Several months ago I wrote a piece here called A moment of clarity, focussing on the
instant when a deaf woman was able to hear for the very first time. I return to
the topic of deafness today, having read an interesting piece in The Guardian yesterday. On this
occasion, a woman described her slightly different experience of having
progressively degenerative hearing restored to normal levels after 20 years –
again thanks to a cochlear implant.
The article caught my attention because it provided more insight into the personal
gains and losses of the implant, as well as the adjustment required to start
living a new life as a member of 'the hearing gang'. I find the issue
fascinating because, as someone who suffers with tinnitus – and very slight
hearing loss as a result; coping strategies when you miss a joke in a noisy
room used to create the feeling of – partly self-imposed – social isolation the
'new hearer' describes.
But if we're honest, much of the small talk we feel obliged to engage in is
merely a politeness ritual which, in reality, is fairly inconsequential. We
could even be forgiven for thinking that the writer of the piece secretly
enjoyed being able to 'zone out' from the exhausting task of trying to decipher
so much content for such little reward. This approach seems entirely justified
when well-meaning 'hearing' friends announce “It’s so good to be able to
finally speak," provoking this response from the writer:
I'm still angry. They couldn't be bothered to include you before, so why
should you bother listening now? What gives them the right to enjoy the
benefits of your new hearing?
To me, that's no different to the school bully suddenly sending you a friend
request on social media. It's an action designed entirely to make the other
person – not you – feel better. The implant may be a signal to hearing friends
that the wearer is instantly 'back in the room'; though for the individual
concerned, it is merely the first step on a new journey – where even
turn-taking in conversations is new territory. After all, as the writer
indicates: how can she suddenly know what quantity of speech is appropriate in
each situation? How does she know where to place herself on the secret scale
that everyone else seems to understand? It's the scale that ranges from 'withdrawn'
to 'monosyllabic', 'quiet', 'reserved', 'chatty'
and 'bubbly' right up to 'self-obsessed'.
As she and others like her decide whether the implant represents a new sense
or a nuisance, those of us with (almost) perfect hearing should celebrate this
new-found social inclusion; while remaining sensitive to the scale of the
adjustment involved. Though the more success stories we hear about cochlear
implants; the more of these personal testimonies will be published. As a
result, we will all gain a better understanding of that complex world between
aural exile and full interaction that many people now have to negotiate –
some of them for the first time in their lives.
