Finding equal access in the strangest of places @ Christmas - by Eleanor

I love equal access, although sometimes when I do get it, I don't want it.

Strange as it may seem but often when I have my communicator in the classroom with me I want to do it all myself. I want to lipread, create a 1:1 situation where the other person feels comfortable, relaxed and not constantly apologizing or trying to find some sort of drama to involve the communicator. The communicator is there to do a job, impartial, unbiased and detached. The awkward moments when people feel they have to apologize to the communicator, I mean, what for? For making her do her job? Those few minutes that it takes to do this, means I'm standing there, concentrating on your lips, wasting my time that I could be cherishing with the children, watching their progress, seeing them grow, learn and develop. Talk to me, please. Would you apologise to me? No. So don't. Don't even think about it. Look at me, talk to me, I have feelings, I'm human and I'm desperate to succeed in life. So please, just help me on my way by treating me exactly how you'd treat others (but also be slightly deaf aware, face me, don't mumble and please don't stand in direct sunlight).

 I love Christmas, and I love spending time with the people that matter, because these are the people who treat me the same as everyone else and always have done. These are the people that I can rely on (sure they make the odd mistake but they are still human too!) and treasure. I went home for Christmas day and my brother was so excited to show me the signs for 'Happy Christmas'. We were in a pub (as you do) and although pubs are generally awful for trying to maintain oral conversations I have my own personal communicator in the form of my mum, who as a mum, always recognizes when you just don't understand. She repeats things, often. We finger spell the odd words. She shows an interest in new signs (even when they don't seem to stay in her mind very long). I didn't feel stupid, I didn't feel excluded and I most definitely didn't feel like an annoyance or a problem.

 In life I choose my friends, I choose who I surround myself with because some people, are just too hard to be surrounded by. It may seem like I'm a bit of a loner I suppose but I'm pleased to say that the friends I do have are the most important and also the loveliest people I've ever had the pleasure to meet. Quite often they tell me that they 'forget' that I'm deaf, but its not the sort of 'forget' that means they switch between emphasizing the lips so much that its no longer comprehensible and mumbling to the point where you wonder if their future job should be a puppeteer. They just 'get it' and that is the most amazing quality in a friend you could ever find.

Present giving is always difficult at Christmas. I've never thought of offering tickets to a play or the theatre because generally it means that I'm expected to go too. I do love the theatre but for me they are a bit hit and miss.
 I recently went to see Cats at the Theatre Royal in Norwich which was subtitled with STAGETEXT. Although I really enjoyed the play I found it was very hard to take in the full contents of the play whilst constantly looking directly to the side of the stage (screens on both sides) to see what was being said. It really is a difficult combination because I love subtitles but maybe I am slightly spoilt with having them at the bottom of a TV screen, skim-reading so fast that I've still got a moment to take in the action, the drama unfurling between every glance.

 This year I offered to buy a two tickets for a friend to a play called The Secret Garden @ West Acre Theatre. I intended the tickets to be for her and a friend of hers but through some misunderstanding she made the assumption I would be the 2nd ticket holder. My immediate reaction was to say no, why would I want to sit through a play that I'd probably only understand about 20% off, mostly due to visuals. Then I thought about it, why couldn't I go? Maybe I could get a communicator or a script to read during the play. So I emailed West Acre Theatre and I was so pleased by their quick responses and willingness to help. They explained the theatre was far too small to accommodate a communicator (this became transparently clear when I went to watch the play) but they would be more than happy to give me a script, and with a small torch I could follow it during the play. Some of my family wanted to see the play too so they came along. When I paid for the tickets they asked me if I could sit in the middle of the group so that they wouldn't get any complaints about the light. This made me laugh, since when has being a family member or a friend meant they wouldn't complain?! Needless to say, they didn't and they were also very pleased by how accommodating the Theatre were being.
  I did enjoy the play. I was sat at the front so I could attempt to lipread most of it but often referred back to the script. It was hard work, flicking between the play itself and looking down at the script in my hand. Earlier that day I'd accidentally caught the film 'The Secret Garden' and wondered if the play would be pretty much the same (and it was very similar). I love the storyline. A girl, Mary sent away to a manor with lots of rooms and gardens, only to find a young 'crippled' boy, Colin who had lost his mother and himself. With the help of Mary who finds a 'secret garden' which had been locked away with the death of the mother Colin finds himself again and realizes that he is not at all 'crippled' and that magic exists in others and himself.

