ALZHEIMER’S, LOBOTOMY, OR SOMETHING ELSE WITH MORE DIGNITY

Something many of you probably don’t know about me is that I have, at times, suffered from severe depression. I usually try to deal with it with a sense of humor. (No! Michele thinks something’s funny? Not a chance.) Anyway, sometimes other things don’t do the trick and they’ve had to resort to (GASP!) Electroconvulsive Treatments (ECT) – what most people call “Shock treatments.”) You know, I scare many people a lot because of my deafness, but mention shock and most people run for the hills…or tell me that their long lost son, Bartholomew, is calling and then pretend to answer their cell phone. That might actually work if it wasn’t off when they put it to their ear.

The point is, sometimes ECTs cause memory loss—usually right around the time of the treatment and many times for a week or so around them. I’ve never worried about it. I’ve dealt with it. But within the past couple of months I’ve had  one and I can’t express just how catastrophic the side effects were. I didn’t have “normal” side effects. I had what’s typically seen as “rare” problems. I’ve had several people compare me to someone with Alzheimer's. In fact, it wasn’t until two days ago that I even found out I had a blog. But since finding it and reading it, I feel comfortable telling you guys some of my most recent experiences and hoping you guys don’t judge me—or at least find my senility as hilarious and pathetic as I do. Of course, the best adjective is “frustrating,” but I gotta admit that it’s set me into convulsive fits of laughter from time to time, too, lately.

One of the terrible side effects has been clumsiness. For example, Kenny bought me a tea from Speedway (something I’m addicted to) and I couldn’t get the straw in my mouth. As I sat there, tongue out, moving it around to try to tackle it into my mouth, I lost control of the whole thing and poured it directly and neatly into Kenny’s crotch. It made a perfectly round circle, outlining everything that doesn’t need to be outlined and, needless to say, I lost my drink. Bummer to both of us.

Another terrible side effect is that I can’t fully moderate my impulse control. I’ve always been a sap, but when watching such things as “Family Feud” and “The Newlywed Game” result in tears and heavy, chest heaving sobs of happiness for the players, it can cause some confusion in those around me.

Then there’s confusion.

I’m writing a list of things Kenny needs from the store.

Kenny: “Black Pepper.”

I had no idea whatsoever what that was.

Or

Me to my daughter: “I’ve lost all of my clothing. Do I own a closet?”

She: “Yes”

Me: “Can you draw me direction as to where it is?”

(Sad thing is, I really need them AND I need to keep them on the refrigerator or somewhere I can find them daily, because I’ll forget where they are. Heck, I’ll forget I own a closet. Of course, I’ll probably forget I even have this information on the refrigerator anyway.)

No—I don’t feel stupid.

I got into Kenny’s car (it’s a manual) and couldn’t for the life of me get it started. I texted him in a panic.

Kenny: “Did you remember to press in the clutch at the same time?”

Oh.

But the biggest side effect has been the memory loss. Short term and long term. Recent and going all the way back to my childhood. No memory whatsoever.

I see people who are so happy to see me and I have no idea how I know them. Or I’ll see them, find out who they are, and then see them two hours later and have no idea who they are again.

I’m having a conversation with a friend. She asked, matter-of-factly, “So, what’s your middle name?” Now, how in the heck do I explain the fact that I have no idea what my middle name is if I don’t want to say “shock treatment” and ”crazy”?

The technician at the ultrasound of my hip I needed on Tuesday asked if I’d had it x-rayed yet.

“Nope.”

A couple of minutes later, as she’s typing on the computer, she looks over at me, confused, and says, ‘It says here you had it x-rayed in January.”

Oops.

The kids say that I ask them the same thing repeatedly.

“Do you have homework?”

“Yes.”

“OK”

Three minutes later….

“Do you have homework?”

“Yes.”

“OK”

After 5 times, my daughter finally writes it on a piece of paper and hands it to me. Did it help? I don’t remember.

Kenny said I do the same thing with texting him questions throughout the day.

“Where do we keep the salt?”

“What’s a washing machine?”

“Who is ___ and why is she coming over to see Natalie?”

Over and over and over.

Oh, there’s so much more I could write about. Fact simply is, I’ve become an imbecile. OK. I know it’s not my fault, but when you can’t openly explain that they drummed bolts of electricity through my head and now I have no idea who the man coming into my house at the end of the day and kissing me hello is, it gets quite humiliating and embarrassing.

Alzheimer's. That has much more dignity to it. Or lobotomy. Yeah, that’s it. I’m not stupid. I just had brain surgery recently and they forgot to put some or all of it back.

