Don't Read the Comments

Social media. Gaaaahhhhh.

I say it all the time: "Don't read the comments. Don't read the comments. Don't read the comments."

Then what do I do? I read the comments.

I also tell myself to ignore posts I know are click bait and move on. "Don't comment. Don't comment. Don't comment."

Then what do I do? I make a comment.

I'm bad like that. (You are, too. Admit it.)

Social media can be fun and amazing. And awfully aggravating. The ignorance displayed and shared in well-meaning or not-so-well-mearning comments is incredible.

Take one of those well-meaning social media groups where people with cochlear implants can ask questions and hear about other's experiences. I've learned a lot about my CI from them.

And then -- there are the people chiming in with their opinions, half-knowledge, or bits of "I heard..." or "I read..." and exhorting them as fact. There's usually one or two overlooked comments advising people to call their audi, but more often than no,t there are bunches of comments offering all kinds of absolute advice. And then there's you --knowing that your doctors and/or audiologists have completely advised you MUCH differently. Don't comment. Don't comment... DON'T COMMENT.

But you do. And your notifications blow up.

I've asked my audiologists about some of the posts and comments on the page. They chuckle most of the time and advise me to call them if I need help. They have doctorates, after all, and decades of experience treating patients with cochlear implants.

The convenience of seeking help online seems to be replacing our willingness to ask the ones who are educated to know how to help us -- our medical experts.

The fact is that having a cochlear implant doesn't make one a medical expert on cochlear implants. And one cochlear implant experience may be completely different from another. There's a fine line between sharing our experience and touting our own medical expertise. We should be careful not to cross it. Telling another recipient that their symptoms and/or problems can or cannot be caused by their implant may prevent them from seeking the medical help from the experts that can resolve their problems, anxiety, or needs.

It's probably time for me to leave that group.

One Person

I've often heard that it takes one person to affect change. One. One person. One person to speak out. To begin a thought. A feeling. An action. One person to change an opinion. A mindset. One person to make a difference.

I find myself advocating for the deaf and hard of hearing often. Sometimes reminding people to consider others' differences and disabilities. Sometimes asking for patience and understanding. Sometimes correcting misunderstanding or misinformation. And just telling my story. I've had opportunities in face-to-face interactions and in this blog. Most, however, occur on social media.

Social media is a great place for sharing stories and life anecdotes. A place to laugh; sometimes to cry. Unfortunately, it is wrought with insensitive memes, quotes, and comments from people who just don't consider who may be hurt or offended. I'm sure I've been guilty of that, too.

Today, I was struck by such a meme -- one I chose to comment on both of the occasions that it crossed my news feed because it hits so close to home. The meme simply asked how many times one needed to say 'excuse me' to a person before they shouted 'get the hell out of my way.' It's not the meme that bothers me so much, but the mindset that spurred it.

I was astonished at the impertinence of those who commented under the posts, with numerical answers ranging from once is enough to suggesting that ramming the person with their shopping cart was acceptable. People who surely thought they were being amusing. I hope.

I could have scrolled past and ignored it, as I often do. Instead, I decided to comment on both posts that it was never acceptable to do that, not just because it's hateful, but because the person may be deaf or hard-of hearing and might not have heard them. I know it's happened to me many times. I'm only aware of those times because my daughters happened to be with me and nudged me out of the way. I'm certain it happens a lot when I'm alone, too.

The truth is that you don't know if the person is just being rude or if they simply cannot hear you. The presumption that the person is being rude and deserves a crude response is both uncivil and inappropriate. And insensitive. And people need to know that.

Living with hearing loss is no easy task in a world that takes hearing for granted. To presume that others can hear as well as another is an attitude that I hope to correct and change. One person at a time. One comment at a time.

Unfortunately, both of the posts appeared to be taken down after I commented, so my message was lost. Perhaps out of respect for me. Or embarrassment. Or because these friends have a new understanding. Whatever the reason, it is for the good. Two friends will think differently the next time someone doesn't move when they've been asked.

Invisible disabilities are real and prevalent. It's never okay to forget that. We can't assume the motives of others because we don't know why they act the way they do. And we shouldn't be rude because of that ignorance. We should consider the circumstances of others before we react. We should be kinder to one another.

That's what I hope we all learn.

Coffee Sign

As I was running errands this morning, I stopped for a coffee at the local Quik Trip. Without even thinking about it, I signed "thank you" to the young man who made my skinny vanilla latte. To my surprise, he signed back. I've no idea what he signed, so I smiled my doofus smile and nodded, grabbed my coffee, and made a quick exit.

