Roger pen: chapter three

In the last two posts I’ve been talking about my experiments with a Roger pen – trying it out whilst driving, being a passenger in a car, and eating out.  The next thing I tried was the television.

Watching the television doesn’t, in fact, normally cause me any problems – I just use the subtitles.  But subtitling doesn’t work for me if it is a live programme rather than a pre-recorded one, because simultaneous captioning is still pretty poor.  So I don’t usually watch the news on TV, for example, I follow it on an iPad instead.

I do like the occasional sports programme – athletics mainly – but that can be a struggle.  To know what’s happening I need the live captioning (no matter how awful) but the pesky subtitles always seem to be just where the action is.  Mo Farah is surging down the back strait, being hotly challenged by the Kenyans, will he do it????  Well, who knows – because all you see are the incomprehensible captions with little figures running behind them.  This is even more of an irritation for Nigel, who can hear perfectly well but now he can’t see the race.

I gave the Roger pen a go.  It works with a TV by being plugged directly into the headphones socket.  I put the receiver round my neck, go into loop mode and the sound goes directly from the television into my hearing aids.

I tried the BBC News.  Sometimes I DO watch the news, if there is some breaking event of great importance (there have been a few of those in the UK recently……).  I would normally have the live captioning activated, and alternate between trying to make some sense of that and lip reading when the newscaster or person being interviewed features prominently on the screen.  This time I left the subtitles off, to see what happened.  The Roger pen worked well for the situations where I could lip read as well as hear – I understood more and with less concentration involved.  But I couldn’t make any more sense of the off-screen speech than I normally do.  Perhaps some more sounds were getting through (?) but not enough to make a difference.

I tried watching some football but the pen didn’t help with the commentary.  It’s not really surprising.  A situation where someone is talking rapidly and excitedly off-screen was always going to be a big ask.

Overall, then, for the Roger pen and television?  I’ll keep on relying on subtitles whenever I can.  Perhaps the pen will come into play (with the subtitles on) when I want to watch a news programme.

The whole process of experimentation so far has lead me to think quite a lot about how I understand speech.  I was very sceptical that the Roger pen would be of any help because I know how much I rely on lip reading.  What I hadn’t factored in, in my scepticism, was that the device’s impact on what I hear would make such a difference WHEN I am able to lip read at the same time.  Does that makes sense?  The Roger pen isn’t improving the amount of speech information my brain is receiving sufficiently to understand conversation just by listening, but WHEN I CAN LIP READ AS WELL it can make comprehension significantly easier, especially in background noise.

So where does that leave things?  Nigel and I sat down to talk about our various Roger pen trials.

We’d already decided that the pen isn’t going back.  The 28-day sale or return period is almost over and Roger is a keeper, as the clothing websites say.  We got into a general conversation about the benefits and….well….I’ll let Nigel speak for himself.  Here he is…..

“For me, there were big benefits when we were eating out and when we were driving somewhere together.  When we were eating out in the pubs in Suffolk, you could hear most of the conversation and we had a much better time than we would have done previously.  A key part of going out for a meal is to talk.  When you can’t comfortably do that it rather defeats the object of being there.  In the car, when I was driving, we were having a pretty normal conversation, for the first time in a long while.  You weren’t hearing everything and I don’t think we could have had a very detailed conversation, but it was massively better.  Previously we had been limited to shouted bits of essential information – “do you need something to eat?” or “I’m stopping for petrol”.  When you were driving things were a bit better, but not so much – I think we’ll stick to you being the passenger!”

He went on, “but there’s something more important than just how much help the Roger pen makes in different situations.  The whole is greater than the sum of the parts.  For both of us, the loss of your hearing has created barriers to communication.  It’s hard not to be able to say things to you whenever I want to and I feel the loss of that keenly.  Anything that gives us back some spontaneity in our communication is so important, so thank you Roger pen.”

So, if you are reading this and thinking a Roger pen (or one of the other listening devices on the market) might help you, I’d say definitely give it a go.  Nigel and I will carry on experimenting, but after three Roger pen posts in a row probably time to move on to something else now……

Speak to you soon.

 

Roger pen: chapter two

Last week’s blog described my success in using a Roger pen to talk with my husband in the car, when he is driving.