I should print that on index cards and hand them out as I venture out in public.

COOL , DEAF, OR DEMON? OR MAYBE ALL THREE!

My kids like to have their friends over to hang out or play with. I like this, too. I’ve always had this picture of me as the “cool mom,” with kids flocking to our house just because they know I’ll be home to entertain them. This doesn’t usually quite work though. Actually, it never works. Instead of the “cool” mom, I’m the “deaf” mom, and that tends to scare them away.

Good or bad, I tend to judge my kids’ friends by how they interact with me. If they never give me eye contact and never reply to my greetings and such, they must not be very good children. If, on the other hand, they talk up a storm and demand that my children interpret for them, they’re the best kids in the world and I welcome them at any time. Sad, but true.

What I’ve actually come to realize though is that pretty much all kids are scared meeting me the first couple of times, simply because I’m deaf and, hey, that’s scary. Or maybe it’d be better to use the term “intimidating.” I do my best to make sure people are comfortable, but it’s like telling people not to worry. Someone comes up and says, ”I’m worried,” and you’re response is, “Don’t worry.” What do you expect to happen? “Oh, great! Thanks! I’m not worried anymore.” I don’t think so.

So, telling people that I don’t bite and I’m really easy-going with new kids doesn’t make someone all-of-a-sudden at ease around me. I like to make jokes and include the kids in my banter, but, even I can admit that it’s not easy—especially since I can’t lipread.

I wish there was a magic wand that I could wave around and make people see me as a person before they see me as a DEAF person, but I’ve come to realize that’s just not likely. I’ll always be the DEAF mom to the kids at school.

But, you know what? I am DEAF. I’m proud to be DEAF. And being the only DEAF mom at my kids’ school should be an honor. So, I’m going to stop worrying about it. With each new kid, I’ll do my best to show them I’m a pretty cool person to hang with. If they don’t see that the first time around, perhaps the second time. And if I haven’t broken them in by the fifth date, maybe I’ll don a demon costume when I open the door and then run at them, hissing and moaning. I’ll then reveal my true identity to them. If that doesn’t make them relax, I’m afraid there is simply no hope. But, man, it’ll be worth the trouble just to see the look on the terrified kid’s face.

TILL DEAF DO US PART: Life In A Mixed Marriage

Webster defines “marriage” as “the state of being united to a person of the opposite sex as husband or wife in a consensual and contractual relationship recognized by law.” For the word “contract,” they define it as a “binding agreement.” Also listed as a definition for “contract” is “an order or arrangement for a hired assassin to kill another person or people.” Coincidence? I think not.

When my husband, Kenny, and I were married back in 1994, I still had a little hearing in my left ear. Just as my whole life I spent walking on the right side of people and using my left ear as a satellite to hone in on the sounds I was trying to hear, I did the same with Kenny and my hearing loss was never a real problem. However, fast-forward to 1999, and my sudden total lack of hearing was bound to cause some riffs in our happily ever after.

I must give my hubby a lot of credit though. When my deafness struck, he didn’t run for the hills. He stayed with me, even learning sign language to help communicate fully with me. I was lucky. I knew it then and I know it now. But, hey, he’s lucky, too. I ain’t no consolation prize.

After my complete hearing loss, it was suddenly clear just how scary deaf people are to hearing people. I started noticing a change. Sure, they had avoided me before, when I had some hearing, but being stone deaf brought new meaning to the phrase: Run For Your Life!!!! I’m talking the kind of change that makes me think I may need to change my clothes. I must stink. There can’t be any other reason why hearing people (hearies) are avoiding me. I’m talking dodge ball. I enter the room and people practically dive behind the furniture to keep from having to encounter my presence. I’ve always noticed it and Kenny started to notice it, too.

Now that I’ve been stone deaf for 13 years, it’s evident that I intimidate people. How Kenny and I have chosen to deal with this sometimes varies, but almost always incorporates humor into the scene.

At our church here in Grand Rapids, we enter the building and are immediately separated till the service starts. As long as he’s standing with me, signing, no one wants to approach. So, he sneaks off into the other section of the congregation to schmooze with his “people” and I make a b-line for the Deaf Ministry section to save our seats. His instruction is to wait 10 minutes into the service and then crawl on his hands and knees into my section and pop up into the chair without being noticed. If anyone asks, he dropped his tithe. That usually shuts them up.