Coffee

Shortly after I got my cochlear implant, I took a beginning sign language class given by a friend of mine. Learning sign language isn't much different cognitively than learning any language. You have to use and practice it often or you'll forget. Having no one to practice with, I forgot much of the things I learned shortly after the class ended. I used the ASL alphabet in my classroom with my students, finger spelling sight words for spelling practice. I also used a few other signs with them to cut down the noise in my room -- notably the help, restroom, and thank you signs. Those I remember, but other words come slower -- if anyone is willing to wait while I attempt to communicate letter by letter.

I rarely see signing being used in public. Once at a restaurant and another time at the mall. And today by the young latte maker. My daughter is quick to elbow me when we are out together and point out signers when she sees them, as if I am a part of their secret club.

But I'm not much like them at all. We are both deaf, yes. But I don't know their language. And spelling all my words would be woefully tedious for both of us. 

My tradition is oral and hearing. I am a hearing person who cannot hear. I have a foot in both worlds.

I wonder how the young man came to sign. Did he learn it because a family member or friend is deaf? Or did he just want to learn it as a second language?

I'll never know because I nearly ran myself over exiting the place. Next time I'll be more prepared.

It's Just Not True

I have been asked to speak to a college class of student speech-language pathologists again this year. It has again set my mind thinking about what I can tell these future professionals who will most certainly be working with children and adults who have hearing aids and cochlear implants. I'd like to tell them that the CI is a miracle in hearing technology. I'd like to tell them that hearing with a CI is an amazing experience. But it's just not true.

Sometimes I've been asked by friends to talk to people who are considering implantation. People who want to talk to someone with a CI and ask questions of someone with real-life experience -- not just a hearing doctor or audiologist who's told them they need a CI. Even though implantation is becoming more common, it's still a relatively rare thing, and most people don't know anyone with one. Talking to someone who's gone through it is comforting. I remember how scary and frustrating it was for me. I don't mind doing that. It's always a little weird at first because I'm not like a lot of recipients who sing the praises of the cochlear implant. It just hasn't been as marvelous for me as it seems to be for others. But the people I've met have been appreciative of my candor.

My hard-of-hearing life has become mundanely routine. It begins each morning with me reaching for my hearing aid. I cannot hear well enough without it to function well, so after my eyeglasses, my hearing aid is the 2nd thing I don. But the CI processor often sits in the Zephyr dryer unless I need to go somewhere or hear well while I'm in the house. Like when the hearing hubs wants to have a conversation without me asking him to repeat himself repeatedly. The truth is that I really do hear better with both devices. But it's hardly comfortable, often causing the skin under the magnet to ache, and occasionally leading to headaches, so unless it's necessary for me to hear well, it sits in the dryer until I need it. On days that I do wear it all day, there is a moment each evening where I just can't stand it any longer and I have to take it off.

And all those accessories that go with it? They sit in a box, too. I occasionally charge the remote so I can change my volume if I'm going into an unknown hearing setting. Just in case. But it usually just sits in my purse until the charge runs out and I return it to it's storage box, too. When I use accessories, it's to stream the sound to my hearing aid, not my CI. I hear MUCH better with my hearing aid than my CI.

I'd like to say that after four years with my cochlear implant, that my hearing is so much better now. But I honestly can't say that the quality of sound I perceive is any better than when I first began. I've just gotten used to it. It's still as tinny and mechanical as it's ever been. I don't hold any false hopes that it will improve with listening practice because I've been listening for four years. I still struggle with comprehension. Closed captioning has become a necessity when I watch TV, even when I stream the sound to my hearing aid. Actors have terrible enunciation. They aren't the only ones either. It's difficult to understand a lot of people because of poor and/or lazy speaking habits that blur sounds and words. And there are no closed captions to read during live conversation! I still miss a lot. I have anxiety that if I lose my other ear, the CI won't be sufficient for me to hear or understand well at all.

Cochlear implants are often touted by hearing professionals and recipients as miracle devices full of wonder and awe. It's just not true. It will help you hear. But it will be limited by your own physiology and by it's technological parameters. The struggle is real. And it's continual. And it's exhausting.

This is what you should know.

I Didn't Forget

August 14 came and went again this year.

I didn't forget that it was the anniversary of my sudden hearing loss.

I didn't forget to make a blog post marking the day that thrust me into muffled silence.

I didn't forget the moment my life changed forever.

I didn't forget the audiogram that determined my level of sound perception in my damaged cochlea.

I didn't forget the doctor's words when he told me my hearing loss was profound. And permanent.

