I can’t hear you – literally

Jessica Blair, an early childhood educator, puts in her earplugs as part of Hard of Hearing Day. On May 15, a group of local folks experienced a simulation of what it’s like to experience hearing loss.

On May 15, I took part in the Canadian Hearing Society’s Hard of Hearing Day to get a feel for what it is like for someone who has suffered hearing loss. It was a quieting experience, to say the least.

The CHS, along with the Accessibility Committee of Chatham-Kent, organized the event as part of Speech and Hearing Awareness Month.

As soon as I put my plugs in that morning at the society’s Thames Street offices, my day changed.

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The best way to get a feel for what folks who have difficulty hearing go through is to grab a snorkel and hop in a swimming pool. Hold yourself underwater and just hover there.

Listen to your breathing. Listen to how everything inside of you seems amplified. And how everything outside of you is muffled.

That’s exactly how my day with limited hearing began. Suddenly, I could really hear every breath I took, while outside sounds, including conversations, were much quieter, as if they took place in another room.

Jessica Blair, an early childhood educator at Ecole Sainte-Marie in Chatham, also took part in the day. She said it was a difficult adjustment once the earplugs went in.

“It was weird. You can hear everything inside of you, but very little outside,” she said.

Considering her day is typically spent around scores of energetic youngsters, perhaps it was a calming experience.

There were Timbits at the CHS, and another of the Hard of Hearing Day participants, Logix’s Brian Gallagher, offered them up after saying chewing was louder with the plugs in.

He wasn’t kidding. Nibbling a soft, squishy Timbit sounded like I was chewing on a mix of crispy lettuce and potato chips.

My 10:30 a.m. banana snack sounded like a pile driver at work in a swamp. Just plain weird.

Mayor Randy Hope, also a participant, and I left at the same time. He said his time working in the manufacturing sector for years had him wearing earplugs every day. He said you quickly adapt your communication skills and senses to pick up on other things, such as reading another person’s lips.

I was slow to do so. Even an hour later in the office, some of the women were asking if I was looking at lips now, but I found I was still staring into eyes. That changed by the two-hour mark. Lips became my focal point during conversations as I tried to make out as much as I could.

For me, the hardest person to hear in the office was the only other guy, my business partner, Jim Blake. It seemed much easier to hear higher pitches.

But just walking back to the office was an experience. Because internal body sounds are amplified, I could hear every footstep. I felt like Godzilla stomping through Tokyo even though I was plodding across a parking lot.

And I could literally hear the slight limp I have in my step due to my arthritic hip. My left foot landed: heel, then toe. But my right one kind of rolled through, landing on the heel, and then rolling along the outside of the sole of the shoe until I pushed off with my toes for the next step.

Odd.

Back at the office, I shared my observations with the folks. My participation on the day has a personal impact, as Fatima, our circulation boss, is much younger than I am, but has suffered a hearing loss. Most everything I was experiencing was something she said she goes through every day because she wears a hearing aid.

Fatima said she’s used to hearing every chew and nibble as she eats. A relative of hers who also suffered hearing loss takes his hearing aid out to eat, because the noises drive him nuts.

I could see that.

I thought I’d be speaking louder. But the folks in the office said it was just the opposite. I was quieter than usual (and I think they likely sent the Canadian Hearing Society flowers for this special treat). I guess I could really hear my voice and was making an effort to keep the volume down.

Communication was slower, as rather than hearing and responding, you hear and watch lips, digest it to make sure what you think you heard is correct, and reply. And that’s just in the cases where you didn’t have to ask a person to repeat what they had said.

My wife, whose father was hard of hearing, kept getting “Huh?” from me when she asked me questions. She said it was just like living with her dad when he would take out his hearing aid.

I met that day with a couple of folks about Relay For Life (still time for teams to enter), and Rachel MacLeod of the Canadian Cancer Society was the first person who made the conscious effort to speak more loudly to me on a consistent basis. At first, I thought of it as a nice gesture, but unnecessary. I kept that thought until she at one point reverted to her normal volume level. Suddenly I had to ask her to repeat what she said.

At the office, I found myself withdrawing from my usual office banter, as it was easier to pull away than to make the effort to take part. I can only wonder how a person who lives like this 24/7 handles things. I couldn’t imagine hearing yourself in extreme detail, but hearing others poorly every single day.

When I finally pulled the plugs about 4:45 p.m., I imagine I experienced what the hard of hearing do when they are fitted with a good hearing aid. Suddenly I could hear again! The little background noises – the sound of the rain falling on the roof, chirping of birds, and people’s fingers tapping on keyboards – were all sounds I couldn’t hear during the experiment.

I certainly have greater appreciation of my hearing. Never take your senses for granted.