Quiet Cars and Crossing Roads

I’ve read a lot online about hybrid cars and their danger to pedestrians (see the article “Are Hybrid Cars A Danger to Pedestrians?” for one article example). I undersood the danger to blind people, who rely on the putt-putt of the engine to alert them to danger. But I couldn’t understand the danger to hearing people. “Why can’t people just look both ways?” I asked.

An article I read many years ago encouraging people to wear hearing aids emphasized the danger of people walking, jogging, and biking along roads without being able to hear oncoming cars. While I recognize the article was trying to do a good thing by encouraging people to wear aids, it also outraged me in that it encouraged such wrong assumptions of deaf people being unable to walk along roads in safety.

So, two different points of view.  I could not undersand how hearing people cannot do without sound, and hearing people have demonstrated they cannot understand how deaf people cannot do with sound.

It’s times like this that I”m so grateful my hubby helps me understand the hearing world. Otherwise, I may find myself bearing grudges for people’s lack of understanding and thinking the hearing world silly for viewing hybrid cars a threat. There are two sides to every story.

“When you grow up accustomed to hearing the sound of oncoming cars, it becomes ingrained in you that cars will make sound,” my hubby explained. “You’re used to not looking both ways, and you rely on the sound.”

“Ohhhh,” I replied, nodding knowingly. I understand how things become ingrained. It’s ingrained in me to always, always look both ways. I’ve grown up relying on the sight of cars. I often job and bike without my hearing aids, to prevent them from sweat damage, so I know I must look for the cars.

My hubby also explained that it’s hard for hearing people to understand the deaf world. To take away a sense is unthinkable to those who have all their senses, and it’s hard to understand how people function.

Sometimes, the hearing and the deaf world don’t understand each other, but the explanations don’t take much. Just an open mind and someone to help you see the two sides of the story.

Driving … With Hearing Aid Batteries

In the state of Virginia, you can’t text and drive. That’s the law.  But nowhere does the say anything about changing a hearing aid battery and driving.

Let me introduce you to the hearing aid battery, for those unfamiliar with it. My hearing aid battery is a little smaller than the tip of my pinky, less than a centimeter in diameter. It comes covered in an orange sticky tab that needs to be removed to activate the battery.

That bitty thing needs to be slipped into a special compartment in my hearing aid, facing a certain way. All while not taking the eyes off the road.

As I drive, my purse is butting up against my leg, so I can feel my cell phone vibrate while I’m driving, and the location of the purse also makes it easy for me to pull something out — like my hearing aid pack. I feel around for the hearing pack with my left hand, grasp the pack, and with my thumb, flip it open, and slip a battery out. Now, when my hubby’s around, I generally like to pull the tab off and place it on his nose. It’s a good place for the orange sticky thing. However, in a car by myself, the sticky thing gets tossed into my drinkholder where it resides until I remember to throw it away.

The battery’s out, the tab is off. Here’s where it gets complicated. Clutching the new battery in my left hand, I begin to steer with that same hand while my right hand pulls the hearing aid out. My right thumb flips the battery compartment open and attempts to remove the dead battery. Which doesn’t want to come out.

“@&#$,” I mutter to myself, shaking the hearing aid ferociously. The inner compartments of the hearing aid must be jarred something terrible as I shake and shake. The battery pops out … into my lap. I look down to find it, car swerves, I look up quickly. “@&#$!” I say louder as I straighten the car out.

With my right hand, I blindly grope for the old battery. Why it’s so important I find it, I’m not really sure. It’s dead, but I can’t let it rest in peace. My right hand finds the battery. I transfer it ad my hearing aid to my left hand and transfer control of the wheel to my right fingers, excepting the ones still holding the hearing aid. And I’m holding two batteries in my left hand, and no orange tab to let me know which is the new battery. “@&#$!!”

At this point, there’s some delicate driving involved. The fingers holding the hearing aid position themselves so the battery compartment is easily accessible. I then move the left hand to the hearing aid, gently placing a less-than-a-centimeter battery into a little-bigger-than-the-battery compartment. Is it the new battery or the old one? I don’t care. I’ll find out.