 Thank you so much West Acre Theatre, it was a pleasure to visit you and watch the play. Thank you for accommodating me and for putting on a lovely play, it really means alot. So if in doubt folks, don't be afraid to contact the Theatre directly and seeing what they can do for you - they don't bite!

The Classroom Through My Deaf Ears: By Eleanor

So, I've been pondering on my next blog post, knowing that it is now 2014 and 26 days have already passed me by.
 I've been reading 'The Happiness Project' book (fab book) by Gretchen Rubin and its about a woman who isn't unhappy, but knows she could be happier. She sets about ways of doing this over a year by making simple resolutions each month to follow.
 It begins with simple things like de-cluttering, which I have happily set about doing already, there is nothing more liberating than emptying half your wardrobe, finally letting go of those tops that you 'might wear one day' but know you never will. It's not so liberating that because you've now emptied half your wardrobe you feel that it's now OK to buy more clothes (luckily I haven't... much).
 Perhaps I'm slightly cheating by taking the bits that I want to do, rather than all the bits I need to do, but another resolution that interested me was that she started a blog and was posting nearly everyday.
 Now, I'm definitely in no position to make some silly promise that I will post everyday but I will try to post once a month.
 Anyway, it really is a great book so have a search and have a read (you can borrow my copy Imz don't worry!).


 OK so, I want to try and invite you into my everyday world, obviously some bits will be rather vague as I can't really name places or people but hopefully you will get the general gist.


 I arrive at school around 8.15am to prepare myself for the day ahead. The odd teacher comes by to say good morning and my communicator arrives not long after me. The children arrive for lesson, mostly quietly hanging their coats up, putting things in their trays and sit, legs crossed, arms folded on the carpet.
 The teacher wears the microphone and I hear her voice clearly straight into my hearing aids and into my ears. The children are responding though I never know which or when.
 Time to teach my lesson and it's numeracy today. I've started introducing some behaviour tactics to help the behaviour management, they like to push their boundaries, see how much they can get away with. I know when there is chatting, I don't know who from exactly but I have my suspicions. I praise the good ones, knowing the cheeky ones will want a bit of that praise too.
 I ask questions, they put their hands up, I don't always hear their response but my communicator is safely behind them with her hands/fingers becoming their voice. It's clear now.
 Time to set the group work, I know which children aren't listening and I know I'll be asked 'What are we doing?' by at least 3 (the same 3) children every-time. I make sure the room is quiet and try to ensure all eyes are on me. I try to explain as clearly as I can what we are doing.


 I sit at one of the tables to do a task, the groups are so big and the noise from the room is overwhelming. I talk, I feel my voice vibrating, I hope I'm loud enough. I can't hear their responses, I can't keep them all engaged at the same time because they can't hear either. I stop the class with the tambourine, and I ask for quiet work.
 The communicator stands behind the children, listening in, her hands becoming their voice, its clearer now, I feel more in control, I am in control. I keep an eye on the time, ensuring I leave enough time for the plenary before break.
 I finish the group task and call everyone back to the carpet. Behaviours start to pick up again but I'm hot on the trail. Praise the ones that do, the others follow suit. Are they shining? You can have a house-point, you can have a colourful dot. The naughty ones end up staying, missing a minute of their break-time, but this number has dwindled through time.


 Its break-time, and I smile at the thought of the children respecting me and me respecting them, I smile at the thought of them knowing that I will teach them if they let me in. I smile at the thought of them learning and answering questions correctly that are designed to test them. I smile when I do the marking and am able to tick their learning objectives off.
 I set the room up for the next lesson, its literacy. The children come in, hang their coats up, put things in their trays and sit on the carpet with their legs folded and arms crossed.
 I wait for silence and I start again.