We had driven down to Suffolk for a few days and had a lovely time – visiting Aldeburgh (the scene of several wedding anniversary visits when we were first married), going to the RSPB reserve at Minsmere (we were bird watchers before we had a dog) and generally pottering about.  Pottering because the whole reason for this visit was that Nigel had hurt his knee, which had meant the cancellation of a fell walking trip to Wales.  So there was plenty of opportunity to try out the Roger pen.

After driving, the next big test was eating out.  We don’t go out to eat very often, mainly because I love to cook.  When we do it can be a bit of a challenge because how enjoyable the experience is depends on the venue.  We are pub food eaters, in the main, rather than restaurant people and pubs can be noisy places.  Sometimes when the tables are very close together, and there are a lot of people eating, and the noise levels are high, eating out stops being an enjoyable experience and becomes a trial of hearing and lip reading skills.

So off to a local pub on the first night and out came the Roger pen.  The room was fairly noisy and the table quite wide.

(I need to explain about table width.  Normally, if we eat out there will be a bit of a discussion about where I should sit and where other people should sit.  If it’s just Nigel and me I like him either opposite me if the table is fairly narrow, or at 90 degrees if it isn’t – so he is close enough to maximise what I can hear.  The way this room was configured the 90 degree option wasn’t possible).

So – back to the story.  There we sat waiting for the order and out came the Roger pen.  It helped massively.  I tried it on both my two loop settings and fiddled about with the receiver volume, ending up with the loop on the setting that includes general noise and the volume quite high.  It still felt like sitting in a noisy pub but with Nigel’s voice coming through loud and clear.  Amazing.  I can see him, I can lip read, I can hear him through the noise and – I used this expression last week – I could feel myself relax.  The sensation was really noticeable.  It brought home just how much of an effort is normally involved in sitting in a pub having a meal.  It’s b****** hard work this hearing loss business.

If we had a problem it was that I started talking too loudly.  People have told me before that I do this sometimes and I can see why it would happen.  I misjudge the volume of something I don’t hear properly.  Perhaps the situation was exacerbated because the microphone was with Nigel and a fair distance away from me. However, the problem was solved with Nigel surreptitiously making hand flapping signs (down, girl, down) if he thought I was getting too shouty.  Success.  We had a lovely time.

Over the four nights we ate at four different places, using the Roger pen successfully in all of them.

When we came home, the next test was to use the pen with me driving and Nigel the passenger.  This is a much bigger test than when Nigel is driving or when we are eating out because of me not being able to lip read at the same time.  As I said last week, nowadays I tell people that I can’t talk at all when I’m driving.

We got in the car and set off on a quick test trip from the house.  I stopped a couple of times to begin with, to try different settings and make volume adjustments. Then, driving along, I said “OK, I think I’ll just take the road to (the next village)”.  Nigel responded “why don’t you go to (a different village) and then circle round that way”.

I understood him.  I would stop short of saying I heard him but sounds got through and I made sense of them.  There was context (local village names) and guesswork, but I got there.

On we went, with Nigel sporadically saying (brief) things.  Sometimes I worked out what it was he was saying (roughly, not every word), sometimes I couldn’t.  But when I couldn’t I generally got the gist of it the second time.  As I said a moment ago, it wasn’t exactly hearing, I was still doing a lot of figuring out, but the sounds that were getting through were giving me a head start in that process.  Nigel declared it a much improved experience.

One of the comments on last week’s post, from Lizzie, reminded me to point out that the Roger pen can sometimes be paid for as part of the UK’s Access to Work programme (AtW), if it is decided that the person applying needs the help of the pen to function in the workplace.  Now six years retired, I had forgotten all about AtW.  They had funded my first digital hearing aids, years ago, when the NHS decided I needed digital aids but they were too new to be available from the NHS directly.  You can read more about AtW on the Disability Rights Uk  website.  So thank you Lizzie for the reminder.

Someone else has asked how big the Roger pen is.  Here it is.

SAM_5480

I’m still testing Roger in other situations.  Next time – “watching the television” and “general chitchat in the house”………..

