Lately I've been growing frustrated (again) by the fact that my listening progress doesn't feel like it's moving as fast as I'd like it to. This perspective challenge has been present all along with the CI (where am I going? how have I improved?), but it arises and recurs in waves. There are days in which I feel unbelievably optimistic, and others in which what I want hovers out of reach. About to graduate from college, I look out at the "real world" and all the things in it and often feel intimidated, since communication can still seem like a barrier. Of course, success is possible anyway, and I've gotten better at getting creative in the last few years, but the fact remains that some things are still not straightforward.
Yet, this morning, I had a session with my auditory therapist in which I voiced some of the above insecurities. In controlled situations, the listening progress is there, but it often feels slow. We talked a bit, and then she flipped back through her file and pulled out a piece of paper. On it were written my goals for the CI from a year ago, or maybe a year and a half. They were as follows:
1. Recognize more individual words based on sound alone
A million times yes. It really depends on the good old auditory memory, but the fact that I can now hear a word and know what it is, based on listening, is amazing.
2. Be able to have base-level conversations in quiet with a familiar voice
Yes. Although this often doesn't apply to the real world, I've known for a while that if I sit inside with either of my parents or someone else familiar, I will be able to hear, understand, and respond to the things they say to me.
3. Hear and recognize more high-frequency sounds than I used to
Definitely yes. It's astonishing, how much I've started taking them for granted.
4. Encounter fewer situations in which people ask me, "Did you hear that noise?" and I reply, "No."
Yes! I can't remember the last time this happened. More often, it's the reverse: people ask me if I heard that noise and I internally tilt my head and laugh and then say, "Yeah, I did." Like, duh, my CI is awesome. Or I actually do tilt my head and listen and say, "Oh! Yes! That's a cool new noise!"
5. Feel more comfortable and confident in a group
This is probably the only one for which my answer is "not so much." There are just too many variables, although various strategies have helped me cope better in groups than I used to - including knowing my limits and being able to engage and disengage as necessary.
Number five notwithstanding, these are all things that I found unimaginable two years ago. Looking back on that progress is empowering, even if, as my therapist pointed out, of course the goal that I'm always subconsciously thinking of, that I'm seeing around me, that I'm wanting each day, is to sit at a table with a group of smart, engaging, talkative hearing friends and understand their rapid-fire conversations and join in like a pro. But sometimes it's better to measure progress from the ground up. These are some hefty peaks scaled.
Reality check: achieved. For now.
Showing posts with label expectations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label expectations. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Do Not Compare
A major part of my CI experience right now is keeping it all in perspective. Within the spaces of my own mind, this is easy enough. I still haven't gotten over my sense of wonder at, well, hearing. When I am alone, and when I use myself as my only marker, I never fail to be pleased - and astonished. The CI is rewarding every moment of every day, and even moments of frustration are tinged with a gentle ironic humor. Isn't this all wonderful?
When my gaze wanders outward, however - when I, like all other human beings tend to do sometimes, start comparing my private progress with the abilities of others - then I do start feeling the true sting of disappointment. I start thinking about what hearing people can do, what they've been able to do all their lives, what they take for granted. What other people (not prelingually deaf) have been able to achieve with CIs. What I've striven to accomplish, but what my brain is not yet able to process. I start feeling restless, agitated, even a little bit self-accusatory. Why haven't I grasped all this yet? Why does sound still sometimes feel garbled, overwhelming, or otherwise make no sense? Why am I back here, still taking these baby steps, while my peers still sprint off toward the horizon?
Stop. I have no right to do this. It's my journey, not theirs - and, if I can't take pride in this, knowing full well where I'm starting from, what is there that I can feel accomplished about? Do not compare. In hearing as in life. It can be hard, watching my hearing friends do things so effortlessly, and then feeling like those things should be closer within my grasp. But should be, according to whose standards? Maybe not mine. And so I try to reserve judgment on myself. That won't do anyone any good. I try, instead, to think of things like this.
I discovered the other day the sound that even finely grained salt makes when it rolls out of its bag to refill the shaker. Simply beautiful.
I went to a meeting at work this past week, in which I sat across from someone's desk and was able to understand him despite terrible lighting, and was simultaneously able to catch the "okays" or "that sounds goods" of another person sitting to my left.
I braved a public event last weekend without an interpreter (gulp) and found that, although I was exhausted by the end, I was able to listen to and watch an incredibly fast-talking speaker and walk away having understood 80-85% of what he said. Score.
In calling my parents on the phone, even despite saying "what?" or "say that again" dozens of times, the instances in which a word sequence rolled out and I understood, perfectly, felt like reaching across a thousand miles to hold a familiar hand.
Earlier this week, I rode a horse and was able to catch some coaching from the ground, listening and processing at the same time as I directed a living, breathing thousand-pound animal. Talk about multitasking.
