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Frances Mariorana's Story
I am profoundly deaf so I investigated getting a Nucleus 24 Channel cochlear implant
at UCONN Medical Center in Farmington, CT. A cochlear implant is a device to provide sound information for people who have
a sensorial hearing loss in both ears, as I do, and who show no significant benefit from hearing aids. Before they do an implant,
they schedule several appointments and do many tests in addition to your hearing test.
At my first appointment
the only way I communicated with them was by writing. Because of the extent and length of my hearing loss and a problem with
my ear-drum I could not lip read. They would have to operate on the eardrum before they could do an implant. These were all
minus's. I was 70 years old at the time, which could be a plus or a minus. There would not be much of a reason for them to
wait 8 or 10 years for new technology, but I would also have a very difficult time getting used to the implant and they had
to make sure I understood what was involved.
After several more appointments and some written tests there were
two big plusses in my favor. One was that I was in generally very good health and not on any medication. The other was they
thought I really understood what was involved and they realized I was highly motivated as I did not have any hearing to lose
in either ear. A member of the family was present at all the appointments after the first one.
Once Medicare approved
of both operations, things moved fast. On May 10th I reported for pre-surgery tests: CT scan, X-ray, EKG and blood tests which
were all completed in about an hour and a half, and ear drum surgery was set for May 20th. During the week, they called and
said they decided to do both surgeries (ear drum and implant) at the same time, but would need a larger operating room so
surgery was rescheduled for June 3. This was fine with me as I would not have to wait the five weeks for the eardrum surgery
to heal before getting the implant.
On June 3rd, 1 reported at 6:30 a.m., had last minute tests, and received a
needle. A doctor came in and asked if everything was okay. The next thing I remember is a doctor standing by my bed and my
family holding a paper with EVERYTHING WENT FINE!' on it. I could not hear at this point. I fell right back to sleep and woke
about 4:30 p.m. feeling very uncomfortable but not in real pain.
I could not ask for better treatment than I received
through the night. I was given a TTY phone to use and a TV was set up for closed caption. The next morning they changed the
tight bandage that was on my head and made the new one looser so I was more comfortable. I was home by 10:30 a.m., very tired
but not in pain. On June 17th, the stitches and sutures were removed, and July 8th was to be the big day -- the hook up of
the implant.
I was given the external parts of the implant: a microphone worn behind the ear, the headset -- a
magnet that is placed on the scalp over the implant, and a speech processor -- worn on the body often at the waist. All are
connected with cables or cords. The actual hookup is placing the magnet over the implant. Then it is programmed. You tell
them when a tone sounds best, which was very difficult for me. I started out with only five. After the processor was programmed,
my son said, "Mom, can you understand me?" I heard him so clear, something I had not been able to do in years. What
a feeling!
Pat Gammerino's Story of Hearing Lost and Regained
Pat, a longtime member of
SHHH, originally told her hearing story in our March 1998 meeting on cochlear implants. She was the first of our group to
speak so openly about her hearing loss in a meeting.
The teacher in my high school shorthand class noticed the
transcription errors I was making and thought they were more likely due to misunderstanding the dictation than with mistakes
in the shorthand itself. That was the first time the possibility of my having a hearing impairment was raised. She wrote my
parents who quickly made an appointment for me to see an ENT (doctor specializing in Ear, Nose and Throat ) as she suggested.
He found that I did have some hearing loss, most likely an inherited condition, and one that probably would not
worsen. If I managed to get by satisfactorily, all well and good. If there was difficulty, he could arrange for lip reading
classes. Given this choice I most definitely said I
was managing okay.
Actually, I had been aware for a long
time that my hearing was not as good as those around me. Through grade school I had difficulty following class discussions
and missed considerable portions of auditorium programs. My mother -- when I failed to respond to calls -- would comment
that "once I had my nose in a book I didn't hear anything." Report cards always praised my written work but looked
for greater participation in classroom discussion (shyness?) Friends would wonder if I was getting "stuck-up" when
I didn't respond to remarks or seemingly ignored greetings. No one ever said, "What are you, deaf or something?"
But I did manage to get through my early adult years, maintaining honor roll grades through high school while holding
a part-time office job during junior and senior years, full-time employment after graduation, marriage and then motherhood.
All things considered, I led a reasonably normal and active life.