I didn't forget the feeling of panic as I drove home. Fearing the impact deafness would make on my life. The desperation. And the dread.

I didn't forget the confusion and frustration as I tried to come to grips with a life where I couldn't understand conversation, television, radio, or take a simple phone call.

I didn't forget the challenges of learning about speech bananas, audiograms, decibels, hearing aids, batteries, dome tips, volume, wind noise, static, reverberation, feedback, vibrating alarms, strobe notifications, FM assistive listening devices, euro adapters, amplification, closed captioning, hearing impaired settings, ADA, and ear wax. Or cochlear implants.

I didn't forget the missed conversations, the "whats?",  and the "never minds."

I didn't forget appointments for CTs and MRIs and balance tests and audiograms and evaluations.

I didn't forget the misunderstanding, impatience, and cruel words of coworkers and administrators - spoken behind my back, but revealed to me by true friends -- as I struggled to cope and adapt.

I didn't forget the friends and family who offered support and empathy -- who lent an ear, directed me to places for help, cried along with me as I grieved.

I didn't forget the doctors and audiologists who expertly and patiently eased me into hearing aids, assistive listening devices, and cochlear implant programs that help me make the best of an imperfect situation.

I didn't forget the ones who repeat their words over and over, make the effort to speak clearly when addressing me,  or clip my microphone to their shirt so that I am included in their conversations. And their lives.

I didn't forget the children whose hearing loss I noticed -- and helped. Likely more aware because of my own hearing loss.

I didn't forget the people I've friended who've experienced sudden hearing loss, as well, and the encouraging word I can now offer to them because I know what it's like.

I didn't forget the resilience that hearing loss would force upon me. From utter devastation to coping to surviving to encouraging. To living.

I didn't forget.

Time

Time.

It's a strange, abstract perception of our being. Both finite and infinite at the same time.

We mark our days by time. Life events. Successes. Failures. Embarrassments. Accomplishments. Our hopes.

Clocks. Calendars. Days, weeks, and minutes. Years. Our remembrances of time.

Current events remind us that we've learned little from our time here. History repeats itself. And wise elders are reminding us to mark this time; to closely pay attention so that our recollections may provide stories and insight for future generations. If they care to know. Or care to heed.

It's a regular handmaid's tale...

This week I am reminded that time affects many things. There's never quite enough of it to do what I've planned, but there's an incredible amount of it to waste.

I retired 67 days ago. 2.2 months. 9 1/2 weeks. 1608 hours. 96,480 minutes. And I've spent 30 minutes of that time ruminating the concept of time to write this blog.

I've been deaf for 5 years. I do not want to know how many months or minutes have passed since then.

Five years is fleeting for growing children and towering trees But it is a very long time to not hear.

Five Years is a Long Time

I answered a survey about hearing loss today. It was sent to my email inbox by a hearing loss association. I'm pretty sure it was in response to the bill proposed in Washington that will make over-the-counter hearing aids available to anyone who wants them -- those without a doctor's prescription, diagnosis, audiogram, or exam.

While I know there are a great many people in the world with undiagnosed hearing loss -- and many with diagnosed hearing loss who simply cannot afford a hearing aid -- who could benefit from the expected lower cost of over-the-counter hearing aids, I have mixed feelings as to whether this policy is a good idea or not. Selecting, wearing, and benefitting from a hearing aid is complex. Much different than purchasing reading glasses -- a simplistic analogy of the impetus behind the OTC hearing aid movement.

In the five years since I lost my hearing, I've learned a great deal about hearing loss and hearing aids. They can be really great. And they can be really awful, too. Working through an audiologist is surely more beneficial than walking into a Walgreens and selecting a factory pre-programmed hearing aid that may or may not fit comfortably, amplify sounds appropriately, or achieve desirable results.

Five years is a long time to learn about optimizing programs and settings, choosing generic canal tips or custom ear molds, selecting a receiver-in-the-ear vs. behind-the-ear model, consideration of T-coils and Bluetooth, finding and using compatible assistive listening devices, learning to care for and maintain your devices, seeking adjustments and reprogramming to meet ongoing hearing changes and needs...

Five years is a long time to learn that you get what you pay for. I've upgraded my hearing aids twice to improve the quality of hearing. My first "basic" pair was terrible, at best. Hardly worth using. I worry that these mass-produced hearing aids will be of such poor quality that people's experiences with them will discourage them from seeking audiological evaluations and more advanced devices when and if their hearing warrants it. And with the availability of these "cheaper" hearing aids, will insurance companies like mine discontinue coverage of more sophisticated devices necessary for those of us who have more profound hearing loss and send us to the corner drugstore for help, too?