We walk into a furniture store, wanting to find what’s on clearance because our smelly dog has thoroughly infested our couch with her odor. The salesmen, whom I endearingly call “the buzzards,” are standing there, ready for the kill. How do I keep them away? Simple. I start signing to Kenny. That shakes them up and they suddenly see spots on the ceiling that need to be stared at. We get all the way to the back where the clearance items are without anyone trying to show us their fresh and stylish new recliners. If Kenny wants help, there’s usually three or four, slowly guiding themselves along the floor. When he approaches them and begins to talk, all of sudden you can see two other salesman snapping their fingers and counting their loss. Man, I should have talked with the death people, they think. Should have. Us death people have money, too. (Though I whole-heartedly admit that I’m thankful when they don’t approach until I give them the clue that I’m interested.)

Sitting in a crowded Applebee’s, Kenny and I are entranced with their menu—trying to figure out what we’d like for dinner. The waitress appears and sees me signing to Kenny. “Oh, is she hearing impaired? I just love those people. They’re so fun to watch! What do you think she wants to eat for dinner tonight?” Hmmm. Kenny’s intestines on a plate if he answers her. Just kidding. He would never do that. I’m far scarier when I’m angry than when I’m simply confused out in public.

Kenny and I are pretty outgoing with the people we encounter while out and about. Because of this, I think we get asked a lot of questions about my deafness than those who give the impression that they’ll bite you if you speak to them. In fact, some of the things we’re asked amaze me. Sure, there are many questions that all hearies have and many of them make sense. But sometimes I gotta wonder what these people lack in their lives—I mean, do they just sit around and think up these questions? Most of the time, I’m not surprised...most of the time.

Sitting in the mall, taking a break from Barnes & Noble, Kenny and I sign away. “You two are such a cute couple!” A woman, clad in hot pink leggings and little on top was standing over us, gushing away.

“Thanks,” we nodded to her and smiled.

“Can I ask you a question?” She was going to ask anyway, so we just continued to smile. “Being deaf, are you guys even able to, you know, be intimate?” I’d heard it all, or though I thought. But someone asking me if I can have a sex life with my husband was the ultimate befuddlement. What I wanted to say was that, if she gave me her email address, we would gladly post a how-to vlog once we got home. I didn’t want to embarrass Kenny though. So, I said the next best thing.

“Oh, we’re able to be intimate. The only hassle is that we have to plan it 24 hours in advance. You know, in order to get an interpreter in there with us.”

Looking quite confused, her friend comes along and pulls her away. I’m left feeling rejuvenated. How nice it is to educate the general public. That woman will have an image burned into her mind for years to come.

My point is this: Although Kenny and I have had our share of very stressful times, there’s going to have to be far more than deafness to break us apart. We love each other “till death do us part,” and nothing’s going to change that. Now please excuse me while I go make a phone call. Hey, an interpreter isn’t going to show up on their own. They need 24 hours advance notice, remember? (wink)

INDIANA’S HB 1367 – Send Your Letter of Opposition Now!!!

If you keep up with the political happenings around the country, especially those points that will affect the Deaf and Hard of Hearing population, you might already know about Indiana’s House Bill #1367. If you are not familiar with this, you can read it at:

http://www.in.gov/legislative/bills/2012/HB/HB1367.1.html?tr=y&auid=10213723

The main point of this bill is to remove the current outreach center at the Indiana School of the Deaf and replace it with a new one. This simply does not make any sense. For one, the school already has a center that is well-serving its community. There’s no information to the contrary. There’s also no reason financially or otherwise to fire all of those workers and start anew. However, when you take a look at the group that pushing this bill, you might understand better what’s going on.

I did some reading of material both SUPPORTING this bill and of the OPPOSED group and I can whole-heartedly say that I feel this bill should be OPPOSED. The most interesting fact I found was that the main supporter for this bill is Hear Indiana. If you visit their site, you will first see that they are a chapter of the Alexander Graham Bell Association, which is a staunch proponent of oralism. They believe in the No-Signing “rule,” and vehemently push for cochlear implants in babies and young children, oralism and audism. See my blogs about AG Bell “He Ain’t As Great As They Think He Is,”

and Oralism “You Say Oralism Isn’t Perfect? Right On,Brother!”

for more of my comments on those two issues.

Hear Indiana’s Mission Statement, which they proudly post, is, on all three parts, for the use of “spoken language” for all Deaf and Hard of people. They are opposed to teaching them the use of their native language, American Sign Language. They are adamant about the use of “spoken language,” as if that were THE answer for all Deaf and Hard of Hearing people out there. No one can say what is best for ALL. In fact, there IS no “best for all.” Everyone is different. However, this group does not see it that way.