Raising a family, however, forced me to acknowledge
my hearing problem and to make the initial move to seek help. Taking an educated approach as even then stories sometimes
came to light regarding unscrupulous dealers -- I made an appointment with the Hartford Hearing League, a sort of non-profit,
consumers' protection agency. Both ears were found to have equal levels of loss, with a recommendation for a body aid and
molds so that I could alternate in day to day use.
Soon I was hearing with a BIG bang: turning on a faucet or
using a mixer or vacuum cleaner could nearly jolt me out of my shoes! Once all four children were in school I began to think
it would be nice to find a part-time job and was soon hired as a typist in an insurance office. I did enjoy being back out-of-the-house.
I had worked at a manual typewriter and found the constant amplified drone of an electric model really troublesome,
especially with the body aid I was wearing. I purchased a BTE (behind the ear) model and all went well for awhile. Then I
was asked to come in on Saturday mornings to cover the office. This meant both telephone and walk-in customer contact, neither
of which I could manage. When my dealer said he could not help me further, I had to give up the job.
There I was
in my late 30's, feeling I was surely on a down-slide insofar as my hearing was concerned and needed to take some measures
to be better prepared. I learned of a class in lip reading at UCONN, which turned out to be my first contact with other people
who had hearing problems. It was especially comforting to see that Mark Ross who conducted the class wore an aid. At last,
here was someone who could understand my hearing loss.
Dr. Ross felt I could benefit from seeing a new dealer and
put me in touch with one who prescribed aids with a T-coil (telephone coil) and directional capacity. Hearing was better than
it had been for a long time, but over the years it deteriorated further until I could not understand speech regardless of
improved technology.
I accepted deafness and oddly enough found a certain sense of relief and greater relaxation.
There was no more constant straining, trying to make sense of what I heard and what I "saw" in lip reading. I acquired
a TTY and through the marvelous relay service recovered telephone use.
When occasionally called for jury duty,
I would simply note on the response form that, being deaf and unable to use sign, I'd be unable to serve and I would be excused.
But a few years ago, the excuse was not automatic and I was sent a form requiring a physician's certification of my deafness.
Upon signing the jury form, the doctor asked why I had not considered a cochlear implant. I explained that I had
heard about them in the '80's when Yale was seeking volunteers for the experimental procedure. But from what I had heard,
the procedure was not giving much help in regaining speech comprehension. But the doctor assured me that great improvements
had been made, gave me the name of a Yale surgeon and urged me to at least investigate.
Discussing this with my
husband and feeling I had nothing to lose, we decided I should follow up on it. I wrote to Yale, but was told that my suitability
for an implant could be determined only by an office visit. After a two-month wait for an appointment, I was determined a
"likely" candidate and began a series of audiology tests in monthly appointments. When they were over, the next
step was an MRI.
I did not share this turn of events with anyone except my husband, not wanting other family members
to be disappointed if the outcome was unsuccessful. I had always tried to be informed about developments that might have benefited
my hearing and over the course of time had seen
specialists in New York, Holyoke and Boston. But in each case, I could
not benefit and we all suffered despair.
After the testing, there was a conference with the surgeon, my audiologist,
my husband and I. It appeared that an implant would be beneficial -- not on the left ear as my audiologist had thought but
on the right ear which was better suited for the surgery. At the appointment to redo
some audiology work, the surgeon
penetrated my eardrum with a fine wire, and fed sounds into it to discriminate pitch, rhythm and volume. I was then notified
of a mid-July date for the implant, preceded by a PE, EKG and chest x-ray.
With all the preliminaries going so
well, it had been very difficult to keep this under my hat. At last I felt it time to share the news with family and friends,
always careful to state that the results could not be guaranteed but certainly looked positive.
Coincidentally,
the Cochlear Implant Club International was holding a convention in Strurbridge several weeks before the scheduled surgery,
and the company supplying my implant was an active participant. I was impressed by the fact that several of the company's
speakers were, themselves, implant users. I was reassured by the very honest, forthright exchange of information by those
in attendance and the emphasis on the need for patience in contending with an implant.
The surgery went very well,
taking about four hours with an hour in the recovery room. My only discomfort was an achy back due to the twisted position
my body had to be in for the insertion of the implant cable. I had no pain or dizziness and was allowed up from bed as long
as I buzzed for assistance managing the intravenous drip apparatus. There was not much rest through the night because of hourly
checks of temperature, pulse and blood pressure. I did not suffer any facial palsy which I had been warned was a possible
temporary side effect. In the morning the surgeon changed the sizable head bandage and signed my discharge papers. Although
I had been given a prescription for pain, I did not need to have it filled.
