I've been very busy this summer traveling here and there. It's not always a smooth road -- being deaf and hard of hearing (HOH) and dependent on other people for help. There are challenges you don't even think of.
Airport terminals and airplanes, loudspeakers and intercoms, piped-in music, restaurants and coffee shops, passengers talking, babies crying, bags a-rollin' -- all coupled with an unfamiliar environment. Its a veritable orgy of noise. And every single part of that revelry inundates my hearing devices with a garbled cacophony of mangled sound that nearly works me into a confusing state of anxiety. Turning my hearing aids off isn't an option. I need to hear what's going on.
As the spouse of an airline employee, I fly on the standby list, and I must listen for announcements of gate or departure changes amid the noise. And I must be able to hear when my name is called to pick up my boarding pass. As a standby passenger, I am not supposed to ask for special accommodations or services reserved for paying passengers. So I must fend for myself when I travel alone. It's no easy task. I worry that I'll miss my open flight and that catching another may be impossible. My husband keeps a close eye on my travel progress from his computer at work and texts me information, usually before I know myself. It alleviates a lot of the stress.
And boarding the plane doesn't mean the challenges end. After boarding, I am frequently engaged in conversation by the person seated next to me. Most of the time, I just nod and smile. The roar of the engines and the popping of my ears make listening and understanding my chatty neighbor very difficult. I've resorted to carrying my newest novel in my hands and sticking my nose in it as soon as I can to discourage conversation. Some of the time, the safety announcements are captioned videos. That's always good. But more often than not, I only hear them over the speaker, and they're not very clear. Luckily, I've flown enough that I could probably recite the safety announcements myself, but I've yet to understand what the captain says in his announcements.
On a recent trip, I think the flight attendant attentively noticed my CI processor and, without asking or drawing attention to it, made certain that she was bent towards me before asking if I'd like pretzels or cookies. I appreciated her effort. I wondered if she'd received a special training on speaking to HOHs or if I reminded her of her dear old granny. It doesn't matter. She was wonderful.
In truth, I can't really do it by myself. I'm pretty dependent on the actions and habits of other people to hear and understand what is happening around me. Like the flight attendant who took an extra minute to bend forward and speak directly to me. Maybe it was because she knew intuitively that I needed a little extra help. Because treating me with dignity and respect was important to her -- and to me.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
Monday, May 23, 2016
Rainy Days and Mondays...
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.
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.
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.
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