The battery gently balances in a position not quite in the compartment then tumbles to the floor. I look down, car swerves, I quickly look up. “@&#$!!!!” Car straightens. Time to try again with battery number 2, which balances not quite in the compartment, then slips in. My left hand closes the battery compartment then is free to return to the wheel. My right hand slips the hearing aid into my ear then turns it on. If I’m lucky, it’s the new hearing aid battery.

They Really ARE Earplugs…

… at least to some people they are.

A co-worker was telling me about how someone in another office was talking about me, but didn’t know who I was. “You know, the girl who wears the earplugs all the time,” Other Office Person said.

My co-worker was a bit puzzled. “Um, earplugs?” he asked.

Other Office Person went on to describe me a bit further, at which point, my co-worker finally caught on who it was.

I’m chortling at the thought of being seen as the person who walks around with earplugs all the time (and yes, I see the irony of writing for a blog entitled “Earplugs”). But wow! No wonder I always have a hard time hearing people! I’m wearing these muffling things in my ears all the time! Perhaps Other Office Person believes I have sound sensitivity, leading to a medical reason to wear earplugs all the time.

But on a sobering note, Other Office Person cannot recognize hearing aids on sight. Are there people in the United States who have never seen a hearing aid? Could a person be so sheltered?

A quick search on Google didn’t tell me how many people in the world wear hearing aids, but a search told me there are an estimated 31.5 million people with a hearing loss in the world. Surely a person in a country such as the United States, with its technological advancements and its residents who can afford the instruments, an adult would have encountered a person with a hearing loss at least once in his or her life. It can’t be that rare!

Or, perhaps Other Office Person just didn’t think that a 27 year old (who looks 18 years old) would wear a device that is associated with older people (just one step below the horn held up to the ear).  And thus, Other Office Person thought the devices in my ears would be earplugs.

I really don’t know what Other Office Person though, but I’m really tempted to design a t-shirt now. “This is a Hearing Aid. There are Hearing Aids in My Ears. Any Questions?” I have to wear it to work, of course.

Turn the Noise Down!

I used to imagine that doors were portals that would take you to other worlds. I would close my eyes and step through the frame. I’d open my eyes, and whoa. I’d be in the land of hallways. Well, it was usually a hallway in 1864, or in a parallel universe.

When I enter a restaurant, I close my eyes, step through the doorframe, and I’m in a different world. There’s some strange THUMP, THUMP, THUMP reverberating throughout the building that is supposedly music (I’m skeptical). It’s supposedly hip to expose the gutty innards of the building, allowing us to view pipes and conduits on the ceiling, and allowing sound to further bounce all over the place. My head reels, which is a side effect of portal travel, you see. I’m certainly not prepared for this strange world that bombards us with sound when we’re supposed to be bombarded with food.

Other heads are reeling as well. A study from the Better Hearing Institute acknowledges that noisy environments are the bane of those of us who wear futuristic devices in our ears called hearing aids. Because in addition to the THUMPs and reverberations, we’re also trying to hold conversations while we eat and do the whole socialization thing.

A little trick my dad taught me regarding noisy environments is to, believe it or not, turn my hearing aids down. That’s right, I reduce the volume. And it does wonders. Suddenly, I could nearly be in a restaurant instead of a strange, noisy world. When I turn the aids up, I”m just making all the noises louder — the THUMPs, the echos, the people talking. All that background noise drowns out the noise of the person next to me. But when I turn my aids down, my own hearing loss reduces the background noise. Yes, it reduces the noise of the person next to me, but at least I hear something other than the THUMP. Not a perfect solution, but it works for me.

Selective Hearing

According to the London Telegraph, “Men ‘go deaf’ when asked to do chores.” The article reports 59 percent of men pretend not to hear when their spouse or girlfriend calls for help in cleaning the toilet or scrubbing the floors or performing some other chore.

I did the same thing growing up, and I could actually get away with it pretty well for a while. I would hear my mom call, “Earplugs….,” and would burrow my nose further in the book.

“What’? You wanted me to set the table 15 minutes ago? I just didn’t hear,” I would say innocently.

