There's something about the quietness of a spring rain shower that moves one to introspect. The steady pittering of raindrops through the trees, dropping solemnly from the patio eaves --and the morning stillness of nature and mankind sheltering and awaiting the passing of the rain. It is a respite from the busyness of the world we've created for ourselves and lends us a a time of peaceful reflection and appreciation for things we love.
There are baby robins in my crape myrtle trees this year. Two nests full, to be exact. Even in the rain, the mama robins are chittering about from tree to grass to snatch the worms and bugs seeking refuge from their flooded dens in the ground. This morning is a treat for her, as well as me. A mourning dove croons from somewhere high above in the cover of my towering oak trees --waiting for the rain to stop. She has no chicks to feed. Rain is for rejuvenating.
I am a gardener by nature. I love the feel and the smell of the earth -
especially on days like this. There are still flowers to be planted, but
they will wait this morning. The fruits of my labor revel in this day. My garden is lush and fragrant. It beckons me to
stroll through it.
Rain is for refreshing.
My two German Shepherds have joined me on the patio, lazily watching over their domain. They like when I sit here with them -- lying near my feet and enjoying a scratch or two. When the coolness chases me inside for a sweater and a blanket, they hardly move. An occasional cottontail peeks its nose from under the shed, wondering if the dogs will make chase. They are safe this morning, I am sure. Rain is for resting.
This being the first Monday of a teacher's summer vacation, I'd planned nothing for the day, aside from the piles of laundry, dishes, dust, and clutter accumulated through the school year when a tired spirit and body kept me from attending to them. It's akin to treading water. Teachers understand. Others can't really know how necessary these long breaks are to us. Rain is for renewing. Spirit and body and soul.
Monday, May 23, 2016
Saturday, May 7, 2016
Batteries, Part (I Lost Count)
My name is Bonnie, and I am battery operated.
I confess. I obsess about batteries. From the button batteries that power my digital hearing aid to the rechargeable batteries in my cochlear implant processor and accessories -- I have a lot of batteries.
Anyone visiting my home or classroom will find batteries in abundance. Full and partially used packs stashed in drawers, in my coin purse and glove compartment, on end tables, coffee tables, bedside tables, kitchen cabinets... Used batteries in mason jars awaiting a trip to the recycling center, and one little, used button lying on the bathroom cabinet -- changed quickly before I headed off to school one morning with full intentions of putting it in the recycling jar later that evening, only to push it aside from place to place as I readied myself the next day. And week. I think it's still there.
My fear of running out of them in the event of a natural disaster or zombie apocalypse precludes my attempts to pass the battery section of my local supermarket without stopping to pick up another pack just in case. I once gathered the partial packs and consolidated them into one. When I found that I had less than a half dozen, I immediately went to purchase another 3-pack of 18 batteries. Never mind that, with my new hearing aid, one battery lasts a full week -- I can't fathom running out and being rendered hearingless!
And it's not just those little button batteries that drive my obsession. It's those rechargables, too. Though I can use button batteries for my cochlear implant processor if necessary, the rechargeables are far more convenient because their life span is more predictable than the disposables. I have 2 rechargeable batteries, and one is always charging while the other is being used. I typically get 14-16 hours of use on a single charge.
My accessories -- the handy-dandy remote and mini-mic -- require a recharge at least once a week. Sometimes I forget to charge them can-you-believe-it?. I've found myself in need of adjusting my cochlear implant settings and finding the "low battery" warning flashing on my remote. The buttons on the processor are limited -- changing programs and turning it on and off only -- so I rely on the remote to change volume. Once, I'd turned my volume down to 3 during an especially loud school assembly and wasn't able to turn it back up because the remote battery was drained. I had to spend the remainder of the day at the lower volume until I could recharge it that night at home. (I didn't typically take the power cord to school. Now I keep an extra charging cord in my car!)
I am sorely dependent on batteries. They're my lifeline to hearing and communication normalcy in my deaf life. I've joked with my husband that in the event of a societal failure in this world, our first order of business would be to loot as many batteries from stores as possible. While everyone else was grabbing digital TVs and electronics, we would be grabbing batteries! In this order: hearing aid batteries, bottled water, food, medication, and gasoline. That's the plan.
