Working with my one ear

I used to almost consider my hearing as a super strength; it was a sense I relied heavily on as a teacher of young children. In fact, a couple of years ago I underwent a hearing test, as part of a staff medical assessment, and the audiologist commented on how remarkable it was that I was able to hear even the quietest of tones above the background noise of the children in the corridor. As a teacher I was able to identify the owner of any voice in the classroom, without having to turn and see their face. I was able to pinpoint the precise location of where a voice was coming from, and could swiftly turn around to face the person who had made the tiniest of noises, or uttered a sound in the quietest of voices; with an ease of motion gained from years of experience teaching infants. Only after my hearing loss did I realize how much confidence I placed in this ability. My super power was now gone, and I was learning to survive in a classroom, and a school setting, without it.

I had resigned from my job as a teacher of 4 and 5 year olds. Working full time in a classroom wasn’t an option for me anymore, due to the amount of noise exposure I would have. My new job was working as a learning assistant. My new job involved some time supporting a teacher in the classroom; some time covering teachers when they would be in meetings or planning lessons; and some time working with individuals and small groups, in a quiet environment, outside of the main classroom.

With only one hearing ear, I am unable to locate sounds. If a child speaks to me in a classroom, and they are not standing in an obvious position, I will have no idea where the child is situated, and will spend some moments looking around trying to determine their position. Similarly, if I am sitting in front of a class, and a child shouts something out, I cannot rely on my listening skills to identify the culprit, and will instead search for a guilty-looking face. With time I have discovered that, when a child makes an inappropriate noise, if I say, “Who was that?” in a stern voice, without moving to look, the other children will immediately turn or point to the perpetrator!

There is the difficulty of being unable to focus on spoken word over background noise. If a child tries to speak to me in the classroom when the rest of the children are busy carrying out activities, I have to make sure they are on my hearing side, and very close to my ear, in order to be able to hear what they are saying. There have been times where I am concentrating on something a child is saying to me, on my hearing side, when all of a sudden I have felt a vibration or a whisper of a breath in my deaf ear, and I’ve turned around, only to be startled by a child speaking intently into this ear!

Working in an Infant school is a demanding role for someone with a sensitivity to noise. The children are young, and so naturally are often noisy. As well as the obvious loudness of children’s voices in the classrooms and the corridors, there are also some difficult situations I can’t always predict or plan for. There is the painfully-loud noise of a fire alarm drill; the loudness of music played in assemblies and music lessons; the intense volume of other staff member’s voices in staff meeting debates that often overlap with each other, becoming unintelligible to me.

There is my lunchroom nemesis. The school dining hall is a space with an absence of soft furnishings. There are neither carpets nor curtains to absorb the abundance of sound produced in this room. Inside this space are long tables, and glass windows that frame the full length of one side of the room. The opposite side of the room opens onto to a small utility area, featuring a large-scale kitchen sink. This area is used for rinsing the children’s lunch trays with a high-powered rinsing tap. During lunchtimes this room is an abundance of energy. The long tables brim with children. The room fills with chattering voices, the clinking of cutlery, the banging of plastic trays against bins to rid them of any leftover food, and the sound of jets of water spraying into a metallic sink. The sounds seem to bounce around the room from the glass windows, to the hard floor, and to the metallic kitchen area; rarely being absorbed, and mixing with the new sounds being made every moment. I have been using my time spent in this room as part of my sound retraining therapy; getting used to everyday sounds I find challenging, and to help my brain tolerate noises that at present seem too harsh or too loud. As well as battling with the discomfort of the noise in this room, I also have the issue of socializing. Lunch time is often the only time members of staff have, in the school day, to have a quick chat. In this room, if someone sits next to me on my hearing side, I can usually conduct a conversation with a little effort; making sure my ear is close to the person speaking. However, if someone comes to sit next to me on my deaf side, I won’t hear them approach. This means I continuously check this space to see if anyone has sat down. If there is already someone sitting there, I find myself constantly observing their face to determine whether or not they are talking to me. I often find myself eating my lunch quickly to avoid the noise exposure and the communication difficulties. I know this isn’t helpful in moving forward in dealing with my nemesis, but sometimes, when lunchtime arrives, I’m so tired and it’s hard to concentrate. The other scenario is that I make a big effort to start and hold a conversation with the person sitting on my deaf side. This means I have to turn my body around to face them, to have any chance of hearing their dialogue. This makes eating my lunch a difficult task, and hence means more time spent in this room; my nemesis.