These are the things I try to focus on. The things that give me pure, honest, undivided pleasure. Looking at my life through my eyes, judging it by my standards. It's not any harder than that, is it, really?
When my gaze wanders outward, however - when I, like all other human beings tend to do sometimes, start comparing my private progress with the abilities of others - then I do start feeling the true sting of disappointment. I start thinking about what hearing people can do, what they've been able to do all their lives, what they take for granted. What other people (not prelingually deaf) have been able to achieve with CIs. What I've striven to accomplish, but what my brain is not yet able to process. I start feeling restless, agitated, even a little bit self-accusatory. Why haven't I grasped all this yet? Why does sound still sometimes feel garbled, overwhelming, or otherwise make no sense? Why am I back here, still taking these baby steps, while my peers still sprint off toward the horizon?
Stop. I have no right to do this. It's my journey, not theirs - and, if I can't take pride in this, knowing full well where I'm starting from, what is there that I can feel accomplished about? Do not compare. In hearing as in life. It can be hard, watching my hearing friends do things so effortlessly, and then feeling like those things should be closer within my grasp. But should be, according to whose standards? Maybe not mine. And so I try to reserve judgment on myself. That won't do anyone any good. I try, instead, to think of things like this.
I discovered the other day the sound that even finely grained salt makes when it rolls out of its bag to refill the shaker. Simply beautiful.
I went to a meeting at work this past week, in which I sat across from someone's desk and was able to understand him despite terrible lighting, and was simultaneously able to catch the "okays" or "that sounds goods" of another person sitting to my left.
I braved a public event last weekend without an interpreter (gulp) and found that, although I was exhausted by the end, I was able to listen to and watch an incredibly fast-talking speaker and walk away having understood 80-85% of what he said. Score.
In calling my parents on the phone, even despite saying "what?" or "say that again" dozens of times, the instances in which a word sequence rolled out and I understood, perfectly, felt like reaching across a thousand miles to hold a familiar hand.
Earlier this week, I rode a horse and was able to catch some coaching from the ground, listening and processing at the same time as I directed a living, breathing thousand-pound animal. Talk about multitasking.
These are the things I try to focus on. The things that give me pure, honest, undivided pleasure. Looking at my life through my eyes, judging it by my standards. It's not any harder than that, is it, really?
Thursday, June 3, 2010
(Great?) Expectations
Exactly one week before my surgery. Seven days. How did it come up so fast? Technically I'm still in school, and should be spending all of my time studying for final exams, but this has been weighing too much on my mind.
Really, it's hard not to think about it. Every night I end up lying in the dark and pondering what I'm getting myself into. I think, I dream, I wonder. Admittedly, I fear.
With the CI always somewhere near my thoughts, my daily routine feels different. I keep getting the feeling that I'm just going through the motions before something fundamental changes. It's hard not to be impatient with the daily challenges of being deaf - it's been two decades, enough already! - but at the same time it's hard not to shrink back. I regard my impending surgery as a cave in which anything could dwell. Once I enter that cave, the cave (supposedly) of sound, what will I find there? Some magical unicorn to carry me off on its wings, or a mucky little Gollum, in which I will be disappointed? Will my surgery succeed or fail?
Even my hearing aids sound different with the thought that, soon, I may be hearing much more. I attended an event this past weekend where there was music, and sat concentrating on it as hard as I could, painfully aware of how little I could hear. To my mind, it was just flat, dead noise - nothing sublime or ecstatic or provocative or beautiful. If anything, I felt as if I were listening through a thick wool-lined coffin - though of course how would I know what that sounds like? I would rather have not heard it, would rather have felt only the beat instead, but at the same time I wondered whether, one year from now, the same situation could bring me joy.
Lipreading, too, feels strange. I am thinking too much. This week I've attended several social functions, it being the end of the school year, and have felt as frustrated as ever by the challenges of communicating and understanding in such large groups. But this frustration is buffered by hope. And detachment. And impatience. I find myself studying people's faces and wondering if, maybe, there will come a time when I can absorb pertinent information through my ears instead of through my eyes. People are idiosyncratic in the way their lips move, but I wonder what it means to recognize someone's voice rather than the motions of their face. Will I ever be soothed, rather than irritated, by the sound of another person speaking?
All of these musings bring me to the question of my own expectations. While I was deciding whether to get the implant or not, I asked myself what the benefit would have to be, for the whole cumbersome process to be worth it. The answer was surprisingly easy: if the implant helps me hear even a little bit more than I do now, I'll do it. When I met with my audiologist, this is what she thought might happen. Her prognosis was cautious, as I've found is normal: there are no guarantees, and I could make huge strides or small ones. But, regardless, I might as well face it. My hearing right now is so awful that what is there to lose?
This still doesn't translate into a fundamental list of what I'd like to get out of my CI.