I'm not kidding.
I confess. I obsess about batteries. From the button batteries that power my digital hearing aid to the rechargeable batteries in my cochlear implant processor and accessories -- I have a lot of batteries.
Anyone visiting my home or classroom will find batteries in abundance. Full and partially used packs stashed in drawers, in my coin purse and glove compartment, on end tables, coffee tables, bedside tables, kitchen cabinets... Used batteries in mason jars awaiting a trip to the recycling center, and one little, used button lying on the bathroom cabinet -- changed quickly before I headed off to school one morning with full intentions of putting it in the recycling jar later that evening, only to push it aside from place to place as I readied myself the next day. And week. I think it's still there.
My fear of running out of them in the event of a natural disaster or zombie apocalypse precludes my attempts to pass the battery section of my local supermarket without stopping to pick up another pack just in case. I once gathered the partial packs and consolidated them into one. When I found that I had less than a half dozen, I immediately went to purchase another 3-pack of 18 batteries. Never mind that, with my new hearing aid, one battery lasts a full week -- I can't fathom running out and being rendered hearingless!
And it's not just those little button batteries that drive my obsession. It's those rechargables, too. Though I can use button batteries for my cochlear implant processor if necessary, the rechargeables are far more convenient because their life span is more predictable than the disposables. I have 2 rechargeable batteries, and one is always charging while the other is being used. I typically get 14-16 hours of use on a single charge.
My accessories -- the handy-dandy remote and mini-mic -- require a recharge at least once a week. Sometimes I forget to charge them can-you-believe-it?. I've found myself in need of adjusting my cochlear implant settings and finding the "low battery" warning flashing on my remote. The buttons on the processor are limited -- changing programs and turning it on and off only -- so I rely on the remote to change volume. Once, I'd turned my volume down to 3 during an especially loud school assembly and wasn't able to turn it back up because the remote battery was drained. I had to spend the remainder of the day at the lower volume until I could recharge it that night at home. (I didn't typically take the power cord to school. Now I keep an extra charging cord in my car!)
I am sorely dependent on batteries. They're my lifeline to hearing and communication normalcy in my deaf life. I've joked with my husband that in the event of a societal failure in this world, our first order of business would be to loot as many batteries from stores as possible. While everyone else was grabbing digital TVs and electronics, we would be grabbing batteries! In this order: hearing aid batteries, bottled water, food, medication, and gasoline. That's the plan.
I'm not kidding.
Sunday, April 24, 2016
Once Upon a Time...
I recently returned from the Oklahoma Education Association Delegate Assembly. It's an annual meeting where delegates chosen from local associations meet to conduct business and decide the direction of the association for the following year.
I submitted 2 new business items to the delegates for consideration:
Both are subjects I have grown passionate about since losing my own hearing. My advocacy for students with hearing loss has now grown beyond my own little school into the greater realm of my association. At the very least, 261 delegates have heard my story about the little boy with profound hearing loss who'd been misdiagnosed with a learning disability until he became my student...and they will carry those words -- consciously or subconsciously -- with them forever. They will affect changes in their teaching. And they will affect changes in their schools and in their profession.
The glorious and storybook ending to the day is that our association's vice president wants to take my 2nd motion to the National Education Association as a new business item when the national delegation convenes in July of this year.
Maybe it's not a storybook ending, after all. Maybe it's just the beginning ---
Once upon a time, there was a teacher with hearing loss who met a little boy...
(You can read more about my student in this blog under the October, 2014 posts "Seeing" https://bonniestone.blogspot.com/2014/10/seeing.html and "Seeing: An Addendum". https://bonniestone.blogspot.com/2014/10/seeing-addendum.html A follow up post, "Monday" https://bonniestone.blogspot.com/2015/02/monday.html is found in February, 2015.)
I submitted 2 new business items to the delegates for consideration:
Both passed unanimously.Motion:
I move that OEA, through existing publications, share current information and research about hearing health with members to raise awareness about noise decibels in the classroom and ways to make classrooms and schools more hearing friendly.