 

 

 

 

 

 

The driving deaf

15364242_s

For obvious reasons, I can’t lip read if I’m driving. I can lip read moderately well from the front passenger seat, if I peer at the side of the driver’s face. But this only works if the road noise isn’t too loud (so it doesn’t mask my remaining hearing) and I can bear to take my eyes off the road (I’m a terrible back seat driver, especially from the front passenger seat). So it’s a bit of a problem.
It was hard even when my hearing is a lot better than it is now. Before I retired one colleague once told me that her mother had made her promise not to travel with me again, after hearing that I was turning my head to look at her when I was driving. I don’t blame her (and I promise I don’t do it now). Another time I was giving a different colleague a lift back to the office, through a part of Bradford I didn’t know very well. Majid (a lovely, quietly spoken young man) offered to direct me and we set off. All went well for a while until there was something I couldn’t decipher. “Hang on, Majid” I said. “I didn’t catch that – wait until we get to the lights and I can stop”. Luckily the lights were on red and I turned to look at him. “Sorry, what did you say?” “You’ve gone the wrong way” he said. We both saw the funny side, as did the rest of the office when we eventually got back there.
These days, if I am giving someone a lift, I tell them very firmly that I can’t talk when I’m driving – but it doesn’t make for very convivial journeys. It also means that, if my husband and I are going somewhere together, he always ends up doing all the driving, which doesn’t seem fair.
Some months ago, in an attempt to find a solution to this, I borrowed a special microphone that was loaned to me by a friend with hearing loss. It is another of the many gadgets aimed at helping deaf people and works by feeding sound directly from a hand held microphone into your hearing aids’ loop setting. My friend had used it successfully when her children were small, so that they could talk to their mum, using the microphone, from the back seat. But it didn’t work for me.
The initial problem was that the only loop setting installed on my hearing aids was the type where sound other than the direct feed (via the loop) is cut out. That is exactly what you need for listening to a speaker in a public meeting, but it wasn’t suitable for driving. I need to hear the other road noise, or how will I know that an ambulance is fast approaching with its sirens going? So, off to the audiology department to have an additional loop setting activated, which doesn’t cut out general sound. So far so good, thanks to the very helpful staff at my local hospital. However, I then found I was getting terrible interference from the car. I could have lived with the strange sound whenever I pressed the brake pedal, but the incredibly loud whine when I turned on the car headlights was a killer. Why it didn’t affect my friend’s hearing aids but did mine remains a mystery.
But there is other technology out there so I decided to try something else. People had recommended a Roger pen (strange name….I know). It is described as an all-inclusive wireless microphone, offering better speech understanding in noise and over distance. Sounded good. The drawback is the price, which at £550 made me take a sharp intake of breath and shelve the idea. Given how poor my hearing is now, I also doubted I would get much benefit. But as my husband pointed out, it was available on a 28 day sale or return basis from Action on Hearing Loss, so surely I should at least give it a try? Given that he suffers at least as much from my deafness as I do I eventually decided he was right. The credit card came out and a large box duly arrived. There was a bit of a hiccup because not all the necessary parts for the charger had been included but a week later we were all set for the test run.
What I had bought was the “pen”, a microphone designed to look like a pen, which can be pointed at someone like a hand held microphone, placed on a table to pick up sound from people seated round it, or hung on a lanyard round someone’s neck (the person you want to hear). Then there is a receiver. I bought the simplest variety, the MyLink. It hangs round my neck, like a pendant, and feeds sound from the microphone directly into my hearing aids, via the loop setting.
We switched on, Nigel took the pen into the living room and I stayed in the kitchen shouting out “OK, say something”. “I’m in the living room with Izzy”, he said, and I heard it. Not perfectly (the brain had to do a bit of work) but he said words and I correctly deciphered them. This is nothing short of miraculous, for someone who is normally almost completely reliant on lip reading. “I’m looking at the log basket”, he said. I got it. I couldn’t decipher the next one – it was “oh ye of little faith” – but he had a point.
So we tried it in the car, with Nigel driving, on a long journey from Yorkshire to Suffolk. I said at the start of this post that I can lip read a car driver moderately well from the front passenger seat, and that’s true. However, in real life the effort to communicate on a long journey becomes too much after a while, for both of us. It’s just too tiring.
But with the Roger pen helping my hearing AND lip reading at the same time we did just fine. We could talk (and understand each other). There was very mild interference from the car (I heard a quiet electronic noise when he had his foot on the brake pedal) but nothing that wasn’t easy to ignore. After much fiddling about with the loop settings on my hearing aids (eventually I left it on the one that cuts out background noise) and the volume settings on the receiver I arrived at a point where I could feel myself relaxing. Instead of restricting conversation to shouted essentials I could, well, talk to my husband. Not as easily as if we were sat opposite each other in the house but without too much difficulty. To someone with good hearing this probably sounds deeply unexciting but for me, believe me, it is revolutionary.
So it was thumbs up for the Roger pen after the first test. Other test results (“in the restaurant”, “me driving”) will have to wait for another post. Meanwhile, do you have any Roger pen experiences?? I’d love to hear about them.

