Hearing Me – with a Twist!

hearing me

I am so happy to share an updated recording of the BBC World Service Documentary which I was involved in earlier this year.

This version combines the original audio with a twist at the end 😉

Please note, a transcript is also available through the same link – just scroll down the page to download:

BBC World Service – The Documentary, Hearing me

What does life sound like for someone whose hearing has suddenly changed? (This programme contains audio effects that may cause discomfort to people living with hearing conditions. There is a modified version of this programme, with quieter effects, on this page https://bbc.in/2TrInga) What does life sound like for someone whose hearing has suddenly changed?

 

Please take the time to have a little listen and share. 

I hope you enjoy it!

Learning a New Language with Hearing Loss

Quite surprisingly, I feel that I have developed some skills that ‘hearing people’ may not be as adept at employing in communication as those without full hearing ability; skills that actually help me to comprehend a second language.

I have been living in Madrid for nearly 5 years. During the first two years, I was actively learning Spanish. I was attending evening classes, listening to daily language-learning podcasts on my commute, and was making an effort to converse with Spanish members of staff at work.

My sudden hearing loss happened at the start of my third year in Spain, and since then there has been a marked change in my ability and confidence in learning a second language. Now, over two and a half years following my hearing loss, I still feel like I haven’t addressed this deflated self-confidence.

After I lost the hearing in my left ear, I didn’t return to the evening classes. The sessions were heavily structured around mixing learners together to work in pairs or small groups, requiring them to contribute to the discussion. During each class there would be long periods of time involving many people talking in their groups, which meant overlapping voices, bouncing around the small sparsely furnished classrooms, making hearing and focusing any particular person’s voice very difficult. There were students from many different countries, which would add another obstacle to language learning in a class; with only hearing in one ear comes a difficulty understanding the different intonations and complexities of accents.

As I gradually started to discover mechanisms to manage life with single-sided deafness, I also began to realize that the matter of learning Spanish had been unintentionally suspended during the prior months. And, since returning some focus to my Spanish communication skills, I have realised that learning a language following a hearing loss can present some challenges.

My preferred way of learning Spanish was always through hearing it: by listening to podcasts and eavesdropping on conversations. I continue to be able to recognise Spanish words which I am already familiar with, particularly ones used habitually in conversation. New words, however, pass by quickly in speech, before I have time to think about the way they may be spelt or correctly pronounced. It is now more of a challenge to hear all the phonemes in a word which makes it difficult to identify new words and phrases accurately. Previously I could hear a new word once or twice and be able to spell it. Now, it takes many listens, and sometimes I just can’t hear it clearly.

When learning a new language, it generally takes time to process what has been said in conversation or an instruction, before reacting. Often it has been moments after speaking to someone when I realise what has been said, and by that point, the conversation has perhaps moved on. Similarly, with my hearing loss, it can take a moment to consider spoken information, which I may have only partly grasped, before attempting to decode what has been said. And so, a language learner who also has hearing loss may need extra time for reflection in conversation to enable comprehension.

A pause in dialogue may suggest to a native speaker that they have not been understood when their conversation partner is a language learner. If I ask a Spanish speaker to repeat themselves or if I say ‘pardon’ to signal I haven’t heard what they have said, they often reiterate their words in English, after hearing my accent. They assume it is a matter of misunderstanding due to language ability, rather than a hearing concern. This can be frustrating. I appreciate someone making an effort to speak to me in English with the intention of being helpful, but conversely, it isn’t aiding my language learning or confidence. I know my understanding of spoken Spanish is good, but with the abundance of background noise in public places, there are rarely the ideal listening conditions to facilitate this.

With my hearing loss came a difficulty in gauging the volume of my voice when there are other noises present. If I speak in Spanish and I don’t receive a response, I quickly lose confidence in my words. I usually assume I have pronounced or phrased something incorrectly. But, maybe at times, the issue isn’t my Spanish, rather that I simply speaking too quietly and am not being heard.

