Chugga...chugga...choo-choo!

I like freight trains.  They chug along at an easy pace so the rest of the cars can keep up. I don’t even mind when I catch one while running late.  Like this morning while heading to church, Alex and I caught a train.  We counted the cars – 114 of them.  

Trains act as life’s pause button to a destination.

There are moments when I wish that I had a pause button while trying to read lips.  Aside from the fact that it is exhausting to lip read for long periods of time, most people just aren’t conscious of how they talk, or how their lips move.  And why should they be? Sound is taken for granted in the hearing world.  I know this – I used to live there.  

Lip reading without sound requires complete attention on the speaker.  If the speaker is animated, moving, and using their hands to talk…well…my ADD kicks in.  While I’m trying to watch the speech, I’m aware of the movements too.  My brain says, “Ooo! A sparkly!”   My attention is drawn to arms thrown wide, or the toss of hair.

And I’ve lost the conversation.

A pause button would be nice.  Maybe every couple of sentences I’d use it so I could quickly mull over what was said; so I’m sure that I’m still on the same topic thread and not wondering about something that I think I heard…like Aunt Velma’s painted dashboard, or why all of a sudden we’re discussing chinchillas.

No chinchillas were discussed today.

My daughters probably would appreciate a pause button too.  I’ve missed some of the important things in conversations, letting something go that should have had more discussion and over-reacting over something that wasn't said.  Misunderstanding = Not my finest moments.  Just ask them...they will tell you!

A pause might have prevented unnecessary shouting matches or some of the frustration that accompanies me saying, “What?” for the twelfth time.

Right now my hearing is pretty much off the charts.  If I'm not looking at someone talking - I don't know that they are talking.  I miss the whole “speech banana” and some other important sounds.   I found this awesome audiogram chart that gives an idea of where certain sounds register according to loudness and pitch.

And here is about where my hearing is today:

The red is my right ear and the blue is the left.  Some of this may come back after I’ve completed the current set of medications to help clear up some sterile fluid in my ears.  Like anything else in life, there are no guarantees. 

Which brings me back to freight trains and life’s little pauses.  Whether you are hearing or deaf, the listener, the one lip reading, or the one doing the talking – who wouldn’t appreciate a small pause?  It doesn’t need to be as long as a 114 car freight train, but long enough to smile, nod and gather a thought before continuing on to your destination.

After all, what’s the point of an engine hurrying on if the rest of the cargo is lost?

<3 

Every journey has a beginning

Progressive hearing loss means learning to compensate for what is lost.  When the television is too soft, the volume goes up.  Speech is no longer easy to hear so visual cues are used; lipreading is my saving grace.  Nodding and smiling is easier than asking someone to repeat what was said for the sixth time.

Yet, as long as I hear sound, I thought I could hear.

Until now.

I drove to work Wednesday morning and thought of all the sounds that have been snatched from my world - one by one.  The sound of crickets in the summer. The trill of a songbird. The fire detector's high pitched shrill. The soft hum of a fan. A child's lilting laughter.  The ringing phone.  A bell on a bicycle.  The voices of friends.  Conversations at work.   Music.  

However, I could still function in a hearing world.  I had different scenarios to handle different situations.  Email made functioning at work simple.  With the volume blasting, I could talk on the phone with someone whose voice I knew well.  Texting made personal communication and checking up on kids a snap.

Then a few weeks ago my hearing started to change, almost like the runner that I wish that I could be.  This new change took off, sprinting towards a finish line where there would be no cheering - only silence.  And this intrigued me and frightened me on so many levels.  I was curious, would I be shoved into a world devoid of sound, after spending almost 39 years hearing?

Now I'm in a quasi deaf state.  I hear some sounds - odd sounds.  I can't hear the train or the people on the train - but I can hear the computer voice announce a stop.  I hear an occasional thunk or thwack or sneeze.  Sometimes I hear a far off voice that sounds like it has been submerged under water, locked away in a room, and buried underground.  And I hear the tinnitus.  That evil ringing has been keeping me company since I was 12.  I wonder if that will go away when the rest of the sounds fade?  I'd be OK with that.

So, I'm on a journey to explore becoming a cochlear implant (CI) candidate.  My ENT is hopeful and the testing will continue.  So many factors, so many decisions, so many choices....not one easy one in the bunch.  I always said that I wouldn't choose a CI because I didn't want to lose the natural sound of the world.  What I am hearing is not natural.

I may yearn to be able to laugh at a joke without getting cues from others laughing, and to once again understand what others say and contribute to conversations.  I even long to finally hear my co-worker's voice. Beyond all of that, I have learned that there are three sounds far more important than hearing in a natural state.

Brittany, Victoria, and Alexandra.

I want to hear my daughters again.  I'd like to hear them laugh and sing.  One day (years and years and years from now...right?) I'd like to hear my grandchildren laugh and sing and call me Nana.

I want to live with sound.

Welcome to my journey.   Thanks so much for coming - it is going to be quite a ride!

<3