Image copyright: ksym / 123RF Stock Photo

 

Six good things about my hearing loss

Not everyone’s experience, but true for me.

SLEEP

I sleep for England.  When my hearing aids come out that’s it.  Bang, I’m asleep – and nothing wakes me.  I love my sleep.  Indeed I find getting up difficult – leaving that lovely cosy cocoon.  I try to understand what it must be like to be a light sleeper, woken by any slight noise, but I can’t really imagine it.  People tell me how lucky I am and they are right.

IMMUNITY TO NOCTURNAL EMERGENCIES

A subset of the above.  Being such a sound sleeper means I miss out on our domestic nocturnal emergencies.  The cat meowing to be out at dawn.  Our dog, a Labrador with the normal Labrador tendencies to eat all manner of stomach-churning rubbish, feeling decidedly unwell and desperate to be out at 2am.  I miss it all.  I get up as normal, wonder why Nigel is yawning, ask if he’s had a good night and am astonished to be told that fevered barking led to him being out in the middle of the night in pyjamas and wellies clearing up canine diarrhoea.

SAM_1421
Our cat Thomas

Of course, I attempt to insist that next time he wakes me up and I’ll deal with it.  But it doesn’t happen.  I seem to have acquired have a sort of deaf person’s opt out clause and it’s worth quite a lot.

MUZAK IN SHOPS

I read the other day that Marks and Spencer have decided to stop playing piped music in their stores in another doomed attempt to boost their fashion sales.  (It won’t work – it’s the clothes that are the problem).  I am oblivious to this sort of thing – unless it’s really very loud I just don’t hear it.  So at Christmas in the supermarket Slade can be Merry Christmas Everybody-ing, Mud can be Lonely at Christmas and Wham! can be giving their heart to someone special and it all (thankfully) passes me by.  (Actually, I only know about some of these songs because Nigel and I have in the past sat through entire editions of Top of the Pops at Christmas just to catch a glimpse of The Pogues belting out their wonderful Fairytale of New York.  But that’s another story).

COLD CALLERS

Nigel is driven mad by cold callers, because he takes all the phone calls if he’s in the house.  I escape the problem almost completely.  Result.

MR AND MRS ANNOYING

That irritating family at the table next to you at the café/pub/restaurant who talk loudly and incessantly about (insert topic that would drive you mad)……I don’t hear them.  (I have trouble enough hearing the people I’m with).  Or discovering there has been a baby crying incessantly on the plane.  Really?  I didn’t hear anything.

I CAN SWITCH MY HEARING AIDS OFF

I hardly ever switch my hearing aids off or take them out, I rely on them too much for that.  But I CAN switch them off if I need to.  So…..grinding something noisy in the food processor……switch ‘em off.  Soundtrack unbearably loud at the cinema ……ditto (just stick to the subtitles).  It’s really very handy.

DISCLAIMER

I did say it was a personal list.  What’s your experience?

 

 

 

Just casual chat

7778302_sThe other week my car needed to be serviced and I had booked an appointment at the local garage.  The young man at the service desk was taking the details.  Trying not to miss something important I stopped him at one point and said “sorry, I missed that – I’m deaf and I lip read – could you say it again?”  “Gosh” he said “lip reading……is that difficult?”  Yes it is, I replied.  “Why did you learn?” he asks.  Well, because my hearing is really very poor these days, I explain, so lip reading is the only way I can make sense of speech.  “When did you lose your hearing?” he asks.  I explain (long slow process over 40 years).

Anyway, I go on, what did you say?  “Oh”, he said, “I just asked if you were doing anything special at the weekend.”

All that fuss…..

Sometimes I envy hearing people their ability to zone out non-essential chit chat secure in the knowledge that that’s what it is.  A quick “no, nothing special…..how about you?” would have taken infinitesimally less effort.  (On the other hand, it was lovely that he was interested in lip reading).

