Playing Mum with No Working Hearing Aids.. by Imogene

Hi there again!

I am a Mum to two beautiful young boys (3 & 13 weeks) and they are the centre of my world. Everyday, I am doing things with them, listening to their cries, chants and giggles. They're honestly the most beautiful sounds I hear and I thoroughly appreciate being able to hear them. But what happens on the one day you can't?

Let me explain.
Wednesday last week, I woke as usual to the vibration of Freddie thumping around the bedroom and his (very) high pitched squeal as my hubby is tickling him. It's a normal morning. I sit up and put my hearing aids in and try and hush my lads as my littlest is fast asleep, and well, it's too early to hear such loud noises.
I get up, get dressed and go fetch some breakfast as Noah is still fast asleep. I do love the hectic mornings in this house. It's constantly filled with Freddie shouting he wants more milk with his cereal, or how hubby will be late home that afternoon, or that Noah will want a bottle at 20 past the hour. It's all so normal and it's the thing I wake up to and adore. I like the sound of babbling voices and things lumping around. It's my family.

I however dislike when my hearing aids run out. The tapping really irritates me, and always seem to start at the most inconvenient time! But like everything you tend to do as a parent you just put it to one side and get round to it when you can. My life is busy as a Mum, I'm constantly on the go of feeding and changing, as well as talking and playing. So on the day when one of your hearing aids decides it's finished it's battery life, you think "yeah, OK, I'll change you once I've finish *insert job here*" and this is exactly what I did.
Until my other one decided to start going off too.
Safe to say I rely on my hearing aids A LOT when I'm at home.

Freddie is very much one of them Toddlers that when they want something, they'll want to drag you or keep hanging around the item they want; for example Freddie keeps opening and shutting the pantry door when he wants something to eat. It's probably partly because he's around me most of the time, so knows that will get my attention. Of course he doesn't always do that, he does often shove his face in mine and go "Can I have a biscuit?" "Mummmmmmmmmmmy, I'm huuungry!" or "What time is it? Is it time for Dinner?!"

So on this day my hearing aids were tapping away, driving me up the wall. I had to stop doing everything and find some batteries.
I have many spots around the house and in bags where my battery packs seem to accumulate. In a basket above the microwave, in my handbag, in Noah's changing bag and beside my bedside. I went to all of my usual spots and there were either packets of all used batteries (why these were still here I've no idea!) or there was nothing to find.

Oh Sh*t!

I was a Mum in a house alone with two young, demanding kids and I was completely deaf.
You could imagine how quiet it felt. It felt really odd seeing and looking after my kids but with absolutely no hearing. I managed the best I could and things were OK, I just had to watch everything 10x more than I ever had before. Every move and action had to be accounted for.
A natural thing as a parent is to keep an eye out and look after your child, but there was something about them hours that made me feel like I was doing a terrible job. I know I wasn't really, but it did make me realise that sometimes I rely on my Aids more than I think.

I contacted my mum by text and she tried ringing me, but texting that I can't hear and well, it was a massive miscommunication but finally got to explain that I don't have any batteries!
 As a family we don't have any transport so I couldn't drive to the Hospital, I didn't have any cash on me to get the bus to the Hospital, or a shop to buy any, Chris was at work until 5, which means the shops would be close by the time he finished his shift (not to mention it was 10am in the morning).. It was basically the most annoying situation ever.

My Nan came to my rescue and brought some in Boots for me and brought them to me (Got to love Grandparents who'll do anything for you!). I was saved and all systems were go..
I will never let myself get in that situation ever again. It was hugely frustrating.
It showed me what I am capable of as a Mum, exactly how much I appreciate having Hearing Aids in my life and that I love the sounds my family make. If I didn't have them, I don't know what I'd do!

Oh lah lah, a week in France: By Eleanor

 Sitting on my bed, drink in my hand and my cat wedged firmly between my laptop and lap.

 Home, sweet home.

 Last Thursday I hopped on a plane and flew off to Beziers, Southern France. I still get nervous at the rumbling, speeding plane as it finally lifts off at the front, the back following close behind. The houses, getting smaller and smaller until they look like ants and you find yourself surrounded by fluffy dreamlike clouds. Every now and then the plane dips, you hold your breath, yet the plane smoothly cruises ever onwards.

 Almost too soon and the plane prepares to land and with a bump and a screech, you have arrived at your destination. Bezier is calling. Hand in hand, we explore the land, with a terrible sense of navigation skills plus back to front driving rules equals an extended, hot, sans plomb fuelled drive to our home for the week.