Two days afterward, I had an appointment
with the audiologist who removed the bandage, made the hook-up with the implant, and fed me several tones - each of which
came through with amazing clarity. It worked! But I needed to wait six weeks for a full healing to take place before I could
begin to use it.
At my next appointment, stitches having been removed, the various components of the implant and
its operation were explained. Programs especially tuned to my new hearing were established. I was appalled because considerable
construction was going on outside the building and I heard that noise easily, but speech was definitely unclear. Assured that
I needed to allow time for my brain to become adjusted to this new input, I left to give it a month's trial before another
visit.
Now I heard the turn signal in the car, the telephone, the chiming of our grandfather clock, the ticking
of the wall clock. Speech was slow in improving. On the follow-up visit, one of the programs I was not using was eliminated
and replaced by a new one, and some adjustments were made in the program I was having the most success with. A run of the
pre-surgery audiology tests definitely showed that I was not only hearing, but regaining comprehension, slowly perhaps, but
surely.
RYAN'S STORY
"Hello, My name is Debbie.... I am writing you because I have
a 9-month-old son who was diagnosed at birth with hearing loss, he is considered hard of hearing. So far I have been unable
to find a support group within the eastern part of the state that deals with hearing loss in children. If you can direct me
in any way it would be greatly appreciated.
Thank you,
Debbie, Ryan's Mom" (received by Quiet Corner, May 27,
1999)
This question - a plea really - started a long e-mail correspondence between Debbie and former Quiet Corner
President, Harriet Johnson. For awhile, neither of us knew the best way to turn. Since the law requiring hearing screening
is so new, there was no established group of parents with experience to consult and no regular procedures in place. Debbie
started with Birth to Three, a United Way Agency -- a wise choice that lead to professional help for Ryan.
We met
Debbie and Ryan for the first time when Debbie brought him to our September meeting -- complete with double hearing aids and
a beaming smile. When he began to fret a little wanting his nap, Frances Maiorana with her new implant broke into a huge grin
and hurried over to see him -- she could hear a baby 's cry!
Under Connecticut's pending law requiring hearing
screening for newborns, Ryan was tested at Day Kimball Hospital in Putnam and found to have hearing loss. He then went to
Connecticut Children's Hospital in Hartford for confirmation of the diagnosis. Debbie, his mother, tells how she felt: The
day that Ryan's hearing loss was confirmed I was in total shock. I was feeling like I was in a bad dream and was going to
wake up and everything would be fine. I felt I must have done something wrong for this to happen. This is not what I was
expecting, never in my wildest dreams did I expect anything but a "perfect" baby.
I did not want this
baby - I wanted the baby I was expecting for nine months that the doctors told me I would have. I felt I would never be able
to take care of him, give him what he needs. That he would have to go live at a special school and I would never see him.
All I could picture was this poor little deaf boy sitting inside a dark, cold building that no one wanted anything to do with.
The first time I started to feel hope was when I met my first hearing impaired child. It was so hard for me to imagine
Ryan being "just a kid" until that time. I will never forget it. I met Julia, then a three-year-old, who had lost
her hearing due to meningitis at 10 months old. She had a cochlear implant.
I saw her during one of her speech
therapy lessons, and she was listening and talking - I could not believe my eyes or ears! And even more, she was just like
any other three-year-old kid. People had told me that Ryan is just like everyone else, but to see it with my own eyes was
just what I needed to start believing it!
Since then, every time I meet a child with a hearing impairment and see
for myself how well they are doing and that they are like every other kid, I find new hope for Ryan. I know the potential
Ryan has -- with a lot of hard work!
Support from Family and Friends Gives Debbie Strength.
I also sought
professional help. I needed help to get over the grieving part, the part of losing that "perfect" baby I was expecting,
and accepting that I could not change what had happened. I had to learn to be strong again, to do what Ryan needed me to do
for him, and to be strong for my other children. It was so overwhelming -- just giving birth and finding out about Ryans problem
-- that I was physically and emotionally exhausted. Seeking professional help helped me to get myself together and made me
realize that I can do this, and I have to do this for my child and my family.
My family was and continues to be
my support! My family is very close, and somehow, having this occur has brought us even closer. It made us see life in a whole
new way, to appreciate what we have, and not to dwell on what we do not have. I truly do not know how I would have made it
through the first months after learning of Ryan's hearing loss without my family. They were with me every step of the way
-- through the bad times and now through the good times. I owe my family so much.