Something else I envy about hearing people is their ability to hear when someone isn’t looking at them.  How do they do that??  I can’t even imagine any more what it would be like.

So for example my husband, Nigel, and I might be chatting in the kitchen whilst doing our respective chores.  It sounds a simple enough thing, but it’s challenging.  If Nigel is doing the washing up (at the sink, with his back to me) he will be twisting his head so I can see his face.  I might be dancing around to put myself in the best position for lip reading.  I suppose we could wait until we are facing each other but that’s not always possible if you are just flipping a few comments back and forth whilst doing the dishes.  Anyway – I am loathe to give up spontaneity completely.  Marriage is about the casual chat as well as the deeper stuff.

But here’s the point.  If I’m speaking (say telling him something that happened to me earlier in the day) and he heads off into the back kitchen to put the washing in the drier……I can’t carry on talking.  How weird is that?  I just peter out.  Rationally I know that he can hear me perfectly well, and will come back in the room when he needs to say something.  But, because I can’t hear people without seeing their face something very deep in my psyche seems to have stopped me believing that HE can.  It’s very strange.

“Go on”, he says “I can still hear you”.  But I just can’t do it.

Mind you, sometimes in the past he has reappeared saying “sorry, I missed that, the spin cycle started”.

Image Copyright: goodshotalan / 123RF Stock Photo

I give up

17278756_s

Most of the time I look for ways to continue doing what I’ve always done.  As I say in About this Blog – “determinedly carrying on, doggedly trying not to let my ears stop me doing stuff”.  On the other hand, sometimes I decide that it’s better for my sanity to give up on something.

That can be a tough decision.  I used to like going to the theatre occasionally but as my deafness progressed it became harder and harder to understand what the actors were saying.  I coped to begin with.  I would buy tickets for seats near the front that maximised the chances of hearing and lip reading.  I would go to plays where I knew what was going to happen.  (Romeo and Juliet anyone?  I might miss some of the dialogue but I knew the plot).  I would book for things where great visual content was the main draw – the puppetry in War Horse, for example, was so astonishing that the fact I couldn’t follow the dialogue didn’t bother me so much.  But eventually I found it too depressing to sit there for three hours not hearing stuff.

I explored captioned performances and was optimistic that this would be the solution, given how much I enjoy subtitled TV.  But they didn’t work for me.  The problem I found was that I couldn’t read the captions and watch the performance at the same time, which I can with subtitled television.  Either I was following the script or watching the actors but I couldn’t do both.

Actually, I’ve puzzled over why my reaction to captioned theatre was so negative when other people with hearing loss love it.

Perhaps the answer partly lies in the degree of hearing loss.  In a recent post on her blog Living with Hearing Loss Shari Eberts talks about loving captioned performances because she can flick her eyes to the captions (at the side of the stage) whenever she misses some dialogue.  The captions lag slightly behind the performance so she can get a quick bit of help and then go back to the play.  But nowadays I can’t make sense of ANY of the stage dialogue so I find that I have my eyes glued constantly to the captions.  I might as well sit at home and read the script.

Perhaps the problem lies in where the captions are.  On the television, or a DVD, the captions are at the bottom of the screen.  The same thing applies at the cinema, or it did at the one film I have been to in years (Star Wars in 3D, at Christmas – even in 3D the subtitles were perfectly clear and I comfortably watched the whole thing, just as if it was a TV programme).  But at the theatre the captions are off to the side, at least they have been at every performance I’ve tried.  Perhaps THAT’s the problem.

Anyway, whatever the cause of the problem, I tried, and tried again, but it was miserable.  There are few things as depressing as sitting in a theatre trying to have a good time and failing, and feeling very deaf.  So I gave up.  Let it go.

On a more trivial level, I made a similar decision about a very popular local archaeology day (archaeology is a hobby of mine) where people give short talks on a variety of topics.  The community archaeology group I belong to has a winter programme of talks in a different venue, and we set things up so that people with hearing loss can cope.  I make sure that I get a seat in the front row, near the speaker.  We leave the lights on (you can’t lip read in the dark).  The room is fairly small and carpeted (no echo effect).  There is a good loop system and we know how it works – it’s amazing how many venues don’t realise you have to switch them on.  I manage fine.