My mom learned quickly, though, to make sure I’m looking right at her when she was talking. When I was especially stubborn and refused to look at her, I got the chin grab and she made me look at her. She was my mom, gosh darn it, and she was to be obeyed, hearing loss or no!

Today, my hubby’s learned that when he wants to make sure I hear everything, I’m look right at him. He will stop talking and wait for me to look at him. “Go on, I’m listening,” I”ll say. But he knows, while I can follow some of what he says without lipreading, I won’t pick everything up.

Those poor guys who pretend not to hear should beware — eventually the girls are going to figure it out! It’s all about the eye contact!

Driving Ms. Cell Phone

Back in 2002, I was reading my Blackberry while making a right-hand turn and KA-THUNK, sent my car right into the center median strip. Luckily, I was driving a 12-year-old car with a knack for being indestructible. That didn’t prevent my heart from jumping out of my chest. My lesson was learned: Don’t text and drive.

On July 4, 2009, the state of Virginia decided to make it so everyone would be prevented from learning that lesson the hard way and outlawed texting while driving. It makes sense when people’s eyes don’t have the ability to focus on two things at the same time. You’re either watching the road or you’re reading a text. It’s not possible to do both. And it takes less than a second to hit a median or something worse.

What Virginia didn’t do is outlaw talking on the cell phone and driving at the same time. It’s illegal to talk on a cell phone without using a hands-free device while driving in Maryland and Washington, D.C. But cross into Virginia, and it’s okay to flip that cell phone out. Maryland and D.C., passed legislation after studies that show people are not fully focused on driving when also talking on a cell phone.

That fascinates me because hearing seems so effortless to hearing people. I sometimes ask people not to talk to me while I’m driving because it’s too hard to do both. For me, hearing takes effort. I’m partially lipreading, my brain is translating the sound into words, and all my attention is focused on the conversation. But hearing people can talk to passengers and drive at the same time.

Or can they? The high rate of accidents caused by cell phone distraction says otherwise. The cell-phone talker going 40 mph on I-95 South during rush hour (when everyone else is going 60-70 mph) certainly says otherwise.

I wonder if, eventually, Virginia will decide to follow the path of Maryland and D.C. and ban cell phones while driving. I’ve used a cell phone instead of a Blackberry since 2003, and always keep in mind that hearing and driving, just like texting and driving, is not a good idea for me.

The Acoustics Are Great

“The acoustics are great in here,” according to the sign in the bathroom. It’s a great sign to hang in a bathroom. And it’s true; there’s a great echo in the place. Which makes it easy to hear when women enter the bathroom talking. And I can see from their feet under the doors that they enter the stalls. Still talking.

This is the part I fail to understand. They’re in the bathroom. Inside the stall. Isn’t that supposed to be forbidden territory? No sound or smell is to emerge from that area. A lady keeps her secrets.

The good thing about my hearing loss is that I can’t understand what they’re talking about. Perhaps it’s the shrimp salad or the cute waiter. Better I don’t know, really. And since I rely on lipreading, there’s going to be no discussing of the shrimp salad between the stalls. I keep the feminine experience of the bathroom.

The Deaf Machine

Usually when I need to contact an organization, I bat my eyes lovingly and look to my hubby to make the phone transaction for me. Be it credit card company, bank company, or whatever, chances are it starts off with a mechanical system. My experience with such machines goes as such:

“Please press 1 for [insert gobbledygook]. Please press 2 for [insert gobbledygook]. Please press 3 for [insert gobbledygook].”

“Um, could you please repeat that?” I’ll ask. Really, I ask out loud, hoping someone out there will hear. If I stay on long enough, I might actually get a real person who will enunciate and repeat words.

But because I’m impatient and don’t like waiting, I turn to my poor hubby to make most of the transactions these days. And thus I turned to him when I needed to make a change in a hotel reservation. This telephone transaction introduced the new feature of having a voice-activated telephone machine instead of the usual punch-the-number machine. And, believe it or not, the machine had a hearing loss.

