My Ears

My Ears

I call them "my ears." They are my hearing aids -- my little behind-the ear Phonak Audeo hearing aid and my Nucleus 6 cochlear implant. They are my connection to the hearing world. They are both awesome and fierce. I waver between wanting to show them off to the world or keep them hidden to all but a few. We have a love-hate relationship.

My Phonak Audeo is a mini hearing aid. It is so small and discreet that one would have to know it's there to see it. The taupe color of its case makes it virtually invisible against my hair, and the slim tube feature is barely visible on the front of my ear. All that I have left of my natural hearing is amplified through this hearing aid. Without it, I can hear very little.

It has a tip that fits snugly in the ear canal. Who knew something so small and soft to my fingertips could be a nearly constant source of irritation to the sensitive skin in my ear? I have oily drops I put in my ear canal at night to relieve the irritation, and I have to be sure to wash it away in the morning. Oil is a hearing aid's worst enemy. It may be small and discreet, but don't ask me to hug you unless you are prepared for the feedback. It's set with such tremendous volume that it gives feedback whenever anything comes within close proximity of it, be it my hand or your head. It will whistle at you! When I put it in my ear in the morning, even my dogs cock their heads as my Phonak serenades us with the feedback song.

The behind-the-ear fit often becomes a dangling-from-the-ear fit, as my Phonak is easily knocked from its place behind my ear by the wind, stooping and bending, or anything that brushes near my head -- most often my own hand as I sweep my hair back with my fingers. The tip in the ear canal prevents it from falling off completely. It's a common nuisance among hearing aid wearers, I think, because I saw a young clerk at the grocery store who was wearing his hearing aids in the same dangling-from-the-ear style that I often use. Though it was hard, I resisted the urge to reach up and put it back into its proper position! I did take great satisfaction in knowing that I wasn't the only one stylin' my ear this way!

My N6 processor from Cochlear, Inc. is the thinnest and lightest processor on the market, so they say. It's still pretty big, and it can be cumbersome, especially because I wear glasses. There's only so much room behind the ear! It makes my ear -- and my hair -- stick out in unnatural ways. The coil cable that connects my processor to my coil magnet sticks out at an odd angle, and it gets caught in my fingers when I finger-comb my hair during the day -- usually knocking my coil off my head, and making things worse than they were before.

Being such a vain person, I get a little obsessive with checking to make sure my hair is lying smoothly against my processor and coil. Some days I find myself patting the side of my head for no reason at all. Then there are those days when I come home from school and glance in the mirror and shudder. That's it! I'm cutting all of my hair off right now! (Stepping away from the scissors.)

The magnet on my cochlear implant makes my scalp sore after wearing it all day. Massaging the magnet area at night has become a welcome bedtime ritual. I've even taken the magnet off for a few minutes and indulged myself with a little scalp rub during the day. A student once saw me scratching my head and asked, "You got head lice, Miz Stone?" !!!!!


The coil magnet is a fickle bugger and has a tendency to fly off my head when it is near anything metal that has a stronger attraction than the one in my head. Car doors are especially dangerous. One car door has already caught my magnet and sent my processor flying through the air! I had to get down on my hands and knees - in the rain -  to find my processor lying on the pavement under the car. I'm still thankful pictures of that haven't surfaced on YouTube or Facebook.

They're my ears. They're part of who I am now. Perfect and flawed at the same time. This is an imperfect journey I am on. Keeping my tongue firmly planted in my cheek, I will continue to walk the roads that lie ahead of me. And I will take my ears along for the ride. The ending has not been written yet. If you see us, give us a little wave or a nod. Better yet, walk along and have a little chat with us! Because we will be able to hear you. It's just the way it is.

I Can Hear the Sea

The roar of the ocean is a mighty thing.

The rumble of the waves as they gather their strength

To crash upon the shore,

Thundering fiercely, then ebbing away,

Only to repeat itself again and again.

It's mesmerizing to watch,

But better to hear.

I can hear the sea.

