I don’t think of myself as disabled. At least, not until something happens to make me *feel* disabled.
This past week, I was going about my normal day when my left hearing aid wouldn’t stop with the feedback. (Think, microphone squeals, for those with normal hearing. Except, the squeals are right in my ear, painful and annoying). I took out my hearing aid and discovered that the tube that connects the ear piece to the actual hearing aid had split. The hole allowed air to blow in, causing the squealing. (Because MacGyver, the Richard Dean Anderson version, is my hero, I have applied medical tape on it as a temporary fix. It’ll only work for a couple days, but that may be enough to limp through the world until I can get it fixed for real).
The tube itself is plastic, and cheap. It will take all of $20 to replace. $1 for the tube, $19 for the technician to swap it out for me. And, no, I can’t really do it myself because a fitting is required to make sure it sits correctly on my ear. An incorrect fit, and I’ll end up with a blister. On. My. Ear. – Some things you just gotta leave to the pros.
I took my hearing aid to two places last week. Because I wasn’t a client of either place, they wouldn’t help me. I get it, if something happens to the hearing aid when they swap out the tube, that is a liability cost to them … and a very, very expensive mistake to fix. (My hearing aids run about $3,500. Each). This leaves me in a kind of no-man’s-land, because I’m not a client of anyone in Chicago. My last audiologist was in Houston. I really, *really* do not want to fly back to Houston to replace a $20 tube.
Instead, I spent some time shopping around for an audiologist. I found three potential candidates. I’m picky. Working with an audiologist is very personal for me. I’m going to see two of them this coming week. Kind of like speed dating. For hearing. If I don’t like either of them, I’ll try the third. If none of them work, I’ll keep looking. Once I become a client of someone, they’ll fix my hearing aid. I’ll also get a hearing test, which will depress me because it will tell me that I’m more deaf than ever. And I’ll probably get new hearing aids. It’s time.
(For reference, most hearing aids last between 5 and 7 years. I have limped along with my current set for 6. I won't be surprised to be told I need a new pair, just sad that my hearing has worsened to fall outside the optimal range of my current pair).
Until I get it fixed, I will spend approximately a week in the land of the disabled. I do not enjoy visiting said land, even for a short while. It’s annoying. It makes me feel crummy. It highlights all the things I can’t do, and it amplifies all the ways in which the world is set up for hearing people.
… I once had a lady in a wheelchair yell at me because I didn’t get out of her way. I didn’t get out of her way, because I didn’t hear her yelling at me. Her friend pushed me and she flipped me off as she rolled by me. I realized as they passed me what had happened. Are there really that many assholes in the world to warrant that kind of a response? I’m guessing, sadly, yes, there are.
… Do you know the first thing that hearing people say when they feel someone is ignoring them? They say: Are you deaf?!? Why yes, yes I am.
… I missed a flight once after telling the gate person that I was deaf and wouldn’t hear them call it over the intercom, if they could please just signal me with a nod or a point. (This was in the pre-video screens at the gates displaying flights days). When I went up to ask about said flight, they said, “I called it really loud over the intercom.” Sighs. I no longer speak in airports. I sign and write notes. Apparently, that’s the only way people know I’m really deaf. Do people fake this sort of thing? I mean, really?
I could go on, in fact, I could write a whole book about being deaf in a hearing world. Maybe one day I will. For now, I’m just trying to survive my brief stint in the land of the disabled, because I’m only really disabled when the hearing world make me feel as if I am.
This past week, I was going about my normal day when my left hearing aid wouldn’t stop with the feedback. (Think, microphone squeals, for those with normal hearing. Except, the squeals are right in my ear, painful and annoying). I took out my hearing aid and discovered that the tube that connects the ear piece to the actual hearing aid had split. The hole allowed air to blow in, causing the squealing. (Because MacGyver, the Richard Dean Anderson version, is my hero, I have applied medical tape on it as a temporary fix. It’ll only work for a couple days, but that may be enough to limp through the world until I can get it fixed for real).
The tube itself is plastic, and cheap. It will take all of $20 to replace. $1 for the tube, $19 for the technician to swap it out for me. And, no, I can’t really do it myself because a fitting is required to make sure it sits correctly on my ear. An incorrect fit, and I’ll end up with a blister. On. My. Ear. – Some things you just gotta leave to the pros.
I took my hearing aid to two places last week. Because I wasn’t a client of either place, they wouldn’t help me. I get it, if something happens to the hearing aid when they swap out the tube, that is a liability cost to them … and a very, very expensive mistake to fix. (My hearing aids run about $3,500. Each). This leaves me in a kind of no-man’s-land, because I’m not a client of anyone in Chicago. My last audiologist was in Houston. I really, *really* do not want to fly back to Houston to replace a $20 tube.
Instead, I spent some time shopping around for an audiologist. I found three potential candidates. I’m picky. Working with an audiologist is very personal for me. I’m going to see two of them this coming week. Kind of like speed dating. For hearing. If I don’t like either of them, I’ll try the third. If none of them work, I’ll keep looking. Once I become a client of someone, they’ll fix my hearing aid. I’ll also get a hearing test, which will depress me because it will tell me that I’m more deaf than ever. And I’ll probably get new hearing aids. It’s time.
(For reference, most hearing aids last between 5 and 7 years. I have limped along with my current set for 6. I won't be surprised to be told I need a new pair, just sad that my hearing has worsened to fall outside the optimal range of my current pair).
Until I get it fixed, I will spend approximately a week in the land of the disabled. I do not enjoy visiting said land, even for a short while. It’s annoying. It makes me feel crummy. It highlights all the things I can’t do, and it amplifies all the ways in which the world is set up for hearing people.
… I once had a lady in a wheelchair yell at me because I didn’t get out of her way. I didn’t get out of her way, because I didn’t hear her yelling at me. Her friend pushed me and she flipped me off as she rolled by me. I realized as they passed me what had happened. Are there really that many assholes in the world to warrant that kind of a response? I’m guessing, sadly, yes, there are.
… Do you know the first thing that hearing people say when they feel someone is ignoring them? They say: Are you deaf?!? Why yes, yes I am.
… I missed a flight once after telling the gate person that I was deaf and wouldn’t hear them call it over the intercom, if they could please just signal me with a nod or a point. (This was in the pre-video screens at the gates displaying flights days). When I went up to ask about said flight, they said, “I called it really loud over the intercom.” Sighs. I no longer speak in airports. I sign and write notes. Apparently, that’s the only way people know I’m really deaf. Do people fake this sort of thing? I mean, really?
I could go on, in fact, I could write a whole book about being deaf in a hearing world. Maybe one day I will. For now, I’m just trying to survive my brief stint in the land of the disabled, because I’m only really disabled when the hearing world make me feel as if I am.