Quite surprisingly, I feel that I have developed some skills that ‘hearing people’ may not be as adept at employing in communication as those without full hearing ability; skills that actually help me to comprehend a second language. My hearing loss has prompted me to develop my skills in interpreting tones and in extracting meaning from fragments of dialogue. I am accustomed to filling in gaps left by undetected or misheard words in speech. When someone I know well, such as my boyfriend or my sister, makes a quick comment without first getting my attention, I may hear a collection of tones rather than words. Using my familiarity with their common speech patterns and knowledge of context I can often make a correct assumption regarding what they have said, sometimes without actually hearing a single word. When applied to communication in Spanish, I am able to use this skill to make conjectures, and while this method isn’t conducive to gaining a thorough understanding of a conversation, I am generally able to grasp the essence of a discussion.

I never really appreciated how much I depended on my hearing when learning Spanish. Although it can be challenging and may demand a lot of patience, hearing loss isn’t a barrier to learning a new language. There are many ways to learn a language and there are many resources available, such as phone apps and podcasts with transcripts. I now realise that in order to continue progression in speaking and listening tasks with my hearing loss, I will benefit from focussing more on the written aspects of Spanish. Visual familiarity with new words and sentence structures will help me identify these in dialogue. Perhaps, most importantly, I need to concentrate on building my confidence in continuing to learn a language without full sound.

If you have experience of learning a new language with hearing loss, I’d love you to share your stories and any tips you have. Please feel free to leave a comment.

 

This article was recently featured on The Limping Chicken – the world’s most popular deaf blog! 

Hey Rosey – My Music Festival Story

I was dancing! I was smiling! Some of my hearing loss grief was lifting, and this stifled part of my personality; this love of live music, was being reignited.

The room was small with black dividers forming the walls. It was simply furnished with a black coffee table and, in contrast to the dark surroundings, two white sofas which lined adjacent walls and were pushed together in the far right corner of the room. The air was stuffy and I moved my hair back from my forehead with my hand. Sitting on one of the sofas, I took a sip of my gin and tonic in an attempt to remain composed and to try and coax my fantastically overwhelmed grin to feign a cool smile. A sense of relaxed intimacy filled the air as more people entered the room, and music began to sound in gentle tones. Despite the warm atmosphere, a confused mixture of feelings had taken hold of me: astonishment, excitement, and absolute joy. I was a stranger to this level of attention, this kindness.

At the beginning of this year, I was involved in making a radio documentary for the BBC World Service, which detailed some of my experiences following my sudden hearing loss. During a moment in the recording, I found myself in an emotional situation. I was in an empty music venue and was explaining that I would no longer be able to go to live music events, due to my sensitivity to loud noises; a consequence of my hearing loss. I realised I would never be able to see my favourite band, The National, play live.

Many aspects of life have changed for me since the day I lost full sound. I have found that it is often the small, more personal effects of losing my hearing that carry the most impact. Tiny chunks of my personality have been broken away by some of the cruel repercussions of my hearing loss. When dealing with tinnitus, dizziness, ear pressure and sensitivity to sound, I sometimes feel that my focus is driven away from the things I love; the intrinsic pieces of my personality that make me, me. I have always enjoyed music, in particular going to summer music festivals. This love of music had been repressed; forced into quietness by the accompanying conditions to my hearing loss.

A few months after the documentary recording went live, I was contacted by the National’s manager and was invited to go backstage to meet the band before a show they were playing at MadCool; a music festival in Madrid, where I live. Of course, I was very excited at the prospect of meeting the band. Yet, it was also difficult to imagine this as an experience I would be able to enjoy, or perhaps even tolerate. After all, I had spent almost three years avoiding loud noises and live music events. But, it was a wonderful opportunity and one which I couldn’t refuse. I explained my sound sensitivity issues with the tour manager and was told that, if I felt comfortable, after the Meet and Greet I could watch the concert from the side of the stage where it would be much quieter than the audience area.

The weeks leading up to the event, I was nervous and excited. I was nervous about the festival noise and volume levels. I was nervous about meeting the band. I was determined to enjoy this day as much as possible. I was in a privileged situation and was going to make the most of it, though I knew the day would bring challenges.