Here is my list:
1. Have some clearer recognition of words based on sound alone
2. Rely less on lipreading (even if I do rely on it to some extent); consequently feel less tired at the end of the day
3. Experience fewer situations where a person exclaims, "Can you hear that?!" and I respond, "Nope."
4. Distinguish higher frequencies and pitches I've never heard before
5. Maybe, maybe be a little bit happier/more comfortable in a group
Here is the hearing-person list:
1. Talk on the telephone
2. Listen to music, understand the lyrics, and LOVE it
3. Turn off the captions
4. Don't use interpreters
5. Basically function normally
Many hearing people do not realize that a CI is not a miracle cure. I will never hear everything. I will never function entirely like them. Likewise, they often do not realize that the process of getting an implant is not as easy as putting in a DVD then pressing "play." At first, my brain will be overwhelmed. I will have to rely on neural plasticity, to form new synapses and connections, to train myself to interpret noise as something meaningful. This will take many months, if not longer. I keep being told how much hard work and commitment this will require. Hey, after 18 years of speech therapy, I'm not afraid of that!
In short, I think I'm realistic. But it would be amazing if what actually happens ends up being closer to the hearing person list than my list. And, besides the fear that the implant will fail, that is the question that has me on pinhooks. Just how much do I have to look forward to, anyway?
Finally - since prelingually deaf implantees are rare, how cool would it be if my experience were something like this?:
Really, it's hard not to think about it. Every night I end up lying in the dark and pondering what I'm getting myself into. I think, I dream, I wonder. Admittedly, I fear.
With the CI always somewhere near my thoughts, my daily routine feels different. I keep getting the feeling that I'm just going through the motions before something fundamental changes. It's hard not to be impatient with the daily challenges of being deaf - it's been two decades, enough already! - but at the same time it's hard not to shrink back. I regard my impending surgery as a cave in which anything could dwell. Once I enter that cave, the cave (supposedly) of sound, what will I find there? Some magical unicorn to carry me off on its wings, or a mucky little Gollum, in which I will be disappointed? Will my surgery succeed or fail?
Even my hearing aids sound different with the thought that, soon, I may be hearing much more. I attended an event this past weekend where there was music, and sat concentrating on it as hard as I could, painfully aware of how little I could hear. To my mind, it was just flat, dead noise - nothing sublime or ecstatic or provocative or beautiful. If anything, I felt as if I were listening through a thick wool-lined coffin - though of course how would I know what that sounds like? I would rather have not heard it, would rather have felt only the beat instead, but at the same time I wondered whether, one year from now, the same situation could bring me joy.
Lipreading, too, feels strange. I am thinking too much. This week I've attended several social functions, it being the end of the school year, and have felt as frustrated as ever by the challenges of communicating and understanding in such large groups. But this frustration is buffered by hope. And detachment. And impatience. I find myself studying people's faces and wondering if, maybe, there will come a time when I can absorb pertinent information through my ears instead of through my eyes. People are idiosyncratic in the way their lips move, but I wonder what it means to recognize someone's voice rather than the motions of their face. Will I ever be soothed, rather than irritated, by the sound of another person speaking?
All of these musings bring me to the question of my own expectations. While I was deciding whether to get the implant or not, I asked myself what the benefit would have to be, for the whole cumbersome process to be worth it. The answer was surprisingly easy: if the implant helps me hear even a little bit more than I do now, I'll do it. When I met with my audiologist, this is what she thought might happen. Her prognosis was cautious, as I've found is normal: there are no guarantees, and I could make huge strides or small ones. But, regardless, I might as well face it. My hearing right now is so awful that what is there to lose?
This still doesn't translate into a fundamental list of what I'd like to get out of my CI.
Here is my list:
1. Have some clearer recognition of words based on sound alone
2. Rely less on lipreading (even if I do rely on it to some extent); consequently feel less tired at the end of the day
3. Experience fewer situations where a person exclaims, "Can you hear that?!" and I respond, "Nope."
4. Distinguish higher frequencies and pitches I've never heard before
5. Maybe, maybe be a little bit happier/more comfortable in a group
Here is the hearing-person list:
1. Talk on the telephone
2. Listen to music, understand the lyrics, and LOVE it
3. Turn off the captions
4. Don't use interpreters
5. Basically function normally
Many hearing people do not realize that a CI is not a miracle cure. I will never hear everything. I will never function entirely like them. Likewise, they often do not realize that the process of getting an implant is not as easy as putting in a DVD then pressing "play." At first, my brain will be overwhelmed. I will have to rely on neural plasticity, to form new synapses and connections, to train myself to interpret noise as something meaningful. This will take many months, if not longer. I keep being told how much hard work and commitment this will require. Hey, after 18 years of speech therapy, I'm not afraid of that!
In short, I think I'm realistic. But it would be amazing if what actually happens ends up being closer to the hearing person list than my list. And, besides the fear that the implant will fail, that is the question that has me on pinhooks. Just how much do I have to look forward to, anyway?
Finally - since prelingually deaf implantees are rare, how cool would it be if my experience were something like this?:
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