The fact of the matter is that Hear Indiana wants the current outreach center at the Indiana School of the Deaf replaced so that they can push oralism into the school and community. That’s how I feel, anyway. And it’s wrong. And we, as a people who are, know, and/or care about the Deaf and Hard of Hearing population, need to oppose this bill. Most importantly, we need to make our feelings heard now, before they vote on the amended bill.

You can do this easily, by clicking on the below link and sending an email or emails to the Indiana Legislators stating your opposition to HB  1367.

http://www.in.gov/cgi-bin/legislative/contact/contact.pl

"I'D HATE BEING DEAF -- I LOOK TERRIBLE IN BLACK"

If you’ve read my blog, you may remember that I (and probably most deaf people) have people telling me the strangest things and asking me some of the most bizarre questions I ever thought I would be asked. Sometimes they're annoying, many times they just crack me up, but they always leave an impression on my mind.

I was sitting in a local Applebee’s, studying the menu, when the waitress approached. My husband was preoccupied, trying to help our kids decide if they liked anything on the kids’ menu, so the waitress naturally turned to me.

Of course, I was so entranced in the menu that I didn’t even realize she was standing there. She must have stood there for a good three to five minutes before I noticed her out of the corner of my eye.

“What would you like to drink?” I think she asked.

“Huh?” was my eloquent retort.

Kenny turned to me and signed, “DRINK WANT WHAT?”

The waitress just about turned the color of a beet. “Oh, I didn’t realize she was hearing impaired.” (Grrrr..) “What do you think she wants to drink?” Kenny chuckled to himself, probably debating whether to tell me what she just said or let it go. For the time being, he waited for me to answer and interpreted for me.

A few minutes later, she brought our drinks and asked about what we wanted to order. Of course, by this time she wasn’t even acknowledging my existence anymore. I must have scared her too much…my Deaf Fangs and all. When everyone else had ordered and it was my turn, she turned to my husband and, once again, asked him what he thought I would like to eat. What am I? A dog?

Kenny motioned over to me, where I sat with my finger stuck onto the menu, waiting for her to look. All in all, it wasn’t any different than any other time we’ve all gone out to eat.

So, the waitress brought the food, made sure Kenny and the kids had everything they needed, and left. We dug into our mozzerella sticks and chicken penna and all seemed just fine. About fifteen minutes later, the waitress approached our table.

“Hi! You know, a few of my co-workers and I have been watching you guys sign. It’s just so neat! In fact, we think we might have even understood what you were saying. Did you say….,” and she went on trying to “interpret” what our private conversation had been about. Of course, she was totally wrong, but that’s beside the fact! Privacy?? Hello?!?! Kenny tried to be the polite one as he interpreted to me what the waitress was saying. I simply sat there and glared at her. Will she ever go away??

“I’ve just gotta ask: Does being hearing impaired hurt? I mean, really. She must have to constantly dodge cars when she goes for a walk and I’m guessing she has to walk everywhere, since it’s illegal for those people to drive or even ride a bike. Or maybe they have special devices for them? They’re such fascinating people! You know?”

Yes, stupid-head waitress. We know.

“Sometimes I think I would like to be hearing impaired, but I don’t think I ever could. I mean, no sound at all? And besides, I look terrible in black.”

The only thing that came to my mind was, “Huh?”

She continued to explain:

“Every time I see someone signing at church or stuff like that, they are wearing black. So I know it’s, like, required. Plus I don’t think I could ever stand up in front of all those people. They’d all know I was (whispered “deaf”) then. Is she given a script or anything before she gets up there?” She was serious. I sat there staring at my husband in disbelief. This waitress was not going to leave, so we might as well finish this ridiculous conversation.

I began to sign. “Those are interpreters. They’re not deaf. They’re there to help the deaf and hard of hearing enjoy the service by signing whatever the pastor and other people are saying.” I hoped that would be sufficient in explaining the situation, so I sat, eyes glued to her face, waiting for her to take in all the information.

“Oohhhh.” (Long pause.) When she finally spoke again, it was to be the last thing she said to us before going off her shift. “Well, I guess that’s kind of cool. Still, I wouldn’t want to be like her. It would take me way too long to learn Braille.”

"HO! HO! HUH?" TURNING A LIMP HAND TO A FELLOW DEAFIE

Every year around this time, I begin to worry. I worry that we won’t have the money or capabilities to afford gifts for our children. I worry about that a lot. My husband tells me over and over that gifts are not what Christmas is about. He’s right. Yet still I worry. I’m sure even to the point of selfishness. And every year, God proves to me that He is in charge. We’ve never had a Christmas where we walked away in want. For that I am truly grateful.