Five years is a long time to work with an audiologist to maximize my hearing success through initial diagnosis, routine monitoring and adjustments, counseling, and guidance towards success. My audiologist can be credited with the majority of my success with my hearing devices. I am dependent on her expertise. I don't think a drugstore clerk could hold a candle to her.

It's far more complex than selecting a cute red or blue one to help you hear better. And like myself, I seriously doubt most people will have any idea about what hearing aids would be best for their unique hearing needs or how to use them properly without an exam and diagnosis.

It will be interesting to see how this pans out.

Thank You, Thank You, A Thousand Times Thank You

Some days, I go without my cochlear implant processor, especially on days when I'm staying around the house and there's no real need for me to hear anything. Days like today. It gives my skin a chance to rest from being pulled by the magnet and gives me a semblance of peace and quiet for a little while.

I'd planned on working in the house, cleaning and de-cluttering years of neglect (and a little bit of laziness) after exhausting days of teaching little ones. So the CI remained in the dry and store box this morning.

I thought of retrieving it for a quick run to the store to get more vinegar for the window cleaning solution, but decided it probably wasn't necessary for such a quick errand -- in and out. Get the vinegar and go. You know, just a few minutes in the store. And I had my hearing aid in, so I wasn't completely deaf.

What I failed to take into consideration was that this particular store was a Target. And there is no such thing as a quick run to Target. (You know I'm right!)

The first problem I encountered was being unable to locate the vinegar. Though I'd walked up the condiments aisle a couple of times, my eyes seemed locked at eye-level, and I didn't see the vinegar nestled on the bottom shelf. I had to ask a young man who was stocking shelves.

Now, I 'm only a fair lip reader, and after the second (maybe third), "Where?", the young man proceeded to walk me to the same aisle from whence I'd come and helped me find the vinegar. I politely thanked him for helping and he went back to work.

But I wasn't done yet. I decided to get a new microfiber cloth.

I headed to the automotive aisle and found the cloths among the car washing supplies. But as each cloth has a specific purpose, I had to read several labels to determine which one was a general purpose cloth for my purpose. I must have dallied in the aisle a little too long. I was greeted by not one or two, but THREE salespeople. I've no idea what they said, but I replied with a generic, "Thank you, I'm fine" to each one. I'm pretty certain that stupid "doofus smile" crossed my face at least once.

And since I was in the area, I browsed the towels. I was thinking of getting another hand towel for my powder room. I was greeted by a young lady restocking the aisle and just as another "Thank you" was rolling across my lips, I turned to see she was actually helping another customer. So I picked up my towel and hurried away before she could talk to me, too.

At the checkout, the young lady engaged me in some kind of conversation, smiling and pleasantly talking as she rang my items -- mostly looking away at the register. She may or may not have asked if I wanted to apply for a red card, as they always do. I decided against speaking and just smiled pleasantly back. I think I thanked her several times, too.

Then on my way out, of course, I had to have a Starbucks. I ordered my drink and could hear the cheerful barista talking as she prepared my frappuccino -- blender and all. I busied myself with counting enough quarters to pay for my drink. It seemed she didn't need a response from me, but I thanked her, anyway.

It seemed appropriate.

Today's excursion was a glaring reminder that no matter what I wish, my hearing aid alone is grossly inefficient. I need to have both of my hearing devices to navigate the hearing world successfully. And without embarrassment. One is not as good as both.

I am extremely fortunate to have a cochlear implant and my decision to be implanted was a good one. Together with my hearing aid, the CI helps me to live a relatively "normal" life. And I am reminded today to be grateful, even when I struggle. And that, friends, is worth a thousand "Thanks".

I'm Mad, too, Eddie!

Today I am straying from my deaf life and posting about a different concern.

Three weeks ago, I began to have significant chest pain and shortness of breath. It began suddenly in the night and continued to worsen the next morning. I didn't feel like it was a major concern and went to work the next day. However, by mid-morning, my breathing worsened and I began to feel faint and dizzy. Since both my primary care physician and my cardiologist offices were closed, I had no other option but to go to the ER where I was admitted for observation and tests.

Having a history of dysrhythmia and pulmonary embolism, I was given the standard course of tests -- x-ray, echogram, and stress test, all of which came back normal. It wasn't my heart. Yet the chest pain and shortness of breath continued. At the end of the 2nd day, I was conferring with the hospitalist's PA about my orders to follow up with my primary care physician.

