Elephants and the Hard of Hearing
I think we all know the importance of choosing our words carefully.
But what happens when the words spoken are not the words heard?
Miscommunication abounds between the worlds of the hearing and the hard of hearing.
I fit into the latter group and have experienced a few myself. Put aside the misconceptions
that occur when people believe I am ignoring them…there is enough confusion
when I am looking at them, listening to the best of my ability and,
“I could have sworn you said…”
A year ago, shortly before I got my hearing aids, I was standing in line at the grocery store,
speaking to a casual acquaintance when he asked,
“Have you seen parole lately?”
Parole? Parole? Several thoughts went through my mind as I began to absorb the word,
the first being that he must have me confused with someone else.
I didn’t want to answer indignantly, “I’ve never been on parole before!” because
what if he had been on parole? What if he thought we had been on parole together?
Totally lost, I asked hesitantly, “What did you say?” He looked annoyed…maybe because
of my bewildered facial expression, maybe because I was taking so long to answer.
“Have you seen Pearl lately?”
Ooh! Pearl, our mutual friend…not parole!
My mother’s cousin, also hard of hearing, tells of visiting a church. The minister captured
her full attention when he started his sermon by telling the congregation,
“Today, I’m going to speak about elephants.”
She was intrigued, thinking, “I’ve never heard a sermon about elephants before!
I’ve always liked elephants...this ought to be interesting.”
For the next hour, she waited to hear more about the elephants but he didn’t mention them
again. Oh, he talked about other things, like saying the right word at the right time, but
never even alluded to elephants. At the end of the hour, disappointed,
she picked up her bulletin and saw the sermon title,
“Eloquence.”
It is here that I ponder what actually happens to the spoken word before it falls into my
ears. Yes, our local ENT was kind enough to show me a diagram of an ear and explain the
intricacies of its inner parts. I looked at the poster and saw that I have something called a
hammer in my ear and that the cochlea is shaped like a snail. What was not pictured is the
funhouse mirror effect of words being twisted, distorted, then sent on to my poor brain to
be processed. The poster didn’t show the myriad of mystified faces trying to understand
why I gave an answer that didn’t match the question. Also not pictured was my daughter’s
confused face, trying to understand that someday she and I might lose the
spontaneity of communication that can happen almost anywhere.
There was no informational pamphlet telling me how to answer her questions…
“Mom, will you be able to hear my children someday?”
I saw labels on various parts of the ear, but there was no label
for the emotion of losing the sound of my children’s laughter.
Before being diagnosed with a hearing loss, the biggest misunderstanding happening in
our house was between me and my fourteen year old daughter. Most teens go through a
stage of rebelling against their parents and I was prepared for some new behaviors.
However, her new way of speaking drove me crazy! “Speak clearly,” I told her countless
times. “You’re mumbling and people won’t pay attention to what you say if they can’t
understand you.” An English major, I stressed the importance of words and their proper
enunciation. I worried about her slurred speech and how it might hold her back.
Coming home from the specialist with that first audiogram in my hand, I sat down with my
daughter and told her the news…I had a rare form of hearing loss. My hearing would
continue to decrease until it was gone. There was no way to predict how long I would be
able to hear. Hearing aids could bump my hearing back up to a normal level for a time, but
would only postpone the eventual deafness. That was the bad news, I told her, trying to
lighten the mood by telling her the good news: that she would never be bothered again
about mumbling. She hugged me for a long time and finally said that she didn't mind
speaking clearly if her voice sounded like mumbling to me.
I held her, thinking of her eloquent, empathetic words, wondering at her willingness to
overlook the mini-lectures of proper speech. What had I done to deserve such
graciousness? We have such a great relationship, what would this do to us?
Wouldn't these teen years carry enough distance between mother and daughter?
How much more would be created by a hearing loss? These are the considerations that
are too painful for speculation. Maybe that’s why I want to laugh at how my ears
misinterpret a sentence, because I can focus on either the loss or the laughter.
I choose the laughter.
I choose it because this loss is not mine alone…we are all losing my hearing.
I choose laughter because I am aware that as I go through this,
I am teaching my children how to grieve, how to deal with loss.
Hearing loss is a complicated thing.
If you don’t have it, you can just imagine how it must be…and that’s all you can do.
If you do have hearing loss, may you be so fortunate as to have supportive family and
friends such as mine. If you want to know what life with a hearing loss is like, you need to
know that it’s not easy, that those who are hard of hearing expend a lot of emotional
energy worrying about such things as elephants and parole.
We can only ask that those who are interacting with us will be patient
through the many misunderstandings that are bound to occur.
Don't get frustrated.
You have the ability to speak a little louder and a little more clearly for our sake.
We can only hear as well as we can hear.
You can expect a few misheard words if we're not wearing hearing aids.
Any casual comment carries the potential of being altered when it falls on semi-deafened
ears. Enjoy the feedback when I tell you what I thought you said or I answer you
incorrectly. Laugh with me…laugh, but don’t ridicule.
There’s a fine line between these two responses that might require
some tactful elephants.
In good company...other Meniere's Syndrome patients include:
Emily Dickinson, Jonathon Swift, Vincent Van Gogh, & Reformer Martin Luther
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