I also have my friend Sherri.
I met her at the center that Ryan goes to for speech therapy. She also has a son with a hearing loss -- his name is Robby
and he is a couple of months older than Ryan. Meeting her has been a gift -- we totally hit it off; it's like we've been friends
our whole life. And we can call each other and each of us knows how the other feels. We have shared many good and bad times
together. We are there for each other, no matter what. I know I will be friends with her forever and that our sons will be
friends forever!
Support from the Web and Thanks to the Women's Board
I (Debbie) never was on the "web"
until this happened (diagnosis of Ryan's hearing impairment under Connecticut's Newborn Screening Program). My husband Tom
is a computer nut, and when Ryan was first diagnosed, he found some information. But I was not ready to deal with it. I did
not want to know about anything he found.
Now I do not know what I would do without the web -- it has given me
such great information and, better still, has put me in touch with parents just like me! They are there for support when I
need it, they are there when I need to vent; or if I have a question these web parents are the EXPERTS!
I cannot
close without mentioning the Women's Board of the Day Kimball Hospital in Putnam. I learned of the Board from a nurse in the
maternity ward who told me that it was the Women's Board who purchased the equipment to do the Newborn Screening. I wrote
them a letter thanking them for thinking that Newborn Screening was important because if they had not thought it important,
I don't know how long it would have taken us to realize that Ryan's hearing was not normal. I told them they have given him
such a gift, the gift of early identification and, with that, early intervention. How could I ask for more?
Debbie
has written of her and Ryan's experience for Quiet Corner members so that others can benefit. She had not known how important
early help (intervention) is for the proper development of an infant's hearing, speech and social skills. She learned this
when she finally e-mailed Harriet Johnson when Ryan was nine months old. Since then Quiet Corner SHHH has produced a short
pamphlet to be given to parents when they first learn of their newborn's hearing impairment so that they can have some emotional
perspective, crucial information about infant development, and the names of specific health-care professionals to contact.
One road to hearing loss ~ Randy Kirsch's Story : MRI, Persistence, Searching, Acoustic Neuromas, Surgery
I actually first noticed a hearing loss in my right ear in 1991. I went to a local ENT (Ear, Nose, Throat) doctor
who performed a hearing test and confirmed that I had suffered some hearing loss. He told me that the hearing loss was due
to a genetic defect and that there was nothing he could do about it. I went back to him two years later as my hearing was
continuing to deteriorate. Another test confirmed that and I decided to get a hearing aid at that point. Again, he said that
there was nothing he could do about my hearing loss.
Over the next several years my hearing continued to Decline.
In March 1997, I went to a different doctor, a specialist in ears only. He did various tests including blood tests, hearing
tests and an MRI. The MRI revealed
bilateral acoustic neuromas. The ear specialist was recommending that I immediately
go to the House Ear Clinic in LA to have a brainstem implant. That seemed a bit drastic to me and I wanted a second opinion.
I went to
Mass Eye and Ear Infirmary in Boston. I met with several doctors at Massachusetts Eye and Ear Infirmary. These
doctors recommended the removal of the tumor in my right ear as it was rather large and was threatening to cause brain
injury. They felt that they could remove the tumor with the hope of preserving some hearing. They also
stated at that
point that I might be a candidate for a cochlear implant although it was an exception for them to do a cochlear implant on
someone who still had natural hearing. At that time the hearing in my left ear was
at about 60%. The tumor was removed
from my right ear in June, 1997. Unfortunately, I lost all hearing in my left ear as a result of the surgery. I then embarked
on the task of getting approval for a cochlear implant. After a painful test to determine whether an implant had a chance
of working, and then waiting forever, I was finally approved for an implant. The implant was placed in my left ear in
March 1998. It did not work as well as had been hoped, and I went through a number of months traveling to Boston every few
weeks to visit the implant lab at MEEI
(Massachusetts Eye and Ear Infirmary) to have my implant program adjusted. At
the same time, I was concerned about the hearing in my left ear, which had declined somewhat since being diagnosed with NFII*
(neurofibromitosis,
type two). After doing some research and talking with various people, I decided to go for radiation
therapy to treat the tumor in my left ear. That was done over six weeks in August/September 1998. After the radiation
therapy
was completed, the hearing in my left ear started to decrease rather quickly and by February 1999, I was down to only 4% hearing
in my left ear.