“Say ‘reservation’ for hotel reservation change, hotel reservation cancellation, or other transaction. Say ’services’ for questions about our policies. Say ‘billing’ for questions about your billing,” the machine said.

“Reservation,” my hubby said.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Please speak again.”

“Reservation,” my hubby said louder.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Please speak again.”

“RESERVATION!” my hubby screamed bloody murder into the receiver.

“You are now reviewing your reservation. Say ‘date’ for changes in reservation date….”

I will never again complain about the punch-the-number machines again.

The Mind

After my Nadia experience, I took a break from hearing aid shopping. In the beginning of this year, I jumped into the hearing aid world again and tried again. I briefly mentioned that I went with a Widex in a past post, but I didn’t say anything about the hearing aid I got.

So, folks, here it is: The consumer review of… The Mind! Also known as the first hearing aid designed to help you hear AND relax. Seriously, that’s what was written on the brochure.

The Mind has a feature called “Zen” that lets you listen to New Agey music. It doesn’t turn off the regular sound while you’re listening to the Zen music, so everything sounds like there’s a fourth wall somewhere. (At which point, Andrew Lloyd Weber will pop out with a ”Jolly good, eh? You’re in my latest musical!”) The Zen music will help you relax and will possibly help cure tinnitus, so the brochure told me. That’s a great thing to offer, but I decided it wasn’t something I really wanted in my life.

The Mind also has a feature called “audibility extender,” which is a feature I do want in my life. The extender takes sounds beyond the range of my hearing (such as high-pitched sounds) and lowers them into a decibel range I canhear. This morning, I was enjoying the extender, sitting on my back porch, drinking my iced tea, and listening to the birds chirp. Before, I could only hear the doves cooing, and now there’s a whole chorus line out there performing. (Perhaps Andrew Lloyd Webber is directing them?)

I will say the audibility extender takes some getting used to. For a while there, I had this feeling as though my brain was surrounded by wads of cotton, and the sound would be a muffled sort of sound as it entered my brain. My brain couldn’t identify the sounds in their new decibel range. I still get that feeling occasionally, but it’s happening less and less.

I decided to go cheap and forgo the remote control for the hearing aids. “You’ll regret that,” my dad predicted. And he predicted correctly. Although expensive, the remote control is worth the price. It’s so nice to be able to instantly switch from the audibility extender program to the music program, and to quickly turn the volume up and down. Without the remote, I found my aids would be in different programs and different volumes, leaving me wondering why left aid was doing better than the right. The remote control really solves that problem.

This consumer’s report: The Mind is a good hearing aid, and I’m sticking with it! It’s not waterproof, and it doesn’t come in cool colors, but my hubby has mentioned that I’m hearing better, and that’s the best thing a hearing aid can do!

Who’s on First?

It’s Tuesday morning. I amble into work and check my phone messages. There’s one message. A male.

“Hi. I’ve got a question for you. Call me back at XXX-XXX-XXXX.” 

My voice analysis says it is not DeepThroat. I run the number through analysis (aka work phone search and possible contacts). The computer turns up zero results. Looks like I’m going to have to go into this operation with no information. Dangerous ground. Very dangerous. Easy to misunderstand what is being communicated on the phone. Usually I conduct such operations with advance reports and research.

I switch my hearing aid to telecoil and boost the volume. Take a swig of tea, breathe deeply, then I dial. Phone rings, male answers with a hello. It begins. Below is a transcript of the beginning of the conversation. (Note: Names and places have been changed.)

“Hello, this is Earplugs from ABC magazine. I’m calling in response to your phone message.”

“Hi. How can I help you?”

“Someone at your phone number called me and asked me to call back. So I’m calling back.”

“Would you like me to put you in touch with Information? Do you have a question?”

“No. I’m returning a phone call that I received. The person asked me to call back. I wasn’t given a name.”

“Are you sure it was my number?”

“Is your telephone number XXX-XXX-XXXX?”

“Yeah, that’s my number. Who are you again?”

“Earplugs of ABC magazine.”

“Oh, yeah, I did call you.”

No hearing impaired people were harmed in the making of that converation, though there was one seriously amused Earplugs at the end.