 When we originally started planning our holiday, I made an assumption that lots of people would know English. I am not really sure why I made this assumption and boy has my thoughts changed since then. Lots of people we met spoke fluent French, and although they tried their best, simply did not understand English, same as I simply did not understand French. As a deaf person, I do not cope well with any kind of accent. I remember when I was young, at a theme park and this boy started talking to me and my brother. I couldn't understand a word. I remembering asking him to speak English please. He was completely 100% English, he just had a heavy Yorkshire accent.

That was my first experience with an 'accent' and conversations on that holiday always turned to my curiosity. I became anxious, it was difficult enough for me to understand my family and friends from Norfolk. What would I do if I met someone I couldn't understand? What if I said something stupid? Why did people always talk differently? I became angry, frustrated, I worried that I would always need my mum to interpret (repeat what people have said clearly so I could lip read her). I became very aware of what it looked like to have someone repeating everything that had been said, feeling sad, locked in and dare I say it, lonely.

 We met lots of French people on our travels and came across lots of French writing. My partner tried to teach me some French words but it was difficult to hear the different sounds to pronounce. What I hear, and what is actually said, are two very different things.

 We had an amazing week in France, and like all holidays, it went far too quickly. It was hot. Very hot.
 On the first day we went to cap' de Agde, which had a small beach, an aquarium and quaint cafés. It was a beautiful day, with great company. I had my first strawberry Mojito sans alcohol, with the shimmering, shining blue water stretching out as far as the eyes could see. It was also the first time my partner got red raw sunburn. Whilst I turned a healthy tanned version of myself.

 The next day we headed to Sete, mainly for an art gallery by Miro. I love art galleries. We did get lost trying to find it though, the theme of getting lost runs heavily during the week.

 The next day, was Sunday. Which is considered a rest day in France. And we considered it our rest day too. We went to a market in the morning in Bessan, and brought some amazing fresh strawberries, we also went to the bakery for fresh croissants (when in France!). I honestly could not go back to supermarket croissants now... it has to be fresh, simply amazing. It also gave us the chance to explore the local area. I encountered my first conversation with a French person who could speak good English. The problem was, I couldn't lip-read. The mouth movements were different, from her native language being French. It was interesting but similar emotions started creeping in.
Its not that I don't want to know what they are saying but it is painful. I've become somewhat of an expert at knowing when to smile, nod, murmur some sort of noise to allow them to think I understand what is going on. Asking someone to repeat something that you still won't understand, even after the fifth attempt, is an awkward and frustrating process for both sides. It is so difficult to explain to people that because I've heard them once before the first time, it doesn't mean I will always hear them the first time. Lip reading is and always will be my proudest achievement, but it is not magic. It does not allow me to instantly recognise every word.

It is like a jigsaw puzzle.
You pick a jigsaw (conversation starter) based on your mood, what you feel you can achieve (topic you know enough about), the number of pieces (number of people in the conversation), the size of the pieces (the other people in the conversation, their ability, can they speak clearly enough to lip read).
 This is good, because you are in control. Once you've had a go, you let someone else have a turn. The problem is, they have different tactics (ideas), they mess up your system, you no longer know what is being done (or said). It takes time for you to work out what they have done, the gaps they have filled (words they have said). And sometimes you don't always know every gap they have filled.
 It is a slow process, working together to piece the whole jigsaw together. You get there, and more often than not, there is still one piece missing. The connection doesn't feel as natural, as strong as others. Other people can walk into a room, say something in passing and make everyone laugh. The kind of connection you get from throwing words around.

The rest of the week was full of further exploring, including a visit to grotto clamouse (a cave). This visit really excited me because the brochure we found about this, was translated into English as well. It even commented on having access for deaf people. This was the first cave trip that I had ever been on that actually felt they prided themselves on equal communication. The first part was a video, it was spoken in French and had French subtitles at the bottom. It also had English subtitles at the top (yay!). We had explained that I was deaf when entering and they said I could have a copy of what was said during the tour (more surprised smiles) so I could read it. To be honest, it was full of technical jargon and even when reading it, it went completely over my head. The best part about exploring caves, is exploring caves. For me, I don't need any explanation or technical words, I want to see the beauty for myself. And it was beautiful. And I loved the opportunity to feel equal.

 Of course, as with all good holidays, it was soon time to go home. I loved my trip to France and will always remember never to make an assumption that all French people speak English. :)

The Next Step: Eleanor

The next step

So, I’m finally here. I’m at the end of my PGCE teacher training course (ok, three days left but whos counting?) and I’ve got a teaching job lined up ready for September. This September.

 So, how am I feeling? Terrified.

If you asked me a few weeks ago how I felt I would have told you that I felt stressed, tired and antsy about whether I have the capability to be a good teacher. Wondering if it was a reflection of me; that I was reaching for the wrong goals, that there was something else I should be doing, someplace else I should be.

There has been several particularly stressful areas in the last few weeks. I have never been one for moaning, but they could have been different.