Fortunately, as the hearing declined in my left ear, I began to realize more and more benefit from
the cochlear implant. Recently I did go to the House Ear Clinic in Los Angeles to check out a brainstem implant for my left
ear.
They felt that as long as I have some hearing in my left ear, they would not do the (brainstem) implant. All in
all, it has been a rather difficult two years with my hearing loss. Fortunately for me, my wife has been very supportive in
many ways. She did a lot of the research about various
treatment options and the best place to get treatment. She and
I have also taken sign language lessons together. She has helped me figure out what to do about not being able to hear on
the telephone and in general how to deal with life without hearing. It seems that loss of hearing in my left ear has leveled
off at this point and we are hoping that things won't get any worse. If they do, I guess we'll find a way around it.
*NFII is a genetic defect that can affect all nerves but seems to prefer auditory nerves.
THE STORY
OF HARRIET JOHNSON
Editors Note: Harriet Johnson is one of the original founders of Quiet Corner SHHH, and served
as a member of the original Steering Committee for the group. She was the first elected President of the Group and served
in that capacity from February 2000, through March, 2001. Harriet is currently serving as Vice President and Director of
our organization. Most of what QC SHHH is today is a tribute to Harriet and her energy and enthusiasm and desire to educate
people who have a hard time hearing. Following is her personal story of her hearing loss:
My personal hearing
story is probably one of the commonest around: I first noticed that my hearing was fading in my early fifties when I was still
working. I needed to edge closer to students reciting in the back row in order to hear them. Of course, with only two rows,
my ears were clearly missing something!
Fortunately. I was in the process of moving from the classroom to administration
just at this time so my relatively slight hearing loss caused no problem for awhile, especially because my co-workers in the
small administrative office were very understanding and helpful. Although I was supposed to take many of the calls, the secretary
screened out callers with soft voices and answered them herself. Soon however, I could not depend on my ears to hear most
voices on the phone -- and phone "interviews" were a large and critical part of my job.
It was fortunate
that my retirement date arrived at this time because undoubtedly my hearing loss would have cost me this job that I loved
and with it the fun, challenge and self-esteem of succeeding in the commercial mainstream of a large corporation. I knew that
asking for some kind of "accommodation" would be fruitless: the unspoken - and spoken - values of this corporation
were such that they allowed only perfection in any kind of performance. There was zero tolerance for weakness or flaw.
I suppose that's why my interest was piqued when, after my retirement, Frances Maiorana, Susan Martin and Carol Van Derlip,
all with SHHH in their backgrounds, appeared in the wilds of the Quiet Corner wanting to form a group of hard-of-hearing people.
That, and what we thought was a serious omission on the part of the State of Connecticut: there was no manual to help hard
of hearing people cope with the business, medical facts and emotions of hearing loss. We drew together, started to work, and
never stopped. This is testimony to the fact that Quiet Corner SHHH, Inc. offers a place to grow.
For me, the
hardest aspects of hearing loss have been the loss of spontaneous communication with family and friends and my own impatience
at others' reluctance to "go public" in campaigns that would help us all. I'd like to see the symbol of hearing
loss - an ear with the negating slash - worn by all of us who have trouble hearing. That symbol should be as commonly recognized
and accepted as eye glasses - we should see it while standing in line at the post office, moving down the aisles at the super
market and - eventually - watching closed captions at the movies.
THE STORY OF DOTTIE GAGNON AND
WHY A PERSON WHO CAN HEAR IS INVOLVED
IN QUIET CORNER SHHH, INC.
Why does a hearing person belong to SHHH?
A friend asked me to help him start his new business. Since I would be hiring hard of hearing and deaf staff, I
took a sign language course. After the last class my instructor, Susan Martin, told me that a new group of hard of hearing
people would be forming in my home town and asked if I wanted to attend the meeting. I went to the meeting and met Harriet
Johnson, Frances Maiorana and a few other people.
I could hear everything that was being said and started taking
notes. Everyone wanted to read my notes so I numbered the pages and circulated my handwritten notes during the meeting. After
the meeting I took my notes home and typed minutes of the meeting. I was invited to join the group and became its Secretary.
