will that works both ways.
Writing notes back and forth can be helpful, but when it comes to the finer points of how to take a medication, or explaining a pain, notes often aren't enough.
Fuller is hoping that by bringing the situation to people's attention, a discussion will develop that can resolve this difficult conundrum.