As well as having noise sensitivity issues, I have also been advised by specialists against attending live concerts. I needed to ensure that I wasn’t going to be in any position that could cause noise-related hearing damage. And, above all, I needed to feel comfortable. I was going in prepared. I packed a bag with my earplugs and some ear muffs. I was ready.

My boyfriend and I arrived at the festival on a very hot day. The vibrations of the sounds as we approached the outdoor venue caused some pain in my ears; I had forgotten the strength of live music. Luckily, we didn’t have to spend much time in the main grounds of the festival.

After enjoying some time in the artists’ area, the band’s tour manager came to collect us. We followed her as she moved briskly, and within seconds we were walking down a black corridor with labelled doors on either side. I glanced up and read one of the labels: ‘The Smashing Pumpkins’. Oh my goodness! – We were in the artists dressing room area!

We reached the end of the corridor and I stopped for a moment at the realisation that I was about to meet my favourite band. “This is really happening, isn’t it?” I said to my boyfriend. Until this moment, I hadn’t quite believed it.

We turned left and walked straight into The National’s dressing room. It felt like entering a scene from a film. The first person I saw was one of the guitarists, Aaron, standing in the doorway playing his guitar. He greeted me and introduced himself. We were quickly introduced to the other band members and I had a brief chat with Matt, the lead singer. My boyfriend was busy talking to some of the other band members when Matt asked me to sit down on one of the white sofas. He told me to choose a good spot. I didn’t know what he meant by this, so I placed myself to the left of where he sat down (my hearing side) so that whatever happened, I would have some chance of hearing him.

Matt was joined by Gail, one of the female vocalists on their new album, and they were handed a sheet of song lyrics. I read the title: Hey Rosey.

And then, without any announcement, they began to sing. Music played in beautiful acoustic notes and the gentle tones meant that I was able to listen and enjoy it without pain. I thought perhaps the band were rehearsing before going on stage. But, very soon I realised they were playing solely for us. There wasn’t going to be a group of special guests as I’d expected – we were the only ones! This song was ours. I took a sip of my gin and tonic.

When Matt, the lead singer, began to sing I was reminded of a time a few years ago when my boyfriend bought me some new headphones. They were much better quality than I was used to, and to test the sound quality I played a song by The National. The music sounded so clear, almost like I was sitting in the room with them. At the time I commented that it was like a private serenade through my headphones. But, at this moment, I realised it was nothing close.

I tried to take it all in; looking at the faces of the band members, listening to the music, and enjoying the atmosphere. I wanted to be able to remember these moments; sharing this intimate display of creativity.

After the music stopped, I continued talking to Matt. He asked a little about my condition and he commented on how generous he thought I had been in sharing my story through the documentary.

Continuing the theme of the documentary that had brought me to this moment, I asked Matt whether there was a sound that he treasured. He paused for a second. Then suddenly he was visibly struck with emotion. He threw himself back in his chair and held his head in his hands, and replied, “The sound of my daughter giggling…her giggling.”

Soon, we were ushered into a black van and were taken to the backstage area. The stage manager showed us the setlist of songs and explained where we could stand on the stage. I was hoping I would be able to enjoy this, without the worry of hearing damage or sound sensitivity issues.

We watched as the band entered the stage, a few metres from where we were standing. Then the concert began.

I was wearing my earplugs and was able to tolerate the volume level of the music. From the side of the stage where we were standing, the vocals were sometimes difficult to hear, yet the feeling of music dancing through my body filled me with excitement. This energy, I hadn’t experienced for almost three years.

Matt dedicated the song Hey Rosey to me. Unfortunately, I didn’t hear him say my name, but my boyfriend alerted me, and I saw Matt waving. I waved back with unreserved delight. I was dancing! I was smiling! Some of my hearing loss grief was lifting, and this stifled part of my personality; this love of live music, was being reignited. I was filled with exhilaration. I thought I would never be able to go to a live concert again, and here I was, watching my favourite band from the side of the stage like a rockstar!

