Earning the big D

I had this nasty problem. One that no matter how hard I tried to figure out how to resolve it I never quite knew what to do.

Inevitably time and time again someone would come up to me, or I'd meet someone and I'd struggle for how I would define myself.

For those of us with hearing loss, there are quite a few options:

There is the supposedly politically correct hearing impaired, which is by no means the politically correct term that it maintains it is. I would like to figure out what exactly is impaired or deficient. Needless to say, unless someone has decided that it is an appropriate identity for themselves (typically an elderly population who has never learned to sign or would know what to do with ASL if it hit them over their heads) don't use this term to describe anyone. It isn't going to go over well.

There is the label hard of hearing. This refers to those who have hearing loss, but typically in the less severe categories. They typically rely on devices to correct their hearing such as hearing aids, and will speak and speech-read as the need arises. Typically those who identify as hard of hearing have no knowledge of ASL or Deaf culture.

There is the label of deaf which refers to an audiological state of deafness. People who identify as deaf have severe to profound levels of hearing loss, but will either correct it using hearing aids or cochlear implants or will rely on speech-reading. Again those who identify as deaf may know a few basic signs to get by, but the majority of the time they rely on other means of communication.

Then there is Deaf. Deafness in this case refers to both an audiological state of deafness as well as a belonging to the Deaf community. There is a cultural aspect to your Deafness as well. Deaf people sign, they attend events in the Deaf community, they value ASL and are often activists to protect their culture and their language.

As with any kind of an identity label they are all self-identified and there are always exceptions to any rule.

Which then leaves me. I have struggled for months with where I fit into this jumbling confusion of labels. I can hear out of one ear. I can do most of the things I do in spoken English. I sign. I use interpreters. I am involved in the Deaf community and Deaf culture. Really, for the most part I'd become an expert at avoiding the question when people asked me whether I was Deaf or hearing. I got used to the sideways glances my friends would give me knowing the story that was about to erupt from my hands or mouth depending on the setting. The fact that most of my stories begin with it's complicated seemed to be a dead giveaway.

Somewhere though, I became an activist. The rights that I were fighting for were no longer the rights of a group of people that I was supporting, but they became my own. I was fighting for my own rights to access information and events that anyone else would have the right to. It isn't just friends and acquaintances who are being denied access, it is me. The more I start to live in this world, the more it fits me, the more even though sometimes watching interpreters all day makes me want to remove my eyes from my face and eat them, the more I still value that time. It is time where I'm not standing against a wall or in a corner because I don't understand what it is going on. Where I can hear the noise around me, but not well enough to make sense of any of it. It is time when I get to be fully involved, fully engaged, happy that I'm not making a fool out of myself because I am refusing to acknowledge how much I can't hear. It is realizing how much I hate the phone, how hard it really is for me, and how cut off I am from the world if my one good ear is glued to a device, and how much I prefer to write or sign.

A friend of mine got into Ryerson this week. Hopefully eventually into my program, but for now knowing she will be at the school is enough. We started planning our year, figuring out that we wanted to be involved, both sort of realizing that we wanted the safety net of another to hold our backs. Both being delighted that we weren't going to be "the only one" at anything we went to. Realizing that it was about community and support and having spaces.

After a full day of fighting for rights, and winning the fight to have access, I realized that that was the moment, when I had least expected it. Stuck in an email war against a bureaucratic institution trying to deny their right to make their open event accessible, I earned my D and the identity debate was gone forever.

Independence and Reality

I like to think I'm invincible.

I like to think that there is nothing I can't do, and nothing that can stop me. If I admit that I am only human and that there are just things I can't do, that gets scary for me. I'm fine with admitting things like "I can't leap tall buildings" or "I can't run a marathon" most people would agree that building jumping can be dangerous, and that if I tried to run a marathon in this shape I'd likely injure myself (though, I can walk a marathon... That's a pretty good first step).

My point is that recently my world changed, and something I took for granted that I could do, I'm finding that I can't do so well anymore. I've lost most of the hearing in my left ear. I used to go to school to become a sign language interpreter, so I spent 3 years of my life learning sign language. Now every day that I'm in class I use sign language interpreters. It's funny because I feel like I have to defend why I need my interpreters a lot. I speak for myself, if you come up to me to talk to me I can for the most part hear you, and it's funny because a lot of the time I even ask myself why I have interpreters. I ask myself if it is worth making all this fuss. At home I don't use ASL. At work I never have interpreters. I am grateful that my hearing is still good enough that I don't need to use interpreters for my medical appointments or therapy. As much as after 2 years of the interpreter program I know the ethics and confidentiality that get drilled into interpreters from day one, I still am glad that I am able to not have a third person in that room.

It's hard for me sometimes. It feels like a huge loss of independence. If I go to class I can't take notes for myself because I can't take my eyes off the interpreters or I miss what is being said. There are an extra 3 people in the room just for me. If I need to leave a class early, or walk in late everyone notices because it isn't just me doing so. The times that are getting too numerous to count that there is some sort of interaction or problem between my teachers or peers and interpreters or I that would have never happened had I not needed an interpreter gets really frustrating as well. It is becoming so obvious to me that I get treated very differently when I use an interpreter compared to when I don't.

A friend of mine asked me if I really felt that the interpreters were causing me to lose my independence or if they were helping me to gain independence. At first I would have answered her lose independence, absolutely. I'm beginning to wonder though. In class a few weeks ago we were doing a group activity. Sometimes in small groups I need the interpreters, sometimes not, it depends on how loud the room is. I called the interpreter over and asked her to interpret. I forgot that I had the interpreter right there, and just relied on my hearing to hear what one of my group members had said, and despite the fact that the interpreter was correctly interpreting her comment, I completely misheard and replied about something else entirely. Had I used the interpreter for what she was there for, I wouldn't have made a fool of myself or made it quite obvious to everyone around me that I actually needed her there. The time when I notice it the most though is when I am at work. My coworkers usually forget that I can't hear and call me from halfway across the office to ask me something. Usually I don't hear them. It isn't until they call me 2 or 3 times or someone else points out to me that someone is looking for me that I know. Having the interpreters there levels the playing field in a lot of ways. Yes I need them, but if they aren't there, I am always going to be dependent on other people. I will need them to tell me when people are trying to get my attention. As my hearing gets worse that is only going to get worse from here on out. As much as I love to write I would far prefer the fullness of ASL to being reduced to fully written communication. Words on paper can only express and show so much, or allow for so much spontaneity.

I think in the end though it comes down to a lot of things. It comes down to accepting myself, and that despite what I wish were true, I can only hear as well as I can. That I am always going to have interpreters in my life, and I am lucky to be able to say that this year's graduating class of interpreters are my friends and peers, and I would love to have any of the interpret for me. (Don't worry, I don't see us as being too close to not be professional in a classroom setting, there's room for jokes and stories I promise ;-) ). It means seeing the interpreters as my allies who's role is to allow me and my classmates to fully communicate with one another. It allows me to choose whether or not I want to speak or sign, and allows me to communicate in the mode that I feel most comfortable. In that choice is where I find my independence. It allows me to be independent because there is no way that I could participate in my education to the same extent without it.

In the end though, it just is what it is, and there is an entire discussion to be had on difference another day.