There are so many things I no longer hear. My Borg parts help me get some of that back, but much is still lost to indiscernible noise clutter. I find myself relying on those near me for help far more often than I'd like. While passing through customs, I had to repeatedly ask the agent to repeat herself. She was sitting in a glass cubicle with only a slit of space for her voice to come through. Other agents and travelers were talking, as well, and the noisy drone of a busy airport engulfed my ears, blurring the line between hearing and listening. It made hearing, let alone understanding my agent a huge undertaking, if not a near impossibility. I finally looked at my husband with that all-too-familiar look of exasperation, and cried to him for help. "I have no idea what she said! I can't hear anything in this place!" It happened again in a restaurant. And again on a tour of the island. And again while trying to get a pool towel. I never know when I'll find myself staring blankly and uttering those dreaded words, "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

Since losing my hearing, I've found myself withdrawing from conversations and situations where I might find myself in potentially frustrating and embarrassing positions -- declining invitations to go to parties and events, busying myself with reading or online pursuits, letting others order for me at restaurants, waiting for them to speak for me - or instead of me... I've heard it's a common side effect of hearing loss. I'd promised myself I wouldn't let that happen; that I'd rise above the temptation to do that. But truth be told, avoidance is just easier.

So I retreated for a few days of my vacation to a chaise lounge by the beach with my nose in my Nook and the audio narration in my CI processor. For all intents and purposes, I appeared fully occupied and unapproachable. But I listened. No, I strained to hear.

And there it was. The sea -- the waves, the breeze, the gulls, the music from the beach bar, the voices of people near -- and far. And the annoying buzz of the paraglider that jolted me from my thoughts and reminded me that I can indeed hear. Not always so well, but sometimes just well enough to surprise myself at how good it can be with this cochlear implant. And how bad it would be without it.

The ocean is healing and rejuvenating and forgiving.

I can hear the sea. And I never, ever have to ask it to repeat itself. That's a very good thing.

Unexpected Emotions

"Sometimes our emotions surprise us."

These were the words I posted on a friend's Facebook status today. She had faced an important decision, and upon finalizing that decision today, she found that it had made her sadder than she had expected. It was a little prophetic.

I uploaded my second audiobook onto my iPod tonight. It's part of my focused listening rehabilitation to improve my cochlear implanted ear this summer while I am off from school. It was a twelve disc set of Earth Awakens, the prequel to Ender's Game, which I just finished a week ago. It took most of the evening to copy the disks into a computer folder and just a minute to upload it to my iPod. The script of the book is loaded onto my Nook. I'm ready to go.

But then, sometimes our emotions surprise us. I began to take those familiar, deep breaths again -- those deep breaths that are meant to calm you when you feel that little quiver in your heart. Those breaths that you know are meant to squelch the tears that brim just under the surface. Tears that are unnoticeable to others, but threaten to expose the deep sentiments that only you know. Why would having this book ready for listening suddenly make me sad?

It's a reminder of things lost. And when I least expect it, I am suddenly sad.

A Little Help From Your Friends

It doesn't take long after losing a "friend" to realize that person was never really your friend. True friends are there for you no matter what -- through thick and thin; through agreements or not; through joys and heartache; through flaws and strengths. They seek you out in times of trouble and restore relationships that might've been lost.

It doesn't take long after losing a "friend" to figure out the relationship really wasn't so good for you. That little voice inside of you that kept gnawing at your conscience previously begins to comfort you with reminders that the problem is not yours. The guilt of loss is not a burden you need to bear. You can move on and be a better person because of it.

It doesn't take long after losing a "friend" to know that you can trust people again. The hurt and betrayal are only temporary, and you know you will continue to let others into your life because that's just who you are. Maybe you'll be a little more cautious. Maybe you'll watch from afar a little longer. Maybe you'll listen better than you had before to that little voice that tells you to run.

It doesn't take long after losing a "friend" to find yourself again. Mostly because you've been there before and you know you'll be there again. Life is full of people who use you to build themselves up by putting you down. You know that relationships that tear souls apart are meaningless and hollow. You are better than that.

It doesn't take long to recognize that loss is a part of life -- though it be friends, property, health, or hearing. Some things happen by no fault of your own. That's just the way it is. Some things are better lost than found. You can hold your head high, count the many blessings you have, and thank your God that you are who you are, and that is good. 

And you can bear your burdens with grace and dignity and perseverance... sometimes with a little help from your friends.