I have come so far on my hearing loss journey. In the documentary, I spoke about how I was trying to be aware of the sounds that I love, and to not take them for granted. This love of music will always be a part of me, and I hope to be able to continue to appreciate music throughout my life, whatever my hearing capacity. And, if this was to be the last concert I’ll ever attend, rest assured I enjoyed every moment.

Thank you to The National, Shaun Gibson from Straight and Narrow Artist Management, AJ Faber, and everyone else who made our backstage experience so special. Thank you also to Chelsea Dickenson from Audio Always who, without her documentary, this would never have happened. It was a truly amazing experience and one which I will treasure. You have all made my smile brighter.

Click here or below for the dressing room acoustic session.

 

Living with Single-Sided Deafness

I lost the hearing in my left ear through sudden hearing loss in August 2016. There wasn’t a known cause for my hearing loss, I wasn’t feeling ill and I didn’t have an infection. One day the world to the left of me just fell into silence. The hearing loss was profound which means I have no functional hearing in my left ear, and for just over two and a half years I have been living my life with single-sided deafness (SSD).

People with SSD are able to hear through their ‘good’ ear, yet have a profound hearing loss in their other. I am thankful that I am able to hear with my right ear, yet living with SSD comes with its challenges.

Sound localisation is a skill enabled by having two working ears, and so with only one hearing ear, I have no idea where sound is coming from. I might hear some music or a noise, but I don’t know which way to look to see what has produced the sound. Trying to find a mobile phone that is ringing results in me wandering hopelessly around my apartment with my ‘good’ ear leading the way and looking to see if I can spot it, usually ending up back where I started and realising the phone had been next to me all along. Locating a music source is also a challenge. There was one occasion where I was walking in the centre of Madrid, where I live, and I could hear a busker playing the guitar and singing a Bob Marley song. Whilst gazing around to see if I could find the owner of the interesting staccato-type singing I stopped in my tracks with a jump as I almost fell over the person responsible; who was positioned in my path, undetected by my gazing view and lack of directional hearing.

Thinking that all sounds are coming from my right has resulted in some scary instances when crossing roads when I haven’t realised traffic is approaching from my deaf side. It has also resulted in some, in hindsight, comical moments. One day, I was sitting on a seat at the end of a row of seats, on the metro train. I thought that I could hear someone playing the accordion somewhere far down to the right of the train. I was feeling relaxed, and as I tried to focus on the tune that was being played, I saw the woman opposite looking at something next to me. I turned to my left, to where she was looking, only for me to jump up in my seat as I let out a little yelp; startled to see the accordion player was actually standing right next to me, on my deaf side.

My boyfriend automatically walks on my right-hand ‘good’ side where he knows I will hear him. This prevents me from having to continuously turn to face him with my ‘good’ ear, in attempts to catch some snippets of conversation. With friends, who often forget which is my hearing side, or for those who don’t consider it, I place myself on their left. When they inadvertently change sides whilst crossing a road or when they stop to look at something in a shop window, I find myself dancing around them; trying to position myself as quickly as possible back on their left side.

When I’m on my own in everyday places and situations I sometimes feel vulnerable. I worry about crossing the road, and not knowing which direction to move out of the way when I hear the siren of an emergency vehicle. I worry about strangers talking to me, and not being able to hear them, or even worse failing to acknowledge them; if they have addressed me on my deaf side. I unwittingly ignore people to the left of me and often notice a frown on a stranger’s face, presumably because I have failed to respond to them or to move out of their way. I find myself constantly scanning my surroundings; checking people’s faces to see if they show any sign or clue that they are speaking to me.

With single-sided deafness, I find it difficult to hear when there are other noises present. Our brains are responsible for selective listening, which is more challenging without the help of a second ear. In a noisy environment, it is difficult to focus on a single person’s voice. Socialising can be demanding amongst background noise. In restaurants and bars I have learnt to sit in a corner, or with my deaf ear against a wall and my hearing ear facing the person I am speaking to, in order to have some chance at hearing them in conversation. I have learnt that it is only possible to concentrate on listening to one person at a time.