But other venues can be much more difficult, even with sympathetic organisers who do what they can to help.  The event I’m referring to is held in a massive echo-y hall.  Even in the front row, on loop setting, with the lights on, I struggle.  People with hearing loss will know what I mean when I say that sometimes it is such hard work understanding speech that all meaning is lost.  It is as if the brain is working so hard to make the noises into words that there is no brain left to make the words make sense.  It was like that.  Give up.  It’s only one event a year.

It’s a dilemma though, because life would be pretty awful if it was just about stopping doing things you enjoy. Sometimes it’s right to refuse to give up – to find a way to make things continue to be possible.

If that fails (like it did with me in the examples above) it can help to find new things to act as replacements.  A recent enthusiasm of mine is for contemporary dance (watching it, I hasten to add, not doing it).  The BBC had an excellent series last year, a competition for young dancers in various styles – ballet, contemporary, hip hop and south Asian.  It was fantastic.  I’d also loved, a couple of years ago, seeing Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake, with the male swans.  (It was so extraordinary I went twice).  So I’ve set myself the task of seeing some more productions, the most recent of which was BalletBoyz at Sadler’s Wells.  Not everyone’s cup of tea, I know, but I’m loving it.  I can’t hear the music properly but that doesn’t seem to matter, the visual impact is so extraordinary.

I think that’s the answer.  Sometimes you have to decide to abandon things, for your sanity’s sake, but you also need to make sure to have some new enthusiasms bubbling away to fill the gap.

Any other suggestions anyone?

PS Please don’t let me put you off trying captioned theatre performances.  Lots of people really love them.

Image Copyright: nikolae / 123RF Stock Photo

What’s in a name?

I called this blog more than a bit deaf with some trepidation, because the terms people use to describe their hearing loss can be a bit of a minefield.  What am I – someone with a hearing loss? hearing impaired? hard of hearing? deaf? deafened?. I would say yes to any of those descriptions.  There is no standard way to describe hearing loss.  Indeed, how I refer to myself has changed a lot over time, because so has my hearing.

Right now, I almost always describe myself as deaf, because I have learnt that is the best way to get people to realise just how poor my hearing is.

In the beginning, my hearing loss was a diagnosis rather than anything that had much practical impact.  I might have said “I’ve been told my hearing has been affected by a bad dose of the flu I had last year – it might get worse as I get older” but mainly I just ignored it.  I was able to.

When I first wore hearing aids I probably would have said I was hard of hearing, or had hearing problems.  At this stage my understanding of speech was certainly being affected.  Things weren’t too bad though.  I would have been starting to ask people to repeat themselves but I could still confidently use the telephone.

As things worsened I moved on to digital hearing aids.  By this time I was definitely having problems understanding speech.  Perhaps I would have said “I have very poor hearing”.  And then I distinctly remember starting to say “I’m deaf”.  Why?  Because I learnt that was the best way to get across to people that my hearing was actually pretty lousy.  The follow up information is crucial – for example, “I need to lip read to understand you so please could you face me when you are speaking” – but first you have to get the person’s attention.  I found that saying “I’m hard of hearing” led to people assuming I could understand much more than I can.

Some people with hearing loss strongly dislike some terminology.  They may feel, for example, that the term “hearing impaired” implies that they are impaired as a person.  I can see what they mean but I don’t feel it that way.  My hearing IS impaired.  Saying that doesn’t make me feel that I am.  (But I try to avoid the term, because of how much other people hate it).

Some people associate the word deaf exclusively with people who sign.  People who sign certainly describe themselves as deaf and sometimes as Deaf (with a capital D).  So I felt nervous at first about using the term deaf about myself.  I haven’t learnt to sign, because I have lived for 60 years in a world of hearing people – hearing pretty well myself for most of that time.  My friends, family and acquaintances almost all hear and I want to stay in that world with them.  For me, describing myself as deaf was a move I made entirely for practical purposes and the name of this blog sums up what I am.