In fact, it amazes me (understatement) how many blessings are bestowed upon our family at this time of year. This year is no different. Friends, family, and anonymous donors flabbergast us as the days roll by. Cookies, candy, gift cards, even money, are placed in our hands with only “A Friend” or “Use this wherever you are in need” scribbled on a note or card.

At this time, we aren’t able to do a lot for others, but I certainly try through cards and food and any gifts I’m able to purchase. I want to give back.

Now, you would think that, with all the good coming our way, I wouldn’t have a whole lot of complaining to do. But if you do think that, you don’t know me very well. Sad to say, but I’m a whiner, and what I’m usually whining about is inequality of communication access for poor, little, old, Deaf me.

Why can’t I go see the movie I want to see? Why do I always have to settle for what they’ll give me?

Why can’t I join the group of Christmas carolers and sing my heart out?

Why doesn’t Santa Claus at the mall offer an interpreter so I can sit on his lap and tell him my inner-most thoughts? OK. That one hasn’t actually happened, but I wouldn’t put it past me.

Case in point…I hate being left out. I hate that I have to ask for assistance. I hate that I can’t enjoy things in the same, full way that many can. I hate, I hate, I hate.

Well, Bah! Humbug!

So, anyway, I’m cleaning up the kitchen yesterday afternoon and my 11-yeear-old daughter charges in. “Santa Claus is at the door.”

“Huh? What does that mean?”

“It means that Santa Claus is at the door. He just tapped on the glass and shouted, ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’”

Immediately I’m thinking child predator in a Santa Claus suit. OK. Not really. I walk into the living room and, sure enough, there’s Kris Kringle at the door, waving at me through the glass.

Now, we have people come to the house pretty often. Aside from a pair of Jehovah Witnesses, there’s never ever been a signer. So, I’ve simply come to expect that anyone who comes to the door—especially ones who are shouting with laughter through the glass—are obviously hearing individuals.

I smile and open the glass door. “Hi! What can I do for you, sir?” I state. No hand motions in sight.

Santa starts to speak. Afraid that he’s going to get chatty, I immediately point at my ear, shake my head and let him know I’m deaf. He looks scared. So, turning away, facing in the complete opposite direction of his eyes, I offer my son up to interpret for him. Santa doesn’t say anything. In fact, if I’m right, he looks pretty darn confused.

He gently hands me a card. I ask who it’s from and my kids say he said, “A friend.”

“Wow! Well, Merry Christmas!” I shout and he leaves us all standing at the door, wondering what in the heck just happened.

It doesn’t really matter what happened next. Suffice it to say we were overwhelmed with the goodness of the Lord with the gift that was inside that card. After a lot of talking about who we thought he might have been, we give up for the time being. An hour later, my teen girl runs into the room and signs, “He had a Deaf accent!! He had a Deaf accent!! I wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, because I couldn’t understand some of the stuff he said, but that’s why!”

So, here we had a nice and caring man, donning a Santa Claus outfit, who was, by all speculation, deaf, come to the door and I didn’t sign a single thing to him. I put that poor man in the same predicament I was whining about just earlier that same day. A Deafie had created inequality of communication access with a fellow Deafie.

I feel awful. I really do. And, no, we don’t know for sure if that man was, indeed, deaf. But the fact is, why did I presume that the person would be hearing and prefer oral communication, even when it’s the opposite of what I want? I complain that people can’t sign, and those who say they can, usually mean they can show me the ABCs over the course of 15 minutes. This man, if he was deaf, came to our door, “knowing” and expecting that he’d be able to chat. Maybe. Guess that just goes to show that it can work both ways.

I’ve learned my lesson though. I won’t assume people are hearing anymore. Besides, we all know what happens when you “assume.” You make an “ass” out of U and Me. Well, how’s that for Merry Christmas?

A DEAF PERSON'S GUIDE TO THE HOLIDAYS.....again

Since many people are new to my blog, here is my GUIDE for you that I posted last December. All others, read again. It's here for you, too!

A DEAF PERSON'S GUIDE TO HOLIDAYS WITH NON-SIGNING FAMILY

It’s Christmas time and, chances are, you’re going to be spending some of that time around family and friends. Perhaps you’re Deaf or hard of hearing and your family is not. Perhaps those hearing relatives don’t know sign language either. What’s a deafie to do to make sure they don’t go completely berserk at this time of year?

