(and other shower thoughts)
Words By Kyle Cloete (he/him)
'Give your deaf child hearing aids’, they'll say. 'The child will grow up to benefit from auditory experiences’.
While I have grown up to benefit from listening to music, learning how to speak languages, and pretending to be a spy, it is exhausting to be hearing everything, all at once, at all hours of the day. I certainly don't go to bed with them on. Although I did once wander mindlessly into a shower with my non-waterproof hearing aids on. Ignoring the fact that how I perceive sound will never come close to how most people perceive sound, this is how it went down:
The shower door opened with a creeaaak
plip plip plip pliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssssshhhhhhhh
'The water sounds so nice… so relaxing.'
plisssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh bsgmbehhhh bgsmeghhh plissssshhh blaarrrrrgghhh
'Shit. Shit. Shit. Shiiiit.'
I emerged, dripping wet, to the realisation that I was not designed to hear. I write this not with pity, but as one of the ways I accept my deafness.
This acceptance has left a trail of broken hearing aids and questionable insurance claims over the years. A dog found my first cochlear implant to be quite tasty, my second cochlear implant is probably floating somewhere in the Pacific Ocean right now, and my current hearing aid fell down a flight of stairs by Murphy building. In fact, I am borrowing a hearing aid as I write this. I almost sat on this very hearing aid on the bus the other day.
Unless you expect me to paint my head with PVA glue, it is impossible to wear these things 24/7. I have not yet met a person who does. At some point, the batteries need to be charged, replaced, and it is impossible to wear them in some places (like the shower!). Sure, you could say that there is room for technological improvement, gene therapy, and further medical interventions to reduce deafness, but I don't see any need for this. I want to live in a world where different ways of being are respected. A world where it is carefully considered who gets to decide what needs to be 'fixed'.
As this world seems to favour speech as a means of communication, I realise there are people who will, quite willingly, swim the Pacific Ocean to retrieve one of my cochlear implants. I also think about the possibility of waking up one morning to the sight of my audiologist holding a bottle of glue, and some colourful headbands to try out. In all seriousness, I get it. The idea of communicating without speech, or living a life without sound, seems scary or ‘abnormal’. However, may I point out that humans have communicated with each other in many creative ways throughout history. There’s painting, dance, gestures, texting, and of course, sign languages. Furthermore, I can assure you it’s great to sleep through the sound of fireworks, thunderstorms, dogs barking, and car alarms.
If you speak to a person, perhaps more than once, and if they don't reply or acknowledge you in any way, I suggest taking a pause. The person might not be as rude as you think. It might be that this person needs eye contact for communication. If you want to go the extra mile, think of ways you can communicate with this person without using speech or sounds. It might be that they are deaf.
I don’t understand why there are bells on bicycles and electric scooters. To me, these bells are a stark reminder that all those who can hear have a right to stay clear, move out of the way, and know when a person is coming behind you. Whereas those who cannot hear are expected to have eyes on the back of their heads.
I've received my fair share of concerned and disapproving looks from people on bicycles and scooters simply for not knowing that their bells were ringing. Most of the time, the frustrated person will shoot past me uttering something to themselves. I can’t wait for the day I’ll be walking and someone will go:
ring ring ring
‘Excuse me!’
…
‘What are you deaf, or something?’
This is where I’ll turn around with a bright red and bejeweled tank-top with the words, ‘I’m DEAF’ in bold lettering. Ignoring, of course, the logistics of how I will be able to hear this person’s remark and time my response accordingly. I’ll be sure to find matching shoes.
Perhaps Wellington’s well-known saxophone-playing tree needs a friend. I could find some Christmas lights to wrap myself in, and learn how to sing along to Taylor Swift, every time I go out for a walk. I believe my off-key singing and bright flashing lights will help deter some people from using their bells. I’m open to suggestions, really, as I continue to be baffled by the assumption that all people can and should hear. I guess those who cannot hear, or those who do not want the burden of wearing hearing aids 24/7, are considered odd. I find it odd to be hearing everything, at all hours of the day, but maybe that’s just me.
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