Reasons to be cheerful

Last week I was delayed for a while at Kings Cross railway station, because of an incident on the line at Stevenage.  I’d just said goodbye to my friend Jane, after a great couple of days in London, with her wishing me a problem-free journey home. Then – oops – the 14.05 to Leeds is cancelled (along with several other trains).  I can see the cancellation on the digital display but what I can’t decipher is the station announcements, which are coming thick and fast.  To me they are just a loud, crackly racket.  Luckily, there are two railway staff on the concourse so I ask one of them what is happening and they explain.  I can either wait here for the line to re-open – they don’t know when that will be – or head north via Sheffield (if you know northern English rail connections a dubious alternative if ever I heard one).  So I stay put.  But the announcements keep coming.  I ask the helpful railway man again – nothing different.  More announcements.  I start worrying that I might miss something important, but I can’t ask the railway man what’s happening every two minutes – he has a long queue of people needing help.  Then I ask the perfect stranger I’m standing next to if she can tell me what’s going on.  I’m deaf, I explain, heading for Leeds.  She immediately agrees and listens out for me, explaining that she is waiting for a Newcastle train.  A man has overheard our conversation and says that he is going to Leeds; he’s just been told that the delay shouldn’t be too long.  The two of them mainly just get on with their own waiting but when something relevant is announced they tell me.  I just love the matter-of-fact helpfulness of it.  They make me feel normal. THANK YOU anonymous people at Kings Cross.

Eventually the trains start running again and I am only an hour late getting home.

That was one small example of the many acts of helpfulness that I experience all the time.  My lovely husband repeats himself a gazillion times a day, patiently and with good humour.  My friends look out for me in dozens of ways – making sure I don’t miss the joke (“did you catch that Vera? – we were just remembering how funny it was when……”), playing musical chairs in cafes so I’m in the best lip reading position, keeping a seat for me in the front row of meetings. Complete strangers…….well, Kings Cross is a great example.  I say “sorry, I’m deaf, could you please…….?” and people do it, by and large.  Sometimes people forget but – hey – so would I in their shoes.  I try to just shrug it off and remember all the times when things go well.

Sometimes strange things happen.  Some time ago, I became convinced that everyone in the medical profession had been sent on some really bad deaf awareness course where they had been told that they MUST use dramatic hand gestures to accompany whatever they said to people with hearing loss.  It was really disconcerting.  For example, one day I was sitting in the waiting room of the local hospital after a routine breast screening appointment, waiting to be told that the X-ray was clear enough to be sent for scrutiny.  Another woman and I were sat there in our pink NHS dressing gowns, chatting to pass the time.  The nurse came out of her office.  “Mrs Brearey” (waving madly in my direction), “the X-ray is fine” (two prominent thumbs up signs and a big grin), “you can get changed now” (she points firmly at the changing rooms), ”then go home” (she points equally firmly at the exit).  The look on the face of the woman I had been talking to was priceless.

But it’s good to laugh.  I find it helps a lot.

PS  If you would like to read another blogger’s take on the travel problems of people with hearing loss click here.  Shari Eberts reports on excellent developments in the service offered by Delta Airlines.  Now, if Kings Cross had a real time visual display of the station announcements that would definitely be progress.

PPS A HUGE thank you to Hearing Link, who have included More Than A Bit Deaf on the blogs page of their website (click here to see the other featured blogs) and on their Facebook and Twitter pages.  Wow.

Bad hearing days

 

Everyone has good days and bad days; we probably all have strategies for coping with that.  I’ve found it useful to have specific strategies for bad hearing days – those times when there has been an embarrassing misunderstanding or some other depressing hearing loss-related event.  Mainly I feel (about my hearing) “I can cope with this”, but sometimes I wobble (I’m sure everyone does).  Over time I’ve learnt that the best way to recover my equilibrium is to do things I love that don’t involve my ears.

I lose myself in a good book.  I cook.  I watch a favourite TV programme or a DVD (with subtitles).  Curled up on the settee with my husband, watching a subtitled film, is a great way to remember that life is good.  I write – this blog for example – or do some more research into the history of our house (nobody talks online, or in the library).

Or – a favourite – I take our dog for a long walk.  Our dog, Izzy, is not a specially trained hearing dog for deaf people.  She’s just a normal dog.  But she is great company, as a hugely enthusiastic walking companion.  And she never says anything!  So a walk with her is just what I need on a bad hearing day.

For one of my favourite walks you leave the house and head down the hill to the bottom of the little valley we live in.  There is then a steep climb, through fields, up the other side.  It is steep enough, and long enough, to get your heart pounding and lungs working (if you are me anyway, Izzy trots along easily, breathing normally).  Nearly at the top, when you think you MUST have a rest, there is a bench to sit on.  The views from there are tremendous and you get your breath back.

