Coming to My Senses: One Woman's Cochlear Implant Journey

The Inner Debate

1 The Inner Debate Do I make do with what I am, where I am, what life has brought me or stick my face in God’s face beg, plead, insist on more or better? For over sixty years I’ve found my way through deafness, forged a philosophy: the way’s there when the will’s there, help is there answers are there to be found— always! I’ve done a pretty good job. No one’s complaining. Why change course now? Having learned how to use it 2 Coming to My Senses why toss out the hearing aid? Why start all over? Dare to let go of what you’ve achieved. Dare to open to change. Deafness doesn’t belong to any person or group of people. What’s right for one doesn’t make other approaches wrong. Let deafness go on showing you there’s no end to what can be discovered of hearing, listening, being human. I’ve been lucky: tough-love parents, inspired teachers, true friends, opportunities— always enough, sometimes more than enough— above all life in a free world where the deaf are not despised, scorned, cast out— why should I ask for more? Why not ask for more? Why not want more? The Inner Debate 3 I’m scared. I don’t want someone cutting into my head . . . 5 “WHY,” people have asked, “would there be any question or debate about getting a cochlear implant?” They are, I guess, assuming that all people want to hear in the same way they hear. Furthermore, isn’t the world primarily a hearing world? Don’t people who talk greatly outnumber the deaf who use sign language? Yes, it makes sense. From their perspective the cochlear implant represents a chance to be “normal .” They are also assuming that the cochlear implant can “restore” hearing. This, for me at least, has not happened and probably won’t happen. It’s not just that when I take the implant off I am profoundly deaf, it’s that what I hear by way of the implant sounds “electronic” and incomplete compared to what you hear. And the part of my brain that processes sounds may never again be as agile as it was before I lost my hearing at six. After I got the implant, a deaf friend asked a different “Why?” question. She’s a lovely person, a dozen years younger than me. She speaks and signs, uses one hearing aid, works in the hearing world, and is most comfortable among other deaf people. I’ll never forget the look of horror on her face when she caught sight of the implant processor and the magnet attached to my head. “I don’t believe what I’m seeing!” she signed as she spoke. “Why did you get it?” She made me feel like a defector. From her perspective I was trying to be what I’m not: a hearing person. She believes deaf people have their own unique 4 Coming to My Senses experiences, culture, and ways of communicating. If you take the time to look at it through her eyes, her view makes sense. Differences should be observed, respected, honored, and celebrated . Trying to make profoundly deaf people hear and behave like hearing people doesn’t make sense. There are always going to be differences. Likewise, it doesn’t make sense for the profoundly deaf person with a cochlear implant to think she is now a hearing person. Why deny what one is? I was actually not thinking about either of these perspectives during my inner debate. The closest I came to it was when I thought about my family: my husband, our daughters, their husbands, and our grandchildren. They all have normal hearing and have always known me as a deaf person. For them, it’s part of who I am. None of them were pushing for me to get the implant. But I did wonder, as I’ve wondered many times throughout my life, wouldn’t it be a whole lot easier for them if I could hear? If it was possible, I certainly wanted to make it easier for them. And would it be a whole lot easier for me? Like my family, I, too, have always known myself as a deaf person. Deafness has always been there to push against, respond to, and work with. When my ability to understand what...