The night before
I was helping a friend move house this weekend which involved cleaning his kitchen cupboards with copious amounts of bleach solution. It's a miracle I didn't pass out from the fumes! It was a long day because even though I have managed OK with just my right hearing aid for the last four weeks, it has been largely because I have interacted with a narrow range of people. Or I have been able to anticipate what was being said. And this weekend I couldn't. It was so sad to be told, "You don't understand most of what I say, do you?" by someone who I have known for 12 years through my husband. Yes, I understand them sometimes but typically if it's one to one, or I have initiated the conversation and therefore can anticipate what might be said. Otherwise, it's the strangest feeling of hearing a foreign language. I can hear the voice, how it sounds low and gruff and the rhythm of it, and how they say certain words, but unless the topic is clear then it's indecipherable. I found myself relying on Peter to relay the gist of conversation from time to time so I could make the odd contribution but I found myself sitting back, or sitting and watching two great guys make quick witted jokes and it was pretty shit. And so yes, I ended up sinking back down into that place of pathetic self pitying misery.
I know I'm lucky to be able to hear music with my hearing aid, I know I'm lucky I have a job that I love, I'm lucky I have a voice that enables me to communicate and maintain a grip on the hearing world. I'm lucky to have a husband who has been nothing short of incredible and a small group of friends who get me, just as I am, even when I am morose and self-deprecating. However, it is really hard. I realise this isn't the update post most people do but I'm trying to be truthful.
So tomorrow is the big day. It's terrifying. I swing from excitement to nerves to an intense fear that I have somehow dislodged the electrode or moved the implant. I get strange prickles on my scalp, and it still feels strange to sleep on it. If I push the inner skin of my ear, I feel some sensation inside which then panics me that the implant has moved. One thing that strikes me most, is the fact that when I shower, I can no longer hear the water rushing into and over my left ear whereas I can in my right. I can't hear birdsong anymore, and some lyrics to my favourite songs have become indistinct. But I have been able to get by.
Tomorrow is the beginning of a new me. Literally. I will have to chose to make the implant work. It won't just magically make me hear. I will have each electrode tested by the Lead of the Dept, I will hopefully hear each electrode beep and set it to a comfortable level. I am told it is a lot like a hearing test, you know - hear a beep and then click the button. Each of the 12 electrodes will be tested and set. After the adjustments, they'll all be switched on together. I have been told to expect nothing, that it likely will seem like the worse day of my life. I have to keep my expectations low. I know from experience that using my left hearing aid alone, that few sounds made sense. As a result, my brain will physically have to map and rewire itself to firstly perceive the different input, and then to associate it with a thousand sources in the environment. My brain will perceive pitches it has never heard before. I'm nothing if not determined. I will make it work.
To make it work, I have to change. I've spent a lifetime avoiding most social places, simply because the impossible task of trying to understand speech between people in groups made me panic. That sensation that your heart will explode and the overwhelming urge to run out has made me leave places many times. I cannot relax in most places, I get easily overwhelmed if too much is happening and I don't understand what is happening. I start to focus on the vibe of a place, the way people are acting, smiling or sharing a look, and then because I cannot follow what is being said, I find myself guessing what is being said and jumping to all sorts of conclusions. It's such an ingrained response, but it's one I have to try and change with my new chance at hearing better.
It's a bit like severing my past version of myself. The self who didn't really know how to make friends, who, according to my teachers in many reports, preferred to play alone or sit and read a book. I developed strategies, I formed good friendships with maybe one or two other similarly minded and quiet people, I never really understood how to get into the groups of girls who spent their time giggling and to all appearances having a great time. Parties? Didn't go to them. Going out with guys and hanging out outside of home with groups of people? No. I was solely focused on learning because that is how I was going to thrive. It got me here, but I wonder what I would tell that girl who never ate in the canteen, who spent lunchtimes working as a monitor in the quiet library. I would tell her to be a bit braver and less serious. But then I think that I'm being too hard on myself. This is all very rambling.
But I will have to change, and it starts tomorrow.
I know I'm lucky to be able to hear music with my hearing aid, I know I'm lucky I have a job that I love, I'm lucky I have a voice that enables me to communicate and maintain a grip on the hearing world. I'm lucky to have a husband who has been nothing short of incredible and a small group of friends who get me, just as I am, even when I am morose and self-deprecating. However, it is really hard. I realise this isn't the update post most people do but I'm trying to be truthful.
So tomorrow is the big day. It's terrifying. I swing from excitement to nerves to an intense fear that I have somehow dislodged the electrode or moved the implant. I get strange prickles on my scalp, and it still feels strange to sleep on it. If I push the inner skin of my ear, I feel some sensation inside which then panics me that the implant has moved. One thing that strikes me most, is the fact that when I shower, I can no longer hear the water rushing into and over my left ear whereas I can in my right. I can't hear birdsong anymore, and some lyrics to my favourite songs have become indistinct. But I have been able to get by.
Tomorrow is the beginning of a new me. Literally. I will have to chose to make the implant work. It won't just magically make me hear. I will have each electrode tested by the Lead of the Dept, I will hopefully hear each electrode beep and set it to a comfortable level. I am told it is a lot like a hearing test, you know - hear a beep and then click the button. Each of the 12 electrodes will be tested and set. After the adjustments, they'll all be switched on together. I have been told to expect nothing, that it likely will seem like the worse day of my life. I have to keep my expectations low. I know from experience that using my left hearing aid alone, that few sounds made sense. As a result, my brain will physically have to map and rewire itself to firstly perceive the different input, and then to associate it with a thousand sources in the environment. My brain will perceive pitches it has never heard before. I'm nothing if not determined. I will make it work.
To make it work, I have to change. I've spent a lifetime avoiding most social places, simply because the impossible task of trying to understand speech between people in groups made me panic. That sensation that your heart will explode and the overwhelming urge to run out has made me leave places many times. I cannot relax in most places, I get easily overwhelmed if too much is happening and I don't understand what is happening. I start to focus on the vibe of a place, the way people are acting, smiling or sharing a look, and then because I cannot follow what is being said, I find myself guessing what is being said and jumping to all sorts of conclusions. It's such an ingrained response, but it's one I have to try and change with my new chance at hearing better.
It's a bit like severing my past version of myself. The self who didn't really know how to make friends, who, according to my teachers in many reports, preferred to play alone or sit and read a book. I developed strategies, I formed good friendships with maybe one or two other similarly minded and quiet people, I never really understood how to get into the groups of girls who spent their time giggling and to all appearances having a great time. Parties? Didn't go to them. Going out with guys and hanging out outside of home with groups of people? No. I was solely focused on learning because that is how I was going to thrive. It got me here, but I wonder what I would tell that girl who never ate in the canteen, who spent lunchtimes working as a monitor in the quiet library. I would tell her to be a bit braver and less serious. But then I think that I'm being too hard on myself. This is all very rambling.
But I will have to change, and it starts tomorrow.
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