When I get a cochlear implant, I shall wear feathers,
I haven’t made up my mind exactly, because it’s still a long way off,
Within a year. I hope.
I shall choose equipment to be white like my hair.
Is that boring?
Why not spice it up, flaunt it, and glorify it?
With feathers from eagles, doves or heck, even chickens!
And I want a skinny silver-white braid, too.
Feathers and braids will cascade down my neck from the magnet,
Tipped with greeny-blue-aquamarine jewel bobs.
They will swing as I walk, or turn my head, or laugh,
Rather like chimes, but without the sound,
(I would go crazy with the tinkling.)
With colour and motion, they will draw attention to the powerful device on my head.
Actually, it’s inside my head and on my head and behind my ear—
Processors, transmitters, magnets, receivers and electrodes,
That will let me hear in a way I never dreamed.
(At least I hope that’s the way I’ll hear it. Shall I keep
my expectations realistic—or ridiculously high?)
You could say these bits of science do all the work to make sound happen in my brain.
But I’ll be doing a lot of work, too.
On the day the surgeon told me I’d passed the evaluation, he asked me, “What’s the most important part of getting a cochlear implant?”
(This sounds like a trick question. I’m not good at trick questions.)
That I have to want it? “No.”
That I really want to hear better? “No.”
Well then, what? “Practice, practice, practice.”
(How was I supposed to know that’s what he was looking for?)
So, OK. I really want to hear better and I’m going to have the implant and then I’m going to practice, practice, practice, by listening, listening, listening.
(And no cheating by peeking because I’m one awesome speechreader!)
Yup, I can do all that. Definitely.
But! If I’m going to walk around with an extra half-pound of batteries, plastic, wires and coils in/on my head, I want to look good.
I haven’t cared if anyone sees my hearing aids although, truthfully, they’re not very visible.
But unless you have long, lush tresses—which I no longer do—there’s no hiding a cochlear implant.
In the grocery story, it will be like:
“Mom, look THERE…on that woman’s HEAD!”
And Mom, admiring my jeweled feather-braid, will go, “Don’t point, dear.”
And I shall turn to them, my feather fluttering in the slight breeze,
And say, “I know, very cool, hey? It helps me hear you.”
When I get a cochlear implant, I shall wear feathers.
Indian feather tattoo design from tatoobite.com
Cochlear implants fr0m Med-El and Cochlear