• Here at The Better Hearing Consumer we discuss our holy grail - the pursuit of living successfully with hearing loss. That means aiming for good communication in every area of our lives. This is a place to read about how others deal with technology, the lack of accommodation, hearing health professionals, and the emotions of hearing loss. Or simply how to get people to face us when they talk. My fellow bloggers at HHTM are top hearing health professionals and I suspect that at least one of them also has hearing loss! Hopefully, you'll find this blog a good place to visit, to read and share about communication challenges, practical solutions and points of view. I will have guest bloggers from time to time, and we welcome your comments.

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On the Road with a HoH (and Her BFFs)

By On · 6 Comments

Best friends share things through the years – secrets, money, boyfriends, etc.  And if one of you has hearing loss,  you share that, too.  If your friend is truly your best friend, she will gladly embrace the communication challenges, the irritations, and the daily impact of your hearing loss.

I’m writing this from Florida, where I arrived yesterday after a three-day Girl’s Road Trip with my two long-time BFFs (best-friends-forever), Shona and Wendy.  ‘Women’s Road Trip’ might be a more accurate descriptor given that we are in our fifties, but on fun trips like these, we tend to chop off a couple of decades.  And this road trip, our first in a long time, had the added attraction of a few defining hard-of-hearing moments, one of which was an eye-opener for all of us – and I mean eye-opener!

My BFFs and I are simpatico in the areas of life we consider important – social and family values, politics, and senses of humor.  We also talk a lot.  Other people marvel at our ability to carry on a conversation that started when we were 17 and that will last until we collectively croak.  We do have our differences;  one is that I’m hard of hearing and they are not, although I like to think they have other issues.  My hearing loss has added a stop-and-start function to our dialogue, as comments must be constantly repeated, rephrased or deleted.

Why is it a joy for a HoH such as me to travel with her BFFs?   Because they love you, want to communicate with you, and, above all, they are well trained.

 

  • BFFs are very patient about answering, over and over again, various versions of what did s/he say?  Sometimes it only takes a raised eyebrow and they know you haven’t got or heard what was said, especially comments made by other people.
  • BFFs expect to repeat themselves regularly and they’re darned good at it.  Sometimes, they will say automatically say something twice – once in a normal voice and then again, much louder, to ward off the inevitable pardon?
  • They are also skilled at ignoring you as you clamor for repetition. Some hard of hearing people have the unfortunate habit of asking for repetition of the dinner specials, before the server has finished saying them once.  My BFFs are well-practiced in ignoring my raised eyebrows, arm-patting, and my what-what-what’s until they have something substantial to repeat.
  • Because you know them so well, after a lifetime of yakking, you can read BFF lips from almost any angle.  This helps you to speechread from any seat in the car.  Sometimes, all you need is to see a corner of a lip as your BFF talks out the window at some amazing sight.  Now, this doesn’t mean the person with hearing loss should give up lobbying for her favorite speechreading perch, which is always the front passenger seat.  However, one does have to be fair and open to rotating seat assignments.

 

On this trip, my friend’s Land Rover had such excellent acoustics (why this is better than in my own vehicle is beyond me), that their voices were sometimes a bit too loud, most likely because they were ‘speaking up’ for my benefit.  I still needed to speechread, however, as we played the Alphabet Game while driving through Georgia.  This is the game where you pick a subject and then go through the alphabet.  My suggestion of ‘brands of hearing aids’ was rejected in favour of ‘bird names’.    I never seemed to be looking at the correct BFF when they said their words, so everything had to be repeated twice.  Then there was the age-related problem of not remembering whose turn it was and we never did come up with a bird name starting with ‘x’.  When I wasn’t driving, playing on my iPad was a welcome break from the neck-stretching game of Speechreading In The Car.

Our planned cultural-historical stop was Gettysburg, where we saw a film on the battle before heading out to the battlefield itself.  Going into the movie, the staff person asked me if I had a telecoil.  I almost fainted; I hate to say it, but this question is not commonly asked in Canadian museums.  The neckloop receiver worked well, but I had  my usual neck-swiveling struggle to find that sweet spot for the best sound.  Outside, we were greeted by a charming volunteer-guide and thank heavens for my BFFs, who had to translate every word uttered by the guide, who was a living replica of an 1863 gentleman, complete with upper lip-obliterating mustache.

On our final night on the road, we were given a hearing-accessible room.   I hadn’t asked for one, so I must have said pardon a few times while making the phone reservation.  (And you might wonder just why  the HoH was making the phone call with two hearing people on the team.)   In our hotel room, I showed off the assistive technology to Shona and Wendy; pressing the the doorbell outside the room set off a flashing strobe light inside.  However, it also set off a continuous, ear-shattering shriek that sent my both my friends and my hearing aids into spasms.  We turned it off and had a glass of wine to calm our nerves.