Here, I’ve put together ten holiday tips for staying sane and making the most of your time with hearing friends and family.

1. If you're worried about getting the perfect gift for that special someone, but the thought of battling through all the holiday traffic, spending hours finding a parking place, then remember that sometimes the best gift is a simple one. You can buy almost anything online from the comfort of your own home. Gift cards are also an easy way to go. But if you really want to “shake things up,” why not give them a vibrating alarm clock? No need to wrap it. Just sneak into their bedroom at night and place the vibrating part under their pillow. Although they’re usually meant to be placed under the mattress, putting it under their pillow will give them a much deeper and immediate appreciation for what you go through to wake up in the morning.

Just sneak into their bedroom, plug it in, and set the alarm for 1 minute later. Then sit back and watch the festivities begin!

2. If the thought of a party, family gathering, or other "mandatory" social event leaves you knotted up with anxiety, plan ahead for some "escape time" for yourself. If you are suddenly feeling overwhelmed with all of the lip-flapping and none of the hand-using, do what the experts tell you to do: Hide in the bathroom. (OK, maybe the experts don’t exactly say this, but I do, so we’ll just go with it, shall we?)

Not only can you lock the door and ignore all of the knocking and hands waving under the door, but you can go through their medicine cabinet and get to know them in a more personal way. Then, once at least 5 notes have been pushed under the door to tell you that they need to go to the bathroom, you can simply flush the toilet, let the water run for 10 seconds and emerge rejuvenated and wiser to the ways the host’s family deals with medication.

3. If you’re one who can lipread a bit, it might behoove you to determine in advance what subjects will be discussed.  Try to take a moment and think about what each guest is interested in and then practice lipreading words that might be said. You never know when learning to lipread “Sheboygan” and “antidisestablishmentarianism” will come in handy.

4. Greet every family member with a hug and sign, “It’s great to see you!”  You never have to recover from a good start. Then again, if you start things off on a bad note, it might just ruin the entire visit. Do what you think is best. If you think hugging Uncle Larry, who often looks at you like you’re about to smite him down with his own deafness, would benefit you (such as scaring him so badly that he loses all blood flow to his brain and passes out---fun to watch!) then hug away. Otherwise, a nice wave across the room should suffice.

5. Whatever issues exist, it is not the fault of your nephews, nieces, and grandchildren.  So, be sure to be nice to them. In fact, it’s a well-known fact that eating at the kids’ table is much more enjoyable. Not only can you play with your food, but, if you behave yourself, you can often get a second piece of pie. 

6.  Form alliances with those you like and stay clear of the dysfunctional ones. In other words, there’s no point in hanging out with Uncle Larry if your cousin Tammy signs well (and you like her). Just think of the things you can do! You can have long, gossipy conversations in sign language and no one will have a clue. In fact, I’ve even had people tell me that it’s rude to have signed conversations in front of people who can’t sign. My response is to explain how they’re doing the exact same thing when they speak around someone who can’t hear. Helloooo!

7. Don’t expect others to be different. It’s very easy to go into a situation like this, hoping that the people you haven’t seen in a while will be more receptive to you and include you more. Unfortunately, it’s those who haven’t seen you who will probably treat you worse. Out of sight, out of mind, applies to a person being deaf as well. So, don’t get your hopes up regarding people changing. Try to change your own attitude and let the ignorance of others roll off your back. (Easier said than done.)

8.  Keep busy! If you’re at a party and you feel bored or left out, find the host and ask what you can do to help. Whether it’s washing dishes or changing diapers, there’s sure to be something to occupy your time. Give it a try! If it doesn’t help, at least you can know that you helped someone else out that day.

9.  Use laughter and humor to take off the pressure. This is probably the most important tip of all! Everyone needs a sense of humor, and us deafies need it the most. Instead of focusing on why you’re unhappy or feeling excluded, try to think of things that are happening and what is funny about them.  So, you’ll be off in the corner laughing to yourself. So what? They already think you’re a freak because you’re deaf. Mental illness isn’t that far a step now, is it? 

10. Make an exit plan and use it. Escape, flee, run for the hills, hightail it out of there…anything you have to do to make it all go away. As soon as you’ve had enough, it is OK to tell people that you need to leave. Don’t stay until you’re so stressed you want to vomit in Uncle Larry’s shoes. He probably won’t notice it anyway. So leave. You may never enjoy these family gatherings, but, if you leave before total insanity has set in, you just might be able to find something good that came out of it.

WHAT? WHAT? WHAT DID I MISS?