Then there was The Cough. I was in a classroom, covering for a teacher, and every few seconds one of the girls would burst into a deep chesty cough. I encouraged her to drink water whenever she felt the need to, but this didn’t seem to provide her with any relief. Over the course of the hour during which I was in the class, I spent my time dueling with The Cough. Every time I spoke, there was a cough interruption. In the presence of The Cough, it was as though any audio in the room at that moment was being censored. Just like when watching something on television when there is a bleep censor used as the replacement of a profanity, or for when classified information is used; this was the consequence of The Cough. So, whilst sitting in front of the class, trying to teach, every few moments, I was for a few seconds unable to hear anything other than The Cough. I was also unable to gauge whether the volume of my voice was at an audible level. Similarly, I was unsure of how much to raise my voice for it to be heard over The Cough, without raising it so much as to be shouting. Then when a child spoke to me in the moment of The Cough, I had completely lost the battle.

There was an awkward moment at the end of a school day. I was again, in a class covering for a teacher. It was the end of the school day and I was reading a chapter from a story to the children. Within moments of beginning to read, a parent came to the door. She opened the door, and she wanted to speak to me. The door was at the opposite end of the room from where I was sitting with the children. I walked across the room to the door, and predictability the children burst into conversation. I walked towards the lady who was standing at the door. And so, the rumbling of chattering continued. The parent at the door was someone I was unfamiliar with. She began to speak to me. I couldn’t hear her. I moved my right ear towards her, closer to her mouth, to give me a chance at gaining some understanding of what she was saying. Well, I was momentarily perplexed by what happened next. The lady turned to face me. She put her hands on my shoulders, and proceeded to kiss me on both of my cheeks! She had unknowingly mistaken my advancing towards her in order to hear her, as an attempt to initiate this customary Spanish greeting! I observed the tradition, in a brief confused state, and uttered a nervous laugh. I then continued to stand ‘too close’ to her as she proceeded to speak to me. I’m sure she felt the awkwardness, but I’m also very sure she had no idea of the reason for it.

Although the majority of my colleagues are aware of my hearing loss, people often seem to forget. Words are habitually spoken to me in passing in a busy corridor, or across a noisy classroom. I consider these moments a complement. I must not be visibly struggling.

Above all, I am tired. I am working in the hearing world, yet this is a world that I don’t entirely fit into any more. The level of concentration and energy needed to focus on spoken word all day is exhausting. Working in the hearing world, I am always visually scanning my environment in order to identify the potential movement of speaking lips. With the exhaustion comes, at times, almost deafening levels of tinnitus. With tiredness and noise, the pressure in my ears builds, like a balloon skin being pulled tight; a balloon full of air pushing against the inside of my ear and spilling out into my head, causing my ears to hurt, and the hum of a daily headache.

Every day is a challenge. Working life is still really difficult and I often feel completely drained. But I am glad to be filling my days. I am happy to be making progress in getting some ‘normality’ back into my life.


More alternative therapy: Part 2 – A scattering of needles

…As soon as he entered the room, the practitioner began to work on my neck. It felt like he was using his fists; starting from my collar bone and then rubbing them up my neck with vigorous force. My skin began to burn from the friction, and the procedure felt like it would have been more relaxing and pleasant, had it been performed with massage oil. After about 10 minutes of the neck burning massage, the practitioner began to slowly push down on my head, encouraging it to bend towards each shoulder. I couldn’t believe how far I was able to stretch. It was as though the stinging massage had loosened all the tension in my neck.

The practitioner then walked away from the massage table and when he reapproached I could see him putting on some blue latex surgical gloves. He asked me to open my mouth. He then inserted his index finger inside my mouth and started to press gently inside my cheek. His thumb pressed lightly through the outside of my cheek, so that it met with his index finger. He massaged using a pressing motion, and in small circular movements. He mumbled something about the temporomandibular joint (TMJ). This massage lasted a few minutes and was repeated on the other side of my face.

Again the practitioner moved away from where I was lying. This time he exited the room. After a few minutes he returned, and whilst leaning over me he announced, in a matter-of-fact tone, “Acupuncture”. Oh, I wasn’t expecting that! I had never had acupuncture before. I asked if it was going to hurt. He assured me that it wouldn’t. He swiftly placed the needles in different points around my jaw, forehead, and the top of my head and my collarbone. The needles felt like they were being elegantly scattered in to place. The majority of the needles glided into my skin, with ease, and caused only a slight sensation of my skin being pricked. But, the insertion of a needle in the part of my jaw below my ear, where it forms an angle to make my chin, caused immediate and intense pain. A tender soreness radiated deep into my jaw. I was in pain, I exclaimed, and alerted the practitioner to the offending needle. He responded saying, “Oh, yes that one will hurt!” I was asked to continue to lie still for 20 minutes. I heard the sound of the door close as the practitioner left the room, and I was left listening to the soft jazz and wondering how many needles were in my face, and what I looked like.