"So, what should I do about the pain and breathlessness until then?" I asked.
"I can give you something for anxiety," she said.
"Why anxiety?" I asked. "Do you think this a panic attack or something?"
"Well, it can relieve your stress and make you feel better," she said.
"I'm stressed because I can't breathe, and you want to give me a pill for anxiety?"
"No. That's not what I'm saying. But maybe it will make you feel better," she went on.
"Because it will...?" I was leading...
"Let me talk to the doctor about what we should do," she said and left my room.

As I lay there in the bed, waiting for someone -- anyone -- to give me answers and relieve my symptoms, I tried to quell the anger that was rising in me. And I remembered.

A gastrointerologist once suggested I see a psychiatrist after I'd been vomiting for 35 days and he deemed there was nothing physically wrong with me. It must be in my head. My private doctor looked at my test results and found that my gallbladder was infected and full of sludge and stones. He overrode the GI's orders and sent a surgeon to my hospital room. Surgery was performed the next morning and I haven't vomited since. The delay in treatment, however, left me with a resulting hiatal hernia from the vomiting and subsequent gastrointestinal problems that will plague me for the rest of my life.

The ire. The gall. The incompetence. The insinuation. I am not a crazy, hysterical, hypochondriac woman. Sometimes I have pain. And when I seek medical attention for it, it's because it's real. It is not in my head.

Yep. You know what? My name is Bonnie, and I'm mad as hell.

I'm mad because too many doctors' go-to diagnosis for women is "anxiety". I'm mad because it's not just me. I'm mad because I hear the same story from other women. Often. I'm mad because we are not hysterical. We are not crazy. I'm mad because anxiety and hysterics still play into the medical treatment for women in this day and age. I'm mad because women deserve better than "I can give you a pill for anxiety."

Would this have happened to a man, I wonder?

"Sir, maybe you should take this pill for anxiety and calm down. This pain is in your head."

 I think not. This is the archaic misogyny that is still present in medical practice today. And that makes me mad, too, Eddie.

The conclusion to this drama is that I refused to be told that the pain was in my head. I continued to press my own doctor until I got an answer. Pleurisy and resulting costochondritis. He's now treating me for both the pleurisy and the arthritic pain in the joints connecting the rib cage to the sternum caused by the pleurisy. I thanked him for treating me with respect and dignity. For persisting until he found the correct cause of my pain. For not insinuating that I am just a hysterical woman.

I feel a little better now that I have a treatment plan for my symptoms. Symptoms that can be treated and relieved. Symptoms that are real.

But I'm still mad. Oh yeah. Is there a pill for that?

Fruition

Satisfaction. That warm, comfy feeling of contentment and fulfillment that engulfs you when you see the results of your effort. Your endeavor. Your determination.

It's the realization that you've attained the outcome you desired. It's fruition.

And it's good.

Here is a link to the article recently published in the Oklahoma Education Association's member magazine that tells my story. My article commanded an impressive 3-page spread found on pages 8-10. I hope it reaches many people who will then look at their students a little differently from now on. And maybe a few more kids with hearing loss can be helped. How wonderful would that be?!

http://okea.org/assets/files/March-17-Focus.pdf

But then, you realize this is only the beginning. And your satisfaction turns to yearning again. There are still many things to do before your vision will come to full fruition... that day when every student is screened for hearing as readily as they are screened for vision. Or learning disabilities. Or behavioral and social issues. And teachers and parents begin to change mindsets and habits that ignore or perpetuate hearing loss in their students and children. And themselves.

Now that would be satisfaction.

Whistling and Waning

This morning I sauntered downstairs as usual to make a cup of tea and oatmeal. Being a Sunday, it's a bit more leisurely than weekdays. My husband is on a backpacking trip and my college-aged daughter will be sleeping well into the afternoon. The dogs went outside readily after their morning treat -- given for waking me each morning since I don't hear the alarm any more. I have a vibrating alarm now, but the dogs still feel it's their duty to rouse me when it sounds. This morning, there was no alarm, but there were still treats to be had --grateful for jobs well done in the past and in the future. It's a ritual here every morning.

It's just me this morning, so I didn't put on my hearing aid. It's normally the first thing I do when I wake. But this morning was different. No need if there is no one to hear. And the silence is good during mornings like this, even if at one time it gave me dread.

I had tried to update the software on my phone during the night, but for reasons unknown, the update failed. So I sat down on the couch in the den to retry the download. The distraction made me forget that I had turned on the fire under the tea kettle. It was several minutes before I remembered. When I turned to look at the kettle, it was steaming away, but I couldn't hear the whistle.

My first thought was that the kettle's whistle was broken. But I knew better.