At 3 am, the same doorbell alarm went off, shooting two of us out of our beds in terror (nothing wakes Shona).  We couldn’t turn it off, and the sleepy front desk staffperson on the phone said, oh it was probably some teenagers roaming the halls – just reach up and push the off button.  There was no such button, so we had to wait almost five long minutes before it stopped.  Checking out the next morning, I went into advocate mode to discuss how the hotel could better handle the situation in the future, including written instructions for room occupants.

Minor irritations aside, it was a great Girl’s Road Trip – and it’s even better being here with my BFFs enjoying the sounds of seagulls and waves, as we walk the wide sandy beach.

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A HoH in the Dentist Chair

By On · 13 Comments

A Letter To My Dentist,

 

Having just escaped from your dentist chair for the second time in a week, I am writing while the experience is still painfully fresh in my mind.  Actually, the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected – the drugs helped a lot.

As you know, Doc, I have hearing loss, and you’ve always been good about removing your mask when asked to repeat something. But I’m wondering if I might suggest a few other areas of your clinical service that could use some accessibility upgrades? And this isn’t just about me – you probably have many other hard of hearing clients, although not all would have disclosed this choice bit of personal info.

If you’re interested, keep reading.  If not, please recycle the paper.

 

  • Your waiting room has a lovely new ‘high-def’ TV which, unfortunately, is not accessible to your ‘low-deaf’ clients (excuse the bad pun). While waiting for my root canal last week, I asked for the closed captioning (CC) to be turned on, so I could understand the TV.  My nerves were jangly because at the end of the hall I could see the empty dentist chair, waiting, and it reminded me of the previous night’s episode of The Walking Dead in which a favourite character was handcuffed in a similar chair.  (For non-Walking Dead fans, let’s just say that a snarling, hungry zombie was approaching that chair…)  So, I showed the receptionist how to turn on the CC – and it was still on two days later when I came back for more pills!  I’m hoping it helped to soothe some other anxious tooth-achey person.

 

  • And speaking of TVs, does there need to be one in the treatment room? It can’t be for the patients, because we normally spend our time prone, or semi-prone, with our mouths open. When I dared to open my eyes during the root canal, all I saw was a close-up of you holding a vibrating silver gun. Perhaps you could put the TV on the ceiling so we can all see it?  Anyway, you and the dental assistant shouldn’t be watching – you’re supposed to be focused on us!

 

  • May I suggest sensitivity awareness and communication training for your staff? Your receptionist is lovely, but tends to talk to her computer or appointment book rather than looking directly at me. This is important because when hard of hearing people are stressed – due to nerves before the appointment or from pain after it – our hearing tends to be at low ebb. We appreciate service providers who communicate well with us. You might also consider a counter loop that would enable your receptionist and hearing aid-users to communicate directly and clearly.  Some clients  may prefer email or text appointment reminders rather than phone calls. (Note: I would be happy to provide this communication training in exchange for a free tooth-whitening treatment.)

 

  • Written follow-up information would make sure I don’t miss anything important. Spoken instructions can be misunderstood or misinterpreted, whereas a comprehensive info sheet can be digested better in the leisure of our homes. For example, I asked you about pain and you said my mouth might be a little tender afterwards and, if so, to take a pain reliever. There was no mention of other possibilities – such as a lot of pain, or my face swelling to the point I couldn’t wink or smile and that calling you would be a good idea. Now, Doc, if you did tell me this, I didn’t realize you were talking to me, or I may have been  focused on trying to bring both halves of my frozen jaw together.

 

  • In fact, full written information on all your procedures would be helpful.  Along with my appointment card, your receptionist could give me an info sheet such as  ’You & Your Root Canal: Neat Stuff to Know’.  It could include facts on why I’m having the damn thing in the first place, what’s involved (i.e. three appointments), what will happen at each appointment, God willing, as well as payment expectations and the possible side effects.

 

  • Now, here’s the biggie communication challenge – understanding you during the procedure. My speechreading ability is limited during dental work, either because you are not in my line of sight or because you wear surgical masks to protect us both from deadly germs. Some good clear masks have  been invented that allow speechreading, but no one uses them - why is that, Doc?  Clear masks not only help people with hearing loss, but also have been proved to relieve anxiety with patients.

As it is now,  you have to pull down your mask to tell me something.  I understand when you throw me a “you OK?” and I respond with a visual thumbs up.  But today, we did have a slight communication issue. As you turned away for a moment, you pulled down your mask and said, “Would you care to apologize?”

Me:     Why?

You:   Because it’s the next step.

Me:     The next step in my root canal is that I have to apologize?!

You:   Huh?

Me:     Can you repeat what you said?

You:    I said, now we’re going to do a polish.

Me:     Oh, I thought you said I had to apologize. Sorry.

 

So, Dentist, My Dentist – you do take good care of my teeth and I thank you. With just a bit of improved communication in the clinic, I would nominate you for Dentist of the Year Award.

 

Sincerely yours,

Gael Hannan

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