SAM_5459
Izzy at the bench on the hillside

A little further on, you reach a track across a wide expanse of rough moorland pasture.  This leads eventually to a quiet lane, heading back down hill to another village.  I love this lane.  You’ve done all the hard work of the walk now and can just stride along, admiring the view.  On a clear day you can see Ingleborough (one of Yorkshire’s Three Peaks), some 20 miles away.

Back at the valley bottom a disused railway track leads back to our village.  Izzy has been on the lead all the time so far, because of the sheep in the fields and the (very few) vehicles on the lane, but now she can be off the lead and have a good run.  We usually divert into her favourite field (no livestock) so she can charge about, chase balls and have a drink in the stream.

Then back home, feeling massively better.  I find it impossible to feel fed up after a good long walk in beautiful countryside.  My “I can cope with this” programme is thoroughly re-booted.

Do you have survival strategies for bad hearing days?

 

 

Excellent lip reading – wrong answer

 

In my last post I talked about a very good lip reading class that I used to go to.  My friend Jill recently reminded me about a funny lip reading mistake that happened one week, before I joined the group.

Part of each class would be devoted to trying understand some speech by relying entirely on lip reading.  The tutor, Susan, would “speak” the words normally, but without making any sound at all.

This time, the exercise was about things that Yorkshire is famous for.  Susan read out a list…….Yorkshire pudding, York Minster, David Hockney, Wensleydale cheese and then………but what was that word????  Half the group thought the word looked like marzipan but why on earth would Yorkshire be famous for marzipan???  Puzzled faces…..

Then Susan remembered her accent, and tried again.  “Brass bands” everyone shouted.  Of course.

What on earth was going on here?  First point – some consonants look exactly the same on the lips.  It is one of the reasons why lip reading is so difficult and so based on context.  (If you tell me what the topic of conversation is I’m much more likely to understand the words you are saying because the options to choose from are reduced). M, B and P all look the same on the lips when you sound them muh, buh and puh.  Try it in front of a mirror.  The word could have begun with any of them.

But the second and most important point was that Susan was (initially, until she remembered she was speaking to a group of northerners) pronouncing “brass” in the southern English way, as “brarse”.  This changes the shape of the vowel sound on the lips.  Again – try it.  Look in a mirror and say a long “ah” then a short “a” – they look quite different.  So “brass” could have begun with M, P or B and then was followed by an “ah” sound.  Then “bands” could have begun with an M, P or B and was followed by a short “a” sound.  Marzipan is completely logical.

M – ah – S – P – a – N.

Sometimes you just can’t tell the difference between one word and another.  Or, as Susan used to say – “excellent lip reading, wrong answer”.

It is also why I will sometimes mutter to my husband if we meet someone for the first time and I am struggling – “tell me what her accent is”-  because it really does help to know.

Quite a lot of lip reading is guesswork.  Sometimes you get it right.  Sometimes you don’t.  “Would you like to come and see?” looks much the same on the lips (and sounds much the same to me) as “would you like a cup of tea?” but it can be bemusing for my friends when they think they’ve invited me to view their vegetable patch and I say “oh, yes please, milk but no sugar”.

People with good hearing sometimes assume that lip reading is possible in situations when it isn’t.  I once had two people tell me at the end of a group holiday that they had been avoiding me ever since I told them I needed to lip read – because they thought I could “read” everything they were saying – even from far away.  They didn’t say what they had been so worried I would understand but they should have been reassured – I can’t do that.

Sometimes the media consult “lip reading experts” if they want to know what some celebrity has whispered to another that has been missed by the microphones.  The best example of this that I can remember was when Prince William married Kate.  What had he said to her on the balcony before “the kiss”?  What had the Queen said?  You can still find all this stuff on the internet, but the funny thing is that all the “experts” came up with something different – which is not at all surprising to us deaf people.  It’s hard.

Actually, at the time of the Royal Wedding I confess I did dabble in a little attempted spying.  There was a point when William was waiting at the altar for the bridal party to arrive and Harry, the best man, turned to him and said something.  It was on YouTube and I watched it several times.  I thought he said “wait ‘til you see the dog”, but, as there were no corgis amongst the bridesmaids, had to write it off as another lip reading failure.