After several meetings, the Babcock Library in Ashford agreed to sponsor Quiet Corner SHHH. We changed our meeting
place to the Ashford Town Hall Meeting Room and gained access to their Computer Assisted Notetaker (CAN) -- a computer that
uses a large screen with 4" letters instead of a monitor. I type what I hear so others in the room can know what is being
said. After the meeting I save the text to a disk and it becomes the Minutes of the Meeting.
I have been Secretary
of the Steering Committee, Quiet Corner SHHH and now Quiet Corner SHHH, Inc.
But why does a hearing person belong
to a hard of hearing group? I don't see this as a group of hard of hearing people. I see it as a group of people who just
happen to have a hard time hearing. We started as a self help group for individuals, but have become a support group for families
who just happen to have a person in their family who has a hard time hearing.
Let me explain. My father's brother
was deaf and mute all his life. Everyone in my mother's family lost a lot of hearing as they aged; some wore hearing aids,
others needed to wear hearing aids but refused to wear them so they played their television sets to loud. But there's another
reason. My only child was born with 19 birth defects of the spine. Hospital time, surgery, clinics, braces, therapy and even
paralysis were a part of our lives for two decades.
During one of our visits to the Prosthesis Department of the
Children's Hospital, I saw a very young boy fitted with his first pair of artificial legs. As I witnessed his first walk,
assisted by crutches, I heard others say how sad it was. But I looked in the face of that little boy and saw his joy in being
able to walk alone for the first time and the freedom it would bring to him.
That's the spirit I bring to this
group. Don't look at what we've lost -- look at what we've gained. We now have a special appreciation for the hearing we do
have, whether it has been or can be enhanced by hearing aids, cochlear implants or speech reading. We help others on this
journey, just as they help us.
SUE LEWIS AND HER HEARING LOSS
The story of my hearing loss
began in second grade when a teacher noticed that I wasnt following the lessons in the classroom. My Dad took me for a hearing
evaluation at Hartford Hospital [where I remember feeling very intimidated by the big soundproof booth], where the audiologist
confirmed a moderate hearing impairment with a 40% loss in the right ear and 60% loss in the left ear. I was fitted with two
hearing aids
I dont really know exactly when I lost my hearing. Since my reading and verbal skills were above
average when the impairment was discovered, the loss probably occurred after my early speech and language development, sometime
around the ages of 4 or 5, and may have resulted from a routine childhood illness or use of antibiotics. The fact that hearing
loss had also affected other members of my fathers family [my great grandmother was deaf] may have contributed to my susceptibility.
Once my hearing loss was diagnosed, I really didn't get any special attention or consideration with the exception
of lip-reading lessons in elementary school. As a result, I grew up to think of myself as pretty much like any other little
girl. I was expected to do well in school and I usually did. While I always had plenty of friends, I remember often feeling
left out in large groups because I couldnt follow conversations very well. This occasional feeling of isolation from other
people has stayed with me to this day. Because of my involvement with SHHH and reading about other people with hearing loss,
I now know that this is a very common experience for people with hearing loss. In retrospect, I think it would have helped
if the adults in my life had talked with me about issues like this so that I knew that I wasnt alone.
I went on
to college with financial aid from the states Dept. of Rehabilitation Services, which has programs to help hearing impaired
students. I had difficulty in the large auditorium-style classes that typify the first two years of college. The combination
of acoustics, background noise and inability to speech read from a distance made these classes a real challenge for someone
with hearing loss. I got little from the lectures and survived on borrowed notes and the reading. I also had difficulty with
the required foreign language classes. While I could read Spanish passably, I couldnt understand the oral lessons and after
much frustration, received approval from the school to bypass the foreign language requirement.
After graduating
college, I went on to become a newspaper reporter, a job that seemed to be a good fit in every way except one: my hearing
loss made it very difficult. I had trouble following what was being said in the many meetings that I covered and in telephone
interviews. After a few years, I left reporting and took a public relations position. I've since held several management positions
in the public relations/marketing field.
Unfortunately, my hearing has continued to deteriorate particularly
my ability to distinguish speech and I am finding it very difficult to communicate in groups and via telephone, which of
course is the nature of my work. I recently acquired two new digital hearing aids, hoping that they will give me the boost
I need to continue to perform my job. [The jury is still out on this!] Thank heavens for e-mail, a real blessing for people
with hearing loss.
I don't know what the future holds for me in terms of my hearing, but I'm confident that I will
chart a new course for myself if I need to. Living with hearing loss has many challenges and difficult moments, but it's a
great teacher of self-reliance!
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