Rationale: Current research has shown that due to the immature neurological development of children, the level of ambient noise, and reverberated sound in the classroom, children only hear about 70 – 75% of all that the teacher says. By raising awareness about how noise decibels affect student learning and hearing health, teachers can make their classrooms more hearing friendly – raising student achievement and protecting the hearing of children and adults in schools.
Maker: Bonnie Stone, Tulsa Metro A/B
Second: Suzette Hightower, Tulsa Metro A/B
Motion:
I move that OEA, through existing publications, share current information and research about how to recognize symptoms of hearing loss in students.
Rationale: In Oklahoma public schools, students only receive a hearing assessment if the parent grants permission. Unlike vision difficulties, hearing loss manifests itself in ways that are not easily visible or recognized by educators. Hearing loss is often misinterpreted as loss of focus, ADD, poor listening, and/or learning disability. By raising awareness of the symptoms of hearing loss in our students, teachers can more readily be able to advocate for student needs.
Maker: Bonnie Stone, Tulsa Metro A/B
Second: Suzette Hightower, Tulsa Metro A/B
Both are subjects I have grown passionate about since losing my own hearing. My advocacy for students with hearing loss has now grown beyond my own little school into the greater realm of my association. At the very least, 261 delegates have heard my story about the little boy with profound hearing loss who'd been misdiagnosed with a learning disability until he became my student...and they will carry those words -- consciously or subconsciously -- with them forever. They will affect changes in their teaching. And they will affect changes in their schools and in their profession.
The glorious and storybook ending to the day is that our association's vice president wants to take my 2nd motion to the National Education Association as a new business item when the national delegation convenes in July of this year.
Maybe it's not a storybook ending, after all. Maybe it's just the beginning ---
Once upon a time, there was a teacher with hearing loss who met a little boy...
(You can read more about my student in this blog under the October, 2014 posts "Seeing" https://bonniestone.blogspot.com/2014/10/seeing.html and "Seeing: An Addendum". https://bonniestone.blogspot.com/2014/10/seeing-addendum.html A follow up post, "Monday" https://bonniestone.blogspot.com/2015/02/monday.html is found in February, 2015.)
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Dangerous Decibels
This afternoon, one of my first grade students returned to my room after running an errand to another classroom in my school. She innocently replied, "That room was so loud, Mrs. Stone. It hurt my ears." She punctuated her story by covering her ears with her hands.
Since losing my hearing three and a half years ago, I've become acutely aware of how important it is to reduce the noise decibels in my classroom, not only to reduce the noise that interferes with my hearing devices, but also to protect the hearing of the students who spend 5 hours a day in close quarters while I teach them.
If only this were true of all teachers.
The reality is that classrooms are dangerously loud places for children to spend so much time. Research has shown that typical classroom noise levels exceed 70 dB. To put that into perspective, your vacuum cleaner is about 70 dB, as is city traffic. Studies have also shown that children, because of their neurological immaturity, are inefficient listeners, and thus need optimal sound conditions to listen and understand. Ambient noise is detrimental to listening and learning. According to School Planning and Management, students in today’s classrooms are unable to understand approximately 25 to 30 percent of what their teacher says because of excessive noise and sound reverberation in the classroom.
There are many problems that work against ideal listening conditions in our classrooms. Schools buildings are old. Acoustics are poor. Classrooms are crowded. Many teachers use voice amplification systems. Students spend increasing amounts of times in front of computer screens with headphones that pummel their ears with concentrated sound. Teachers are unaware of decibel levels in their classroom. Children aren't taught to use appropriate voice volume -- often even encouraged by the adults around them to yell at deafening levels -- "I think you can do better than that! Let me heeeeeaaaaarrrr you!" And the ensuing screams leave children grimacing in pain and covering their ears.
Unfortunately, when children and the adults who teach them are repeatedly exposed to these levels of sound, they are subjecting the delicate hearing cells in the inner ear to irreparable damage, usually unaware that they are doing so. It isn't known at what point that hearing loss may actually occur in the damaged cells. It could be a cumulative effect of repeated exposure to excessive decibels. It could be instantaneous.
