Far noisier than yours
Sometimes I wonder if one could actually hear any of this pseudo noise I experience if asked to hold her ear up against mine. I think I'll ask the wife to try this when she gets up. She'll probably give me a funny look.
From what I've gleaned elsewhere, objective tinnitus, externally audible, is far less common than subjective tinnitus, heard only by the sufferer. Objective tinnitus is caused by actual physical movement within the ear, i.e., muscle spasms. I suspect mine is subjective, but sometimes the volume and sensation is so ridiculous I wonder if it's objective.
Well, this is what I've been up to this weekend: Friday evening DeeAnne and I did the fine dining and Broadway show thing. Then Saturday evening we socialized at a friend's home where at least 16 were present. I learned two things: one, I'm not a big Riverdance fan, and two, this friend's house seems to amplify the volume of chatter tenfold, and then some.
I'm still pre-CI; just a profoundly hearing-disabled guy relying on a single hearing aid that blasts amplified sounds across crippled hearing receptors. And I'm still affected by the unexpected decline of last August. Trying to socialize last night was like being at a Seahawks' game with 60,000 yelling fans. Despite the fact, everyone else with their non-disabled ears were conversing nonchalantly at length, never giving a second thought to their marvelous second-nature ability to filter the cacophony and draw out specific voices with ease. They schmooze among themselves like appreciated people with exclusive memberships, and their concurrent loud conversations create a roaring din that stands in my way like a bar bouncer: No, you may not participate -- your ears are not up to code.
And that's the damning crux of it all. Internally, I yearn connection. I am a caged social butterfly, unable to take flight and experience people; an extrovert imprisoned in the body of an introvert. Genuine identity is quashed by alterity.
My hearing disability certainly does not make me any less human. I have a heart. I have a brain. I have emotions, desires, interests. I enjoy cooking, cars, art, nature, good books, and warm fellowship. I have aspirations to train welsh corgis in agility course and to become a published writer. I fix things around the house and follow current events. I'm in awe of God's oceans, toucans, nebulas, and protozoa. I've worked for the same company 9-1/2 years, and I'm on the verge of earning a bachelor's degree.
What my hearing disability has done, however, is modify certain facets of my behavior.
Consequently, it alters (and sometimes horribly mangles) the way others perceive me. I have little control over that. Imagine it, though -- denied the ability to be you. Few things are as humbling and as frustrating.
Fortunately, it's not always this way. Controlled settings allow me greater success in following what others say. Dinners around the table with smaller crowds, or a game of cards. Or group studies. Such activities tend to prevent multiple hubs of conversations from forming. Everyone is forced to a more organized mode of communication. Advantage, me. Briefly.
Wife's up. Honey, could you listen to my ear? I should take a picture of her reaction.
From what I've gleaned elsewhere, objective tinnitus, externally audible, is far less common than subjective tinnitus, heard only by the sufferer. Objective tinnitus is caused by actual physical movement within the ear, i.e., muscle spasms. I suspect mine is subjective, but sometimes the volume and sensation is so ridiculous I wonder if it's objective.
Well, this is what I've been up to this weekend: Friday evening DeeAnne and I did the fine dining and Broadway show thing. Then Saturday evening we socialized at a friend's home where at least 16 were present. I learned two things: one, I'm not a big Riverdance fan, and two, this friend's house seems to amplify the volume of chatter tenfold, and then some.
I'm still pre-CI; just a profoundly hearing-disabled guy relying on a single hearing aid that blasts amplified sounds across crippled hearing receptors. And I'm still affected by the unexpected decline of last August. Trying to socialize last night was like being at a Seahawks' game with 60,000 yelling fans. Despite the fact, everyone else with their non-disabled ears were conversing nonchalantly at length, never giving a second thought to their marvelous second-nature ability to filter the cacophony and draw out specific voices with ease. They schmooze among themselves like appreciated people with exclusive memberships, and their concurrent loud conversations create a roaring din that stands in my way like a bar bouncer: No, you may not participate -- your ears are not up to code.
And that's the damning crux of it all. Internally, I yearn connection. I am a caged social butterfly, unable to take flight and experience people; an extrovert imprisoned in the body of an introvert. Genuine identity is quashed by alterity.
My hearing disability certainly does not make me any less human. I have a heart. I have a brain. I have emotions, desires, interests. I enjoy cooking, cars, art, nature, good books, and warm fellowship. I have aspirations to train welsh corgis in agility course and to become a published writer. I fix things around the house and follow current events. I'm in awe of God's oceans, toucans, nebulas, and protozoa. I've worked for the same company 9-1/2 years, and I'm on the verge of earning a bachelor's degree.
What my hearing disability has done, however, is modify certain facets of my behavior.
Consequently, it alters (and sometimes horribly mangles) the way others perceive me. I have little control over that. Imagine it, though -- denied the ability to be you. Few things are as humbling and as frustrating.
Fortunately, it's not always this way. Controlled settings allow me greater success in following what others say. Dinners around the table with smaller crowds, or a game of cards. Or group studies. Such activities tend to prevent multiple hubs of conversations from forming. Everyone is forced to a more organized mode of communication. Advantage, me. Briefly.
Wife's up. Honey, could you listen to my ear? I should take a picture of her reaction.