1.       Going to interviews. Ok, so that should be stressful and is stressful (for most), but added with the pressure of finding your own interpreter and finding the means to pay for it. Originally I thought that a government run scheme Access To Work would pay for them. So, for my first interview I simply booked an interpreter through an agency, read the Access To Work website who said they would pay for any costs. Simple right?

It all went through swimmingly. I received a claim form, filled it in and the interpreter was paid. So, that must make my assumption right?

 Wrong. I didn’t get that job, so I went to another interview, and another. Booking the interpreters myself, informing ATW as soon as possible that this was happening. Days passed, no information, no payment, no ‘case officer assigned yet’. Finding the time to call them in my hectic teaching day because my interpreter leaves at 3.30pm and I can’t call because I can’t hear. My emails get ignored or simply just avoided. I call them, I get the question ‘which council is the school under?’ ‘do they have an equality policy in place?’ ‘does this include reasonable adjustments for disabled candidates?’. A stopper in the never ending game. The internet doesn’t help. More calls, to the councils, to the schools. Yes, yes, yes to the questions. I call the case officer back, keen to end this ping pong game, my rubber soles wearing away with every missed lunchbreak, the missed evenings when I could have been marking, preparing.

 She is on holiday. In just one hour, she has left the office and headed to the beach. My problems are on pause.

 A week passes, she hasn’t called back. I call, she isn’t in, she will call back the next day. She doesn’t call. I call her. The claims are rejected. Why? Because the council should pay. Why has this changed in the last few weeks? Why didn’t anyone simply tell me this before? The ball remains firmly in my court. It is still my fault. The agency wants paying, I made the booking.

 I make more emails. Things are starting to look better now, and last I heard, the schools are now paying forwards the interpreter costs. I wish I had known, I wish someone had explained to me in simple terms that I needed to do, who I needed to talk to. Why did ATW pay for the first but not the others? The game is ending but the questions stay the same.

 

2.       The pressure to be ‘awesome’. When I first attended my final placement back in January, I was given the heavy burden of finding my own interpreter. The UEA couldn’t help and knowing I had budgets and limited hours of funding, I set about advertising for one myself. As luck would have it, I found a seemly good interpreter, willing to work for a good price and had most of the dates available.

There was a problem though, that came to light when I started working with this interpreter. She wasn’t right for me. Some of her signs were different. She struggled in the environment of demanding children. Slowly, I felt disempowered, unconfident, hesitant to use my voice, to communicate to the school, to the staff, to the children. I felt as if she knew the staff better than me, that they were going to her and I was just a spare part. All in my head. I should talk to her, tell her how I feel. The feeling continues to spiral and I feel lost. Enough. I have a break, some weeks at university and some at my first placement.

Going back to my first placement made me feel alive again, I feel the passion and the enlightenment from teaching, these children know me, they want me and they call me Miss Craik and I smile.

 I knew things had to change. So when I went back to my final placement I arranged a different interpreter. I changed my thought processes. I became determined to be the best. And being the best put an amazing amount of pressure on me. It turned into this huge ‘steep’ learning curve. It turned into having to show and justify to people, to everyone, to myself that I could do this.

 I am here. And *touch wood* I’ve done it.

3.       The interviews. Rejection. It isn’t easy to take. Amongst the pressure of being awesome, trying to ‘fix’ things and finding a job, it really questioned my belief.

4.       Father’s Day. It really sucked. That day, one year ago was the last time I saw my dad. Although I am so happy that I did see him, it still stings to know that was it. And everything that has happened in a year. Sorting through his things, selling his house, his funeral, saying goodbye. When I stop and think, it doesn’t feel like a year, and it definitely doesn’t feel like he isn’t here anymore. He will always be down the road in my heart. And lately, he hasn’t left my thoughts. I miss him. It makes me question, where is he now? Is there a such thing as heaven? Or reincarnation? I’ve been flowing the catholic religion lately (school purposes), trying to link anything to it. But I don’t believe. I don’t believe in anything. I want to say that he has gone to a better place, that he is watching down on me now, that when I think about him, he is there listening, that when I’m out walking and I see an ‘amazing view’, that he’s standing next to me seeing the same thing through his eyes. Through my eyes. Maybe sometimes he brings his own chair, to rest at the top. Does that happen? Does it matter?  Is there a difference between needing to believe, and actually believing?

But that was then. This is now. I have a job and I am fast on the route to becoming a qualified teacher, progressing to a teacher of the deaf. This is step two in my long road. I am so excited but so nervous, hesitant. I still have this undying urge to be the best I can be and I punish myself heavily when I fail or seen as ‘satisfactory’. I dislike that word. I want to be awesome, I want to be amazing and I want to inspire, motivate and engage. But most of all, I want to teach.