With my single-sided deafness has come tiredness, frustration, loneliness within groups of friends in conversation, and super-sensitivity and hyper-reactivity; meaning I am startled easily by unpredictable or sudden noises. I also have difficulty multitasking and find it hard to perform another task while listening.

Yet, I have found that being able to see some humour and positives, however small, in some of the situations I find myself in, can help me stay positive. For instance, with single-sided deafness, I can block out sound during the night or when having a nap, just by putting my ‘good’ ear to the pillow. I only need to use one earphone when listening to music, and if there is someone I don’t want to listen to, I can make sure they are sitting on my deaf side.

If you or someone you know is also living with SSD, I’d love to hear from you. Please feel free to leave a comment and share some of your experiences.

 

This article was recently featured on The Limping Chicken – the world’s most popular deaf blog! 

How to Talk to People with Hearing Loss

I was recently contacted by Julia Florentine who has just published a book with her mum and her colleague. The book is for friends and family of people with hearing loss on how to communicate effectively and is entitled “How to Talk to People with Hearing Loss“.

The purpose of the book is to explain what people with hearing loss find useful from their communication partners so that the reader can learn to be a better communicator. It aims at helping people to understand the communication difficulties people with hearing loss (in particular, age-related) may have, so that they are equipped with the tools to speak more effectively with someone without full hearing.

Although my hearing loss isn’t age-related, I can still identify with the information in this book and think the tips would be relevant to communicating with someone with any form of hearing loss.

Among other things the book outlines ‘Two Major Myths About Hearing Loss’, ‘Five Most Common Questions Answered’ and ‘Ten Tips for Effective Communication’.

The section I found most relevant to my needs was ‘Ten Tips for Effective Communication’.

I’m sure with different types of hearing loss, the weight of importance will be concentrated on different areas, yet all points carry significance. The main tips that I would like people to know are 6, 7, 8 and 10:

6. If I do not hear you the first time, repeat with different words. Don’t say the same word I did not hear over and over again.

7. Try to limit or avoid background noise. I do not hear well in noisy environments.

8. Talk to me on the side of my better ear.

10. Hearing under adverse conditions can be exhausting. Sometimes, I need a break.

The book doesn’t just provide the tips, it also examines them; suggesting and explaining helpful actions.

I’ve been thinking about the information highlighted in number 10 regarding listening fatigue and realised that this is something I haven’t really talked about to anybody, apart from those who are close to me. I think the reason for this is because there are many other points that I feel others need to know. In particular, I inform people of my hearing side and the fact that I may need to sit close to them to hear them and to watch their lips for clues. I try to make sure I tell these two pieces of information to anyone who I will be having a prolonged or regular communication with. These details are conveyed for practical reasons. The fact that I am tired, doesn’t seem essential to explain.  It seems more like a personal detail.

Yet, the effort involved in listening can be very demanding. Even just meeting with a friend for a coffee can leave me feeling exhausted, and I often have to go home afterwards to lie down and rest my ears and brain. A great amount of concentration is needed to hear the main aspects of a conversation, to process this information, whilst trying to focus on keywords over background noise. It can be tiring attempting to keep up with the change in context, at the same time as endeavouring to hear questions; striving to give appropriate answers. During any conversation, I continually urge my tinnitus not to steal my attention, I deal with sound sensitivity issues, and all the while trying to look at ease with the situation. And so, it is not surprising that trying to follow a conversation, let alone joining in with it, can be quite a mission for someone with hearing loss.

I am aware that people with hearing aids may turn them off when they get home after work or being in a noisy environment, and this allows them to rest their ears and takes away the pressure of trying to listen or respond to conversation. I am quite envious of this. It must be a relief to be able to tune out after being around noise all day. Similarly, I often wear an earplug in my hearing ear when carrying out noisy tasks, such as washing dishes – this gives my ears a rest from noise.