When a person is born without or loses one of his five senses, the focus by many is on the loss and how, after the fact, that poor person misses or loses so much. Whether it be losing your sense of taste and not being able to enjoy chocolate anymore (yum), losing your sense of touch and not being able to decipher if something is too hot to hold at the moment (ouch), or having gas and not being aware that the people laying on the floor around you are, indeed, laying there because of you. Any way you look at it, it’s a loss to those who have all five senses working full-strength.

However, it goes without saying that losing your sight and losing your hearing may cause the most reaction from that person and those around him. The long-lived question of, “Which would you rather lose…your hearing or your sight,” almost always renders people feeling that losing your sight is the biggest problem. And I agree it would be traumatic, but so would be losing your hearing after you’ve spent decades enjoying music, having casual conversations, and such. Both would be traumatic. And, face it, there are very few people with both of these senses who wouldn’t really care if they lost one.

People think that, because I lost my hearing after I learned to speak, I am missing so much out of life. And I agree that it takes some working on to not go totally bananas. Before deafness I was a professional and amateur actress doing musical theatre. Not exactly something I can pursue anymore – especially living in the mid-west, in a spot where there aren’t many theatres around.

Movies aren’t as wonderful of an experience, but, now being deaf for a long time, I enjoy captioned movies just as much as I remember enjoying movies when I could hear. Finding theatres that offer captions for first-run movies is a bummer though, so I admit it grates on my nerves.

Plays and musicals are definitely not as exciting as I knew them to be. Watching an interpreter (when there’s one provided) and watching the action on the stage at the same time can be difficult (though there are theatres that directly address this situation by having the signers actually on the stage acting with the hearing actors). I miss theatre. I do. I also miss being able to sing (well). I used to have a great voice. I can say that now, because I no longer can control my voice and when I sing, dying dolphins would sound lovelier. I’ve told my kids over and over how well I used to sing, but, after hearing me as they’ve known me, I think they need more proof. I will say, though, that I took one of my kids to see an UNinterpreted production of “To Kill A Mockingbird,” last year and believe I enjoyed it every bit as much as my daughter did.

Then there’s small talk. Something I can no longer participate in with hearing people…at least not casually. I never liked small talk before, but have found that it does feel a LOT more isolating when you can’t joke around with people as easily. I still have a lot of sarcasm in my conversations, but many people don’t realize I’m just being a silly smart-mouth and just think I’m basically a witch.

But last night changed things for me. Made me see something more about my life.

One of my kids was going to be playing two different instruments in the school band concert. Because there’s no choir at this school (GASP!), it was a totally musical night—not something that really interests me anymore. And, no, if you’re wondering: feeling the musical vibrations in my butt does NOT excite me. After knowing and then losing music, vibrations and lights just don’t compare to what I know those hearies were hearing.

Anyway, she was supposed to play the xylophone in one song. The first time for her. I wasn’t thinking much of it. I mean, it’s the xylophone. I remember playing “Mary Had A Little Lamb” on that thing as a kid. Ooooo. (That was a sarcastic ooooo, if you missed it).

But when it came time for her to do the song with the rest of the band, I was flabbergasted! Amazed! Tickled pink! Stunned! I don’t know much about the song, but she was the star. She was banging on the instruments, going back and forth between two of them. Her sticks were flying and all eyes were on her. This was no, “Mary.” This was like Flight-of-the-Bumblebees-fast. And she ROCKED IT. I didn’t need to hear to know that.

After the concert, people she or we didn’t even know were running up to her and saying how COOL she was and I just stood there and glowed. That’s my daughter, I would’ve said if anyone had actually talked to me. She was good. I got to see it. And, even with the absence of sound I knew, I had witnessed something truly great. Do I feel like I missed out, because I’m Deaf? Not. One. Bit.

Yes, losing a sense is very traumatic if compared to never having the sense from the start. I guess I’ve been deaf looooong enough to be OK with it, though I know many who aren’t. One of these days everything is going to be accessible to people with a variety of  situations—including deaf people. I don’t know if I’ll still be alive when that finally happens, but I do know that I’m not going to sit around and be sad about it and waste my life concentrating on what’s been “taken” from me. I mean, really! If I were doing that, I would have missed my rock-star-daughter’s solo. And that would have been a travesty.

I AM DEAF AND THAT'S OK!