The point is -- as caretakers of children, shouldn't we be caring more for their hearing health than we are? We certainly take many precautions to keep them safe and healthy throughout the day, yet we continue to expose them to dangerous hearing decibels.
As one who has lost her hearing, I realize how precious it is. And I am committed to protecting and teaching my students about dangerous decibels. And if you read this blog, you know, too.
We should be doing better.
Since losing my hearing three and a half years ago, I've become acutely aware of how important it is to reduce the noise decibels in my classroom, not only to reduce the noise that interferes with my hearing devices, but also to protect the hearing of the students who spend 5 hours a day in close quarters while I teach them.
If only this were true of all teachers.
The reality is that classrooms are dangerously loud places for children to spend so much time. Research has shown that typical classroom noise levels exceed 70 dB. To put that into perspective, your vacuum cleaner is about 70 dB, as is city traffic. Studies have also shown that children, because of their neurological immaturity, are inefficient listeners, and thus need optimal sound conditions to listen and understand. Ambient noise is detrimental to listening and learning. According to School Planning and Management, students in today’s classrooms are unable to understand approximately 25 to 30 percent of what their teacher says because of excessive noise and sound reverberation in the classroom.
There are many problems that work against ideal listening conditions in our classrooms. Schools buildings are old. Acoustics are poor. Classrooms are crowded. Many teachers use voice amplification systems. Students spend increasing amounts of times in front of computer screens with headphones that pummel their ears with concentrated sound. Teachers are unaware of decibel levels in their classroom. Children aren't taught to use appropriate voice volume -- often even encouraged by the adults around them to yell at deafening levels -- "I think you can do better than that! Let me heeeeeaaaaarrrr you!" And the ensuing screams leave children grimacing in pain and covering their ears.
Unfortunately, when children and the adults who teach them are repeatedly exposed to these levels of sound, they are subjecting the delicate hearing cells in the inner ear to irreparable damage, usually unaware that they are doing so. It isn't known at what point that hearing loss may actually occur in the damaged cells. It could be a cumulative effect of repeated exposure to excessive decibels. It could be instantaneous.
The point is -- as caretakers of children, shouldn't we be caring more for their hearing health than we are? We certainly take many precautions to keep them safe and healthy throughout the day, yet we continue to expose them to dangerous hearing decibels.
As one who has lost her hearing, I realize how precious it is. And I am committed to protecting and teaching my students about dangerous decibels. And if you read this blog, you know, too.
We should be doing better.
Sunday, April 10, 2016
Discreet
Discreet: (adjective) not likely to be seen or noticed by others; careful not to cause embarrassment or attract attention to.
This morning I read several blogs on hearing loss sites. The articles were a fair and basic overview of hearing loss and its impact on individuals who've experienced hearing loss, both the physical and emotional problems that may ensue when one loses their hearing.
The problem I had with all of the articles was the reference to the newer hearing aids that provide users with a "discreet" solution for their hearing loss -- as if they should be something that is kept hidden and, God forbid, discussed openly with others.
My problem is with the continual use of the word discreet.
In a society where hearing loss is reaching epidemic proportions, why should we be concerned with being discreet about our hearing losses and the devices that make it possible for us to hear again -- as if our hearing loss and our hearing aids should be regarded as an embarrassment, a personal failure, a family secret?
According to the National Institute on Deafness, a whopping 15% of Americans aged 18 or older have a hearing loss and approximately 9% of adults between the ages of 55 and 64 have a disabling hearing loss. That's about 1 in every 10 adults -- and the numbers continue to grow each year! It's time we bring it out into the open.
I am not sure why hearing loss and hearing aid use has been relegated to the quiet whispers of the back room with other health afflictions like bladder control, erectile dysfunction, or sexually-transmitted diseases. No one seems dissuaded to hide their failing eyesight by wearing discreet eyeglasses. Nor are they inundated with a barrage of insensitive or uneducated remarks about their eyesight. "Oh, I see you have eyeglasses! They're so big. Couldn't you have gotten more discreet ones? Can you still work? Can you still drive? Can you see me now?"