As I walked up to the stove, it was whistling away. I've no idea for how long.

I expect that one day, the hearing in this ear will be gone, too... slowly slipping away as I notice all the little things I can no longer hear without the aid of technology. It's an inevitable fact that I have grown to accept, though unwilling and complaining all the way to the end.

What's changed for me is my fear. Though hearing loss presents many challenges, and some impossibilities, I have found that I can still do most of the things I did before, differently, at times, but pretty much everything. I've learned to be resilient and resourceful and adaptive. And I've learned that technology can fill the gaps quite well where I cannot. It's not so scary anymore.

So I cannot hear the whistling tea kettle any longer. I will have to watch it instead.

There are many things that could be worse.

Close call

This morning was wash day. I stripped the bed and washed three loads of king-sized sheets, blankets, and quilts. And I folded a couple of loads of clothes that had been piled in the dreaded "laundry chair" in the upstairs TV room. I turned on the dishwasher and hand-washed the remaining items in the sink. I swept the floor and spread out a new rug in the kitchen.

I'd been meaning to get area rugs to cover the laminate flooring in my family room and kitchen for several weeks. I'd thrown out the old ones after deciding that they'd seen better days and the effort to try and clean them would barely make a difference. They needed replacing. And I needed something to help absorb the sound better. After living with the echoing in the room for a few weeks, I broke down yesterday and purchased two rugs on clearance at the local home improvement store.

After spending a couple of hours on household chores, I sat down to enjoy a cup of tea. I was the only one home, and the peace and quiet was nice. It was only after turning on the television that I became aware that I'd not put my hearing devices on this morning. They're a necessary burden when my hearing husband and daughter are home. But not today. There was no one to hear. And I welcomed the noiselessness like an old friend.

Sauntering upstairs, I opened my handy-dandy Zephyr dryer to retrieve my hearing aid and CI processor. I noticed the dingy ear mold on my hearing aid. I should clean that thing, I thought to myself. I'm not able to remove it from my hearing aid without a special tool that only my audiologist possesses and I've had to depend on regular visits to her to have it cleaned and shined. But this morning I decided to try to take it off and clean it myself. It was wash day after all. To my surprise, the mold came off the receiver tip rather easily with one gentle tug. Per the instructions that had come with it when it was new, I would wash it with antibacterial soap. I thought briefly to myself that I should put a washcloth over the open drain in case it slipped from my hand and fell into the drain.

Nah, I was several steps from the sink. I'd be fine, I thought.

But alas, ZIP! BANG! and the slippery booger was on its way to the sink before I could say 'Boo!" Luckily, I am blessed with superhero reflexes and I lunged for that deep, dark abyss -- flailing my soapy hand over it with seconds to spare -- the mold swirled around the sink and came to rest beside my thumb.

It was a close call.

Next time it needs cleaned, I'll just take it to my audi like I'm supposed to.

It's Happening, Part Two

Recognizing hearing loss in students is only one part of the equation for helping students in the classroom. The other part is creating and maintaining hearing-friendly environments for them to learn in.

It's no easy task.

The architects of public school buildings rarely took sound into consideration when designing them - poor insulation, poor windows, noisy HVAC systems, noisy appliances, too much reverberation, poor acoustic design to support the teacher's voice, and poor acoustical design, such as high ceilings or open school design  --- all create an exasperating amount of noise pollution that students must be able to filter in order to hear and focus on what is being taught.

Research on student learning has found that, on average, students miss approximately 25-30% of what is being said by the teacher in the classroom. For children with hearing loss, it is much higher. Those missing parts in the instructional day can lead to academic and behavioral problems.

There have been many studies conducted about the benefits of a quiet classroom and school. Many of the things I've learned will take changing the mindset that "a noisy classroom is a busy, learning classroom". It also takes changing common practices in schools -- unchecked loud talking in common areas such as cafeterias, hallways, and gyms. Then there's my least favorite practice of encouraging students to scream at the top of their lungs in assemblies. "I can't heeeeeeeeeear you!" I've watched too many times as students grimace, cover their ears, yet continue to be called on by assembly leaders to make as much noise as they possibly can.  Practices like these can actually harm our students' and our own hearing.