Last week, I attended a deaf convention. It was for an organization that claims to focus on people with adult-onset hearing loss (late-deafened adults, LDAs). I attended a few of their other conventions in the past, but it’s been five years since the last one. I wasn’t sure how it would go. I had talked with LDAs and had always felt like the bulk of them spend 99% of their time trying to stay in the “hearing world” and “fix” themselves. I don’t see my deafness that way. When I lost the last of my hearing a long time ago, I accepted that I was then completely deaf and I went about joining the “Deaf world.”

Anyway, I thought it would be a great experience. I thought I would meet tons of people who signed and, at the same time, knew (and accepted) what it was like to be both a hearing person (in the past) and a deaf person (in the present). That wasn’t what I found though. Instead, I found CIs galore, amplified telephones, and people talking to each other a mile a minute. It didn’t take me very long to realize that I didn’t fit in there. And this upset me greatly. Seems that organization has followed the trend of such groups as Hearing Loss Association of America, and it was just a bunch of people who tried to pull themselves of as Hard of Hearing at best.

When I moved to West Michigan ten years ago, I went about trying to find the Deaf community and meeting people. I have met many, many wonderful people in the process. But one thing stands out, and that is that I did not grow up here, did not go to school here, and am not really part of the cohesive group here. Part of that is circumstantial (in general, the Deaf crowd grows up together and stays pretty close) and part of that was my own darn fault (I am extremely shy and self-conscious, so I don’t jump into groups and make friends easily). However, the fact remains that I’ve met so many great people in the West Michigan Deaf Community. I thought this other organization would be even easier.

I figured, here are people who grew up hearing or hard of hearing and learned to speak before deafness. But this group wasn’t full of “deafies.” Far from it. And, because I am a deafie, it was isolating and painful.

Trying to find out where you fit in in life and groups can be a very painful process. Sometimes things go your way and it’s easy, but most of the time you have to have some real cojones and a ton of resiliency….things I do not possess. So where do I fit in? Where do I go to find people to bond with and grow with and have fun with? Am I so scared of my surroundings that I give off an aire of witchiness? Is there something about me specifically that turns people away? Or do I just have a very poor ability of finding the right people? Not sure.

But I do know that I am Deaf. I am bi-cultural and bi-lingual and I accept that I will never hear again. I need Sign Language to communicate and do not possess lipreading skills that are worth very much. I use a Video Phone and teach ASL and hang out watching captioned movies and talking in places with good lighting. I am Deaf. And I’m OK with that. I don’t want to be “fixed.” I just want to be accepted.

WHAT THE F*** DO YOU KNOW?!?!?: Should ASL Profanity Be Openly Taught?

I recently went online and decided to look up any new Deaf- and ASL-related books available on Amazon. One of them caught my eye. It was a book on the “dirty words” in Sign Language. It made me consider whether it was appropriate to teach the profanity of ASL to new students or not.

I’ve heard the debate. When James Woodward came out with his two books, “Signs of Drug Use” and “Signs of Sexual Behavior,” there was quite a bit of an uproar regarding whether that inside knowledge should be thrust out there for anyone to learn. The simple fact is that many people just want to know the profanity. They think it’s funny. Now I can call my teacher an A-hole without him knowing, or whatever. Many Deaf people felt that ASL, being their language, shouldn’t be something just given out, but rather knowledge earned.

But there is a need out there for those who are serious about learning the language…especially interpreters-in-training. They do need to know that information. How can you possibly interpret in a courtroom if you don’t know the signs for sexually-oriented concepts? The trouble lies with who has control of and access to this information.

I’ve seen people say that if a person is serious about learning ASL, then they should find a Deaf friend and ask them how to do the mature words. OK. Good idea…if it’s possible. Some people are not sure how to bring it up and some people don’t know a Deaf person well enough to ask. Although an interpreter has to overcome a lot of feelings of embarrassment (especially working with culturally Deaf people who are known for their candidness and bite), it doesn’t mean it’s easy for them to say, “So, Jared, can you please tell me in what contexts I would use this sign for F--k and which times this sign is better?” May seem easy if that kind of thing comes naturally to you, but most of the time it doesn’t.

The book in question seems to have gotten some pretty good reviews—even from Deaf individuals. So, I’m inclined to think it isn’t as controversial over 30 years after James Woodward had to deal with the uproar. I took a look inside and the pictures are poor enough that I feel you would need to already have a working knowledge of the book in order to understand the descriptions anyway. Nevertheless, I ordered it. It’s titled, "Dirty Sign Language: Everyday Slangfrom "What's Up?" to "F*%# Off!" I’ll check it out and see what my side is on this debate. In the meantime, what do you feel about teaching sign language students the “dirty” words?