I found it interesting that the point about listening fatigue had been included in the book, as it is not really a tip, but rather an insight into life for someone with hearing loss. It is a point that I would like others to know about me, but one which I rarely voice. I would like people to know that it is an effort to converse. Unlike some issues related to hearing loss, everyone can relate to feeling tired. Perhaps this understanding and awareness could promote empathy.

If you would like more information about the book, it can be found on Amazon, through the following links:

UK: http://bit.ly/hearinglossbook

US: https://amzn.to/2HzgBXd

Spain: https://amzn.to/2w6Yp1W

I hope Julia’s book will help enable more effective communication between those with hearing loss and their communication partners.

My New Nose

Last year, on Valentine’s Day, I had my septoplasty. I had a deviated septum, which veered to the left; my deaf side. For as long as I could remember, I had been unable to breathe through my left nostril – something I hadn’t paid much regard to until my hearing loss and the onset of the associated feeling of pressure in my ears and head.

The pressure is often the most difficult symptom to manage. It is more prominent than my tinnitus. It is ever-present, unlike my sound sensitivity for which the degree of severity is dependent on environmental sounds. With more pressure in my ears comes more dizziness. I would try almost anything to help relieve some of this discomfort as it is extremely hard to disconnect from.

Following a consultation with a particular specialist, in which he stated with confidence that the reason for the feeling of pressure in my ears was because I couldn’t breathe properly, I had elected to have the septoplasty operation. Not all specialists had given me this opinion, and so I tried not to get my hopes up regarding an improvement in my ear discomfort. The straightening of my nasal septum would enable airflow through both nostrils which, at the very least, I hoped would help me sleep better. I also had a faint hope that it could result in a reduction in the feeling of pressure in my ears and head.

The outcome of the surgery wasn’t quite what I had hoped for. The operation had been a success in that my septum was now straight. However, although I was now able to breathe air ‘out’ of the left side, I was unable to inhale. Unfortunately, the nasal valve on the left side of my nose collapsed following the surgery. This meant that every time I tried to breathe air in, the weakened side of my left nostril caved into the nasal passage; blocking the airflow. If I wore a nasal dilator strip, which I opted for during the night, I was able to breathe through both nostrils. But, as soon as the strip was removed, my nasal valve collapsed again. And so, after my septoplasty, I was still unable to breathe naturally through my left nostril and for this reason, the operation also had no impact on my associated ear symptoms.

This year I was offered another procedure to help me breathe, and of course, I agreed to it. The surgery would involve reshaping my nose to correct my breathing problem. I still refused to give up hope for having the minimum comfort of being able to breathe properly. Moreover, I retained my guarded hope for some relief from the persistent ear pressure. 

I spent the weeks leading up to my surgery exploring how my new nose would feel. To simulate my anticipated, improved breathing function I would press my left index finger on a patch of skin next to the left side of my nose and pull the skin away from my nose gently; opening up my airways. The feeling of breathing through both nostrils was wonderful and the pressure around my nose was clearly reduced. I ignored the confused and sometimes disturbed looks passers-by would give me and I’d smile with delight at the thought of this extraordinarily oxygenated state could soon be my new ‘normal’.

I had the open rhinoplasty surgery six days ago and am recovering well. The operation experience was very similar to my septoplasty. I awoke from the anaesthesia with my nostrils full of packing. There was gauze taped under my nose to catch the blood that steadily drained for the next couple of days. The first two days were predictably the most difficult. I was in a significant amount of pain, and it was very uncomfortable trying to eat or drink anything with my nose blocked with dressings. When I returned to the hospital 2 days following the surgery, the specialist removed the nasal packing and I immediately felt a lot more comfortable and had some marvellous breaths of air through both nostrils. On leaving the hospital I felt quite lightheaded from all the air I was able to breathe.

Recovery will take time and patience. My nose is full of stitches and is very sore. My face is bruised and swollen and at present, I resemble an old bruised potato. My nose is currently congested due to swelling, and I am not allowed to blow it, so it feels like I have a very bad cold. But, I am hopeful for some more wonderful full breaths of fresh air. I am hopeful for better sleep. And, I am still holding on to my most cautious of hopes; for some reduction in the constant feeling of pressure.