Other suggestions are easier. I've incorporated many of these in my own classroom -- mostly out of need to reduce noise clutter for my own benefit. Noise is a contraindication to hearing well with hearing aids. But it can be harmful to your students as well. Here are some things teachers can do to make their classroom more hearing friendly:

1. Maintain a quiet classroom. Teach students to speak and interact with each other in an appropriate volume. A classroom of 25 students talking all at once can reach more than 90 dB. Exposure to that volume for very long can damage their ears. And that old practice of playing background music in your classroom while you teach? It only adds to the noise. Make music listening purposeful and give it its own time. Or just stop it altogether.
2. Reduce sound reverberation. Drape, drape, drape your hard surfaces whenever possible. Sound reverberation from hard surfaces can affect hearing and comprehension. I use fabric remnants to cover bulletin boards, filing cabinets, my desk, and bookcases. I use a tension rod and valances across the shelves of some of my bookcases to absorb sound. (The added benefit is that it also covers some clutter!) Stuff some stuffed toys in between books and materials to help absorb even more. Put curtains over windows. And bring in area rugs if your room isn't carpeted. My district also provided me with some acoustic tiles from an old band room to place above cabinets in my classroom. Just ask!
3. Limit students' use of headphones. Headphones are a necessary evil for students to work independently at computers and listening stations. But be certain to set the volume at an appropriate level and check it often. Students tend to turn it up too loud. Then limit how long students are required to use them. The concentrated sound delivered to the ears from headphones is the number one cause of environmentally-induced hearing loss among our young people. Don't contribute to that statistic!
4. Work to encourage quiet halls during instructional time. Encourage staff members to teach students to respect the learning going on in classrooms they pass by keeping their voices off. Staff should also be aware that their voices often carry into classrooms from hallways as well, and they should take their conversations into spaces where they will not be interfering with hearing and listening themselves.
5. Speak to your principal about abandoning the practice of having students scream at the top of their lungs in assemblies. That's just no good.
6. Be aware of noise and how it affects your students. Make it a priority to reduce the noise clutter. Invest in a decibel reader or download one from the internet. I downloaded an app to my phone and place it under my document camera during student work time. Students can see it and use it to monitor their own noise level, and I can see it at a glance to remind them if they've exceeded safe levels.

There are many other things that could be done. A quick search on Google can help you find more. The thing is this --- schools should be a place of learning and we, as educators, should be doing whatever is necessary to make that learning "hearing safe". From one who knows how devastating hearing loss can be, protect the hearing of the little ones in your charge. And protect yours, too.

Hear well, my friends.

It's Happening, Part One

This week, a communications specialist from the Oklahoma Education Association came to my school to interview me for the article he is writing on hearing loss in students. About this time last year, my motions to educate educators on promoting and maintaining hearing-friendly classrooms and how to recognize hearing loss in students were unanimously adopted by my state delegation. They were also adopted by my national delegation last summer. Now my advocacy is coming into fruition. A national representative will be interviewing me by telephone next week.

While hearing loss is certainly less than epidemic in children of school age, it can significantly affect learning, communication, and behavior in the classroom. Because it is not easily recognized by teachers, it is often dismissed as lack of interest, poor listening, attention deficit disorders, second language learning, learning disabilities, and "bad attitude." Children with hearing loss are relegated to back rows, time out, detention rooms, behavioral or academic counseling, child study referrals, retention, and learning disabilities resource rooms.

The fact, however, according to the National Institute of Health, is that 1 in 10 school-aged children in our public schools have some form of hearing loss. That translates to a staggering reality -- in a typical classroom of 20 or more, there may be at least 2 children who have difficulty hearing and understanding oral instruction. And due to acquired environmentally-induced hearing loss, those numbers are growing. The ear bud generation is paying for their choices in the form of hearing loss.

We cannot afford to ignore the statistics. Nor can we excuse our ignorance about hearing loss anymore.

"What are some tips you would give teachers for recognizing hearing loss?" he asked.

"These things," I said.

1. Don't assume that inattention or lack of interest in learning are related to a behavioral disorder. While ADHD, autism, and sensory disorders have consumed the spotlight in education circles, hearing loss is a real and possible cause of behavioral and learning problems. ALWAYS assume hearing loss first and have the child screened.
2. Don't assume that a child's academic difficulties are because they are learning a second language. Hearing loss isn't selective about spoken language. It affects children who speak English, Spanish, Hmong, Arabic, and pig-Latin. If there is ANY problem in language development or communication, ALWAYS assume hearing loss first and have the child screened.
3. Don't assume that a child's poor academic progress is related to a learning disability. A child with hearing loss may hear environmental sounds, including speech, but may be incapable of understanding speech due to their hearing loss. If a child is having difficulty achieving academically, ALWAYS assume hearing loss first and have the child screened. 

Above all, educators should remember that hearing loss is invisible. Unlike vision, it cannot be recognized by a student who squints or tells you they can't see the board. Children with hearing loss may not even realize they aren't hearing properly. So it is up to us, as their teachers and parents and caregivers, to be observant, educated, and aware of the signs. And to offer support and help.