Indeed, it is ridiculous to think that our eyeglasses should be unnoticeable or inconspicuous -- as is our preoccupation with keeping hearing loss discreet.
Hearing loss is no joke. Nor is it an embarrassment. I hope that those who read this blog will know and understand and spread awareness about something that should not be discreet.
My name is Bonnie. I have profound hearing loss. And I wear hearing aids. Proudly.
This morning I read several blogs on hearing loss sites. The articles were a fair and basic overview of hearing loss and its impact on individuals who've experienced hearing loss, both the physical and emotional problems that may ensue when one loses their hearing.
The problem I had with all of the articles was the reference to the newer hearing aids that provide users with a "discreet" solution for their hearing loss -- as if they should be something that is kept hidden and, God forbid, discussed openly with others.
My problem is with the continual use of the word discreet.
In a society where hearing loss is reaching epidemic proportions, why should we be concerned with being discreet about our hearing losses and the devices that make it possible for us to hear again -- as if our hearing loss and our hearing aids should be regarded as an embarrassment, a personal failure, a family secret?
According to the National Institute on Deafness, a whopping 15% of Americans aged 18 or older have a hearing loss and approximately 9% of adults between the ages of 55 and 64 have a disabling hearing loss. That's about 1 in every 10 adults -- and the numbers continue to grow each year! It's time we bring it out into the open.
I am not sure why hearing loss and hearing aid use has been relegated to the quiet whispers of the back room with other health afflictions like bladder control, erectile dysfunction, or sexually-transmitted diseases. No one seems dissuaded to hide their failing eyesight by wearing discreet eyeglasses. Nor are they inundated with a barrage of insensitive or uneducated remarks about their eyesight. "Oh, I see you have eyeglasses! They're so big. Couldn't you have gotten more discreet ones? Can you still work? Can you still drive? Can you see me now?"
Indeed, it is ridiculous to think that our eyeglasses should be unnoticeable or inconspicuous -- as is our preoccupation with keeping hearing loss discreet.
Hearing loss is no joke. Nor is it an embarrassment. I hope that those who read this blog will know and understand and spread awareness about something that should not be discreet.
My name is Bonnie. I have profound hearing loss. And I wear hearing aids. Proudly.
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Vacation Packing
There was a time in my life when packing for a trip was easy. Toss a couple pair of jeans, tees, and skivvies into the carry-on and off I'd go.
Those were the days.
Now traveling brings about a whole new experience as I have to plan my packing well in advance of my trip. It also brings about a whole new list of things to forget. There are so many indispensable things one needs when traveling with hearing aids and cochlear implants. You can't leave home without them.
Batteries, of course are the most important. Face it, without those little things, I would be rendered pretty-near deaf and unable to function and enjoy my trip as intended. So I always carry a pack of disposable batteries with me. One each for my hearing aid and cochlear implant processor and spares for those "just-in-case" scenarios. I could easily pick up a pack of batteries for my hearing aid at the local Walgreen's if I needed to, but the cochlear implant takes a special battery that's not as easily found. I have panic attacks if my battery supply drops below a two-pack backup, so I always carry lots of batteries with me. It's an obsession, I know.
The spare parts kit --because even though I have never had anything break, Murphy's Law predicts that if anything were to break down, it would most certainly be when I am nowhere near my audiologist's office. Extra coil, coil cable, ear hook, battery holder, battery holder cover, magnet, even more spare batteries, cleaning tool, cleaning cloth, spare wax guards, backup processor -- all packed neatly in my hard-sided Cochlear brand carrying case.
And the accessories kit -- the portable Dry-n-Store for drying my processor each night, my Sonic Boom travel alarm clock with bed shaker, my battery charger, mini mic, phone clip, remote control, accessory cords, charging cords, and power cords. I finally broke down and purchased a make-up bag to carry these items.