…I also wonder what my new nose will look like.

And…The Results Are in

It was results day. I was sitting on a hard plastic chair in the health centre waiting-area, muddling through the Spanish sentences in my head that I wanted to make sure I remembered to say to the specialist. There was an echoey buzz of noise from the conversation of other patients and the rattle of metal trolleys; full of medical folders, being transported to the consultation rooms. I tried to focus on breathing deeply to calm myself. Waiting rooms, the act of waiting, speaking in Spanish about health topics, and the worry of not understanding or hearing the specialist, are all things that make me feel nervous. 

After a short time, I was greeted with a “hello” by a doctor who I immediately recognized from a previous appointment. I smiled and replied “hello”, instantly feeling much of the tension in my body melt away at the realization that we would be communicating in English.

She asked me how I was doing and I told her that I was OK, although I still felt dizzy every day. I explained how I believed that the dizziness was influenced by many things –  crowds of people, tiredness, loud noises, salty foods, changes in weather etc. She said that all these things can cause dizziness, though doctors are not always quite sure of the reasons. Next, she asked me whether I’d had any more vertigo attacks since the last time I had consulted with her, and I answered, telling her I hadn’t.

She then looked at the results of my vestibular tests. “This is good,” she said. She told me that the results showed that my ear was working well to keep me balanced.  I asked her if she meant my right (hearing) ear. She replied with regard to both my ears, saying that my balance system was working to a satisfactory degree. She explained that she was reading some numerical results and that the graphical representations of these results were not currently available – there had been a problem with the printer part of the test-machine when I had taken the test. She said she would need to see the graphs in order to have more understanding of how my vestibular system was functioning. She had a surprisingly positive tone to her voice; something I wasn’t accustomed to hearing in a consultation room.

She conjected that perhaps the diagnoses of endolymphatic hydrops or Meniere’s disease were incorrect, and suggested an alternative reason for my dizziness and unsteadiness being vestibular migraines. I paused for a moment to consider this. I had witnessed my mum experiencing symptoms of traditional migraines for most of her life; something which still continues to affect her almost daily. I wasn’t however, particularly informed about migraine due to inner ear disorders. During these few seconds of contemplation, the specialist had already started to question her new hypothesized diagnosis. She said that although the test results noted a good result, it was probably more likely that I have endolymphatic hydrops or the early stages of Meniere’s disease. She backed this theory up with the evidence that I have pressure in my ear and the fact that consuming salty food also makes me noticeably dizzier and exacerbates the feeling of ear pressure. I had become accustomed to this kind of fluctuation of opinion concerning my diagnosis. Inner ear vestibular disorders are difficult to diagnose, and I was aware that my symptoms could be associated with more than one condition. She said that regardless of the diagnosis, she was happy because the results were good and showed that my brain and ears were working together to keep me balanced.

She then asked me about my experience with vestibular rehabilitation. I told her that I hadn’t noticed a difference in my everyday life, as I still felt dizzy in many situations. She responded unexpectedly by telling me that I had made a lot of improvement during the sessions and that I had almost doubled my test scores, following the treatment. I was happy about this as I had worked hard, and I secretly congratulated myself on my efforts. It seemed that although I was managing my balance more successfully, this didn’t equate to feeling more stable. I was still regularly feeling off-balance and dizzy, yet this was part of my condition. The therapy couldn’t cure these factors, it could only help me manage them more effectively.

I would consult again with the specialist in a couple of months. She reminded me to go immediately to the emergency department of the hospital, should I have any issues, however small, regarding my ears. She also told me to make sure I get plenty of rest, continue to drink lots of water, and keep my salt intake to a minimum. She wrote down the phone number of her receptionists and told me that I could phone them and ask to see her if I ever had any issues with my ears.

I left feeling comforted by the quality of care I had received, and confident that I was doing the best I could to support myself with this condition, whatever it may be.