Read more about my motions here: https://bonniestone.blogspot.com/2016/04/once-upon-time.html

My next post will address hearing friendly classrooms and schools.

Until then, hear well, my friends.

When There's Just Too Much Noise...

Recently, I was once again assessing my first graders on their sight word list. It's something I perform each month to measure their reading growth. Mini-mic positioned onto their shirt collars, I attempt to test individual children while the rest of the class is engaged in at least a semi-quiet activity.

It doesn't always go as planned.

Most of the time, there's just too much noise to hear the child who is reading effectively enough to get an accurate score. I have to settle for something close, if not exact.

I resort to lip reading, I confess. "Say that again," I repeat over and over again, watching them form the sounds of the letters on their lips. Sometimes when I ask them to repeat the word, a child will think it's because they missed it. Then I watch them search their brain for a reason as to why they missed it. I am constantly reassuring them that I just couldn't hear them well enough to know if they said the word or not.

In between the "Say it again" and the "Use it in a sentence" and the "One more time", I am shushing the rest of the class continually. First graders make a lot of noise, no matter what they are doing. And that noise often makes it near impossible to work with children individually.

Added to the mix is my student teacher. She is guiding some students in completing a math lesson while I test a few more students and my CI picks her voice up louder than my reader. I reduce my sensitivity settings hoping that will help. The difference is negligible, so I quietly slip the CI magnet from my head, disengaging the sound as I do so. Then maybe I can focus on the sound being piped from the mini-mic into my hearing aid. It doesn't really help. There's just too much noise.

So I do the only thing I can think to do at the moment. I tell her to finish the assessments.

She is done in record time.

Happy New Hearing Year

It's a new year. And with it come all the resolutions for losing weight, eating healthy, working out -- Like everyone else, I am vowing to continue eating well and losing weight. I've lost 22 lbs already, gaining only a couple of pounds back from holiday R & R

I confess, losing my hearing thrust me into several years of comfort eating that packed over 60 lbs. onto my body. Not gonna tell you I felt bad about it, just that I needed it at the time. But it has wreaked havoc on my body.

That excessive weight took a toll on my overall health -- none of which is good for my hearing health either. High blood pressure. Obesity palpitations. High cholesterol and triglycerides. Deep vein thrombosis and circulatory issues. Reflux disease. And the latest affliction -- early onset cataracts. Yea, me!

So like many others, I too, am planning on a healthier new year. But more than that. I am planning on a healthier hearing health, too. And I hope you do too. Here are some things you can do to make your new year hearing healthier:

Number 1: Get a baseline audiogram and hearing checkup. Everyone should know what they are hearing -- or not hearing. It's simple. Like your eyes and teeth, bones and boobs, your ears need a regular checkup, too. So get it scheduled.

Number 2: Be hearing aware. Your environment is the leading cause of hearing loss and deafness. Educate yourself and your children. Limit ear bud and headphone use. Turn down the volume of TVs, radios, and MP3 devices. Wear hearing protection in noisy workplaces and even at home when using mowers, vacuums, and other loud appliances. Remember to use hearing protection in sports stadiums and arenas, too! And those rock-and-roll concerts?! Well, enough said.

Number 3: Beware ototoxic drugs. Those ibuprofen and acetaminophen tabs you take for headaches can damage the fine hearing cells in your cochlea and cause tinnitus. Ask your doctor or pharmacist if the drugs you are prescribed are ototoxic, and if they are, ask about a safer alternative. And be aware that many supplements and "natural" products, such as tea tree oil, can cause tinnitus and hearing loss, too. Once the sensory cells in your cochlea are damaged, they will not regenerate. Here is a link to check out. http://hlaa-sbc.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/Ototoxic_Brochure.pdf

Number 4: Get healthy all over. Like me, overall health plays a role in hearing loss. Smoking, diabetes, high blood pressure, sedentary lifestyle, diet, obesity, and stress can affect your hearing health. Get healthy. And stay that way.

Number 5: Be educated. And be sensitive. Hearing loss is a silent disability - no pun intended. It is not easily seen or known by casual interactions, and therefore, it is often overlooked or dismissed as something else. Those with hearing loss are not dumb or helpless. And it is no laughing matter, so save your jokes about hearing loss just as you would any other disability or illness.

Hearing loss isn't always preventable. But there are things you can do to protect your hearing. Be proactive in taking the steps to living a more hearing healthy life. You won't regret it.

Here's to better hearing for all!