I’ve had to deal with a few frustrations recently. Our lovely motorhome Thor suffered a series of indignities in rapid succession – a cracked windshield, me almost setting it on fire (I forgot the eggs boiling on the stove), and a big one – the slide-out wouldn’t slide out.
This snafu made me consider how I handle my hearing loss frustrations. Sometimes well, sometimes really well. Sometimes, I stage a rage, or just let it go.
A few examples of prime frustrations.
Move Those Lips! If someone doesn’t speak clearly, or doesn’t respond well to requests to speak up, slow down or move their lips, what can we do? Our frustration often shows in our face which, coupled with our frown of trying to understand, can be off-putting. How to handle: do our best to boost communication by modeling good speech and asking for clarification. If that fails, stop talking to them.
How Many Times Have We Discussed This! It’s always amazing that family members or close friends still don’t understand why we don’t hear perfectly with hearing aids. They ask: do you have your things in? This is very frustrating and, because it’s family, I don’t bother trying to hide it. If you can’t snipe at your family, who can you get testy with? Even thinking about this gets me riled up. But I explain for the umpteenth time that aids are aids, not cures.
Are You Talking to Me? I frequently travel solo and I’m always sure that PA announcements in the terminal (plane, train, bus, take your pick) are telling me that my trip is now leaving without me. Travelers are always slightly on edge, but with hearing loss, nervous frustrations run higher. I tell flight attendants that I’m in row 10-C and I can’t hear announcements, and they say ok-I’ll-keep-you-posted and that’s the last interaction we have. Do they think that interrupting my movie with the caption “Passenger Announcement” tells me anything? Sheesh! I depend on cues from other travelers – if I sense panic, I also freak out and then copy what they do, which hopefully doesn’t involve bracing for impact.
Well, I Can Fingerspell a Little Bit, But… When I’m offered a sign language interpreter for accessibility or a braille card, that is uber-frustrating because, well, seriously? Was I signing to them? Have I given any clue that I have low vision? Why is it so hard to understand what it means to have hearing loss?? I know the answer to that: we look “normal”, and we seem to understand much of what’s being said, although it doesn’t help our case when we bluff. It’s still very much an invisible disability. To respond, may I suggest a deep sigh with maybe a bit of eyeball-rolling, followed by a ultra-patient explanation of our needs.
A list of our hearing loss frustrations can fill a book. Every day we experience at least one of them and we must deal with them in some way.
I’m at the stage of my hearing loss journey where if the frustration stems from something I can control, manage, change or prevent, I do what I can to fix the situation and move on. Tech tools and other lovely communication strategies work wonders, although honestly? I still lose my s**t on occasion, with a few choice words in a raised voice, backed by a hellish scowl. Then I move on.
I have also learned that if the problem arises from something I can’t control, such as how another person speaks, or getting other diners to dine more quietly, I either suck it up or I leave.
Childish but effective. We can only do our best.