And I must remember to tuck my cochlear implant identification card inside my travel papers with my driver's license or passport for the rare times my implant may set off the airport security alarms. I've had my head patted down several times since I got my CI.
Once these things are checked, rechecked, and triple checked, I can pack the rest of my things in the small space left in my carry-on bag... things that will never fit now.
...I need another bag.
Those were the days.
Now traveling brings about a whole new experience as I have to plan my packing well in advance of my trip. It also brings about a whole new list of things to forget. There are so many indispensable things one needs when traveling with hearing aids and cochlear implants. You can't leave home without them.
Batteries, of course are the most important. Face it, without those little things, I would be rendered pretty-near deaf and unable to function and enjoy my trip as intended. So I always carry a pack of disposable batteries with me. One each for my hearing aid and cochlear implant processor and spares for those "just-in-case" scenarios. I could easily pick up a pack of batteries for my hearing aid at the local Walgreen's if I needed to, but the cochlear implant takes a special battery that's not as easily found. I have panic attacks if my battery supply drops below a two-pack backup, so I always carry lots of batteries with me. It's an obsession, I know.The spare parts kit --because even though I have never had anything break, Murphy's Law predicts that if anything were to break down, it would most certainly be when I am nowhere near my audiologist's office. Extra coil, coil cable, ear hook, battery holder, battery holder cover, magnet, even more spare batteries, cleaning tool, cleaning cloth, spare wax guards, backup processor -- all packed neatly in my hard-sided Cochlear brand carrying case.
And the accessories kit -- the portable Dry-n-Store for drying my processor each night, my Sonic Boom travel alarm clock with bed shaker, my battery charger, mini mic, phone clip, remote control, accessory cords, charging cords, and power cords. I finally broke down and purchased a make-up bag to carry these items.
And I must remember to tuck my cochlear implant identification card inside my travel papers with my driver's license or passport for the rare times my implant may set off the airport security alarms. I've had my head patted down several times since I got my CI.
Once these things are checked, rechecked, and triple checked, I can pack the rest of my things in the small space left in my carry-on bag... things that will never fit now.
...I need another bag.
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Awareness
Today is International Cochlear Implant Awareness Day. It's an obscure little recognition of a very big thing for people who have a cochlear implant. Most people are only aware of it because they happen to know someone who has one, or they are deaf/hard of hearing.It's nice to try to spread the word about them. They can change lives, for sure.
So here are some facts for your awareness --
It's really pronounced "COCK-lee-er", not "COKE-lee-er" like most people have heard it pronounced. That was a surprise to me. Americans seem to be the only ones who mispronounce it. In the rest of the world, they say it right.
I found out that I was saying 'tinnitus' wrong, too. It's "TIN-it-us", not "tin-NIGHT-us" as I had thought. Though both pronunciations are acceptable by laymen, the first is considered "most correct" by medical professionals.
The idea of cochlear implants was first proposed by a man named Adam M. Kissiah in 1974. He was granted a patent on the first cochlear implant three years later in 1977. It basically delivered sound to a deaf person. A man named Graeme Clark is credited with the development of the modern multi-channel electrode and speech processor -- which turns those sounds into speech.
The first cochlear implants had body-worn processors. The familiar behind-the-ear processor came later as technology miniaturized. My processor is considered the smallest and lightest one on the market today. I'm interested in seeing where this technology will lead us in the future. I expect that, like hearing aids, the cochlear implant speech processor will continue to get smaller and less visible as the technology advances.
As of 2012, approximately 324,000 people have been implanted with a cochlear implant worldwide. I'd suspect that number is much higher now that the FDA criteria has been expanded to include those who are one-sided deaf, like me. The numbers can be expected to increase even more as the impact of hearing loss rises in our modern society. Hearing loss is reaching epidemic proportions.
Until I lost my hearing, I was completely unaware of cochlear implants. When I was diagnosed, my ENT said I would need a cochlear implant. I had to go home and Google it. I cried when I looked at the images of people wearing their processors. I didn't want to wear that monstrosity on the side of my head.
I changed my mind. Being able to hear was more important than my vanity.
Happy International Cochlear Implant Awareness Day.
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