After about 10 minutes a woman, who I hadn’t yet met, entered the room. She greeted me with a jolly sounding, “Hola” and told me as she was turning the needles slightly, that she was there to do just that. A few seconds later she left the room. I was again left lying motionless on the massage table, listening to the soft jazz.

Another 10 minutes passed and again the door opened. I could see from my lying position that it was the same woman who had turned the needles, who was now entering the room. She swiftly collected the needles from my face and neck, with the ease in which they had been placed.

This new practitioner was a comical woman. She told me that she was a nutritionist and she spoke to me about my diet. She presented me with a list of suggestions for a healthy diet, that she told me she had spent time translating from Spanish to English, and to excuse any unusual translations; blaming Google Translate for such errors. The focus of the diet was on eliminating animal products, dairy, and sugar. I was amused by the Spanish theme of the diet. I was allowed a typical ‘Spanish breakfast’ consisting of toasted soda bread with crushed tomato and olive oil; this was something I assumed the Spanish clients would refuse to abstain from. Chorizo and sugary products from the Pastelería (bakery) were ‘prohibited’. I started to think about the foods I liked. Hmm, there was no mention of Marmite or PG Tips tea…There was also a list of suggestions for dietary supplements including Vitamin C powder, Omega 3, a B vitamin complex and Magnesium.

Next I was asked again to sit opposite the mirror and she began to explain some exercises, which I would need to carry out three times a day. She laughed each time before beginning her explanation and demonstration. Maybe she was unsure of her translation. Maybe she found it humorous to watch our reflections as we performed the exercises together, which involved contorting our faces into different shapes, putting our tongues in different positions, and making clicking sounds with our tongues on the roof of our mouths.  These exercises I would most definitely be preforming at home, in private!

And so my experience of the craniofacial rehabilitation concluded.  I liked the holistic approach. I would continue to attend appointments every week in the hope that some of the pressure in my ear could be reduced…

More alternative therapy: Part 1 – skin popping included!

My consultation with the maxillofacial doctor, which by this time was 6 weeks previous, had concluded with her recommending some treatments for me to try. One of her recommendations was that I embark upon some craniofacial rehabilitation. This is a form of physiotherapy that can help temporomandibular (TMJ) (jaw joint) disorders, by using a variety of methods; understanding the relationship between the neck and shoulders, and the head and the TMJ.

This would be yet another alternative method I would try, to see if the pressure in my ear could be reduced, by addressing issues with my jaw. At this point in my story I was continuing to see my chiropractor, who was also doing jaw adjustments. I was also wearing my new night guard to help with my teeth clenching and grinding, whilst sleeping. Maybe this new therapy would complement the other things I was trying.

I had come to terms with the fact that the hearing in my left ear wasn’t going to return, and I was developing strategies to manage my life with unilateral hearing. However, I wasn’t prepared to accept that I would have to live the rest of my life with the constant discomfort of the feeling of pressure in my ears. The doctors had been unable to provide me with any medical-based relief, and so there was nothing to lose by seeking alternative help.

I arrived at the clinic on a Tuesday morning in May, and quickly found myself sitting in yet another waiting room. It was early in the day and I was the first person waiting. The clinic had a clean feel to it. There where white walls, and a light coloured wooden floor. In front of where I was sitting was a light wooden coffee table, with a white candle placed in the middle. Also on the table was a small metal tray in which sat an ornament of a Buddha, alongside some incense sticks. On the wall opposite me was a circular logo, with an outline of a head pictured sideways-on. Above the head, were the words ‘Integrative Craniofacial therapy’. To the right of me, hung a small print of one of Picasso’s paintings; adding a slight touch of lively colour to the otherwise sterile-white wall. Around the room were a variety of different sized leafy pot plants; some small, and perched on top of shelves, and some bigger and nestling into the corners of the building. The feeling of serenity was complete when the music speakers were turned on; initiating the low and warm tones of Nina Simone singing jazz, that floated around the clinic.

First I met the main specialist. I immediately recognized him from the website, and I believe it was he who had originally set up the practice. He asked lots of questions. This initial meeting was conducted at swift pace and with seemingly professional efficiency. He asked me questions about my general health, my diet, whether I was stressed, and about my sleeping patterns. He didn’t seem surprised when I told him about my sudden hearing loss. He scribbled down notes in scrawled handwriting. He felt around my neck and jaw and asked me to open and close my mouth a few times. He said I have issues with my TMJ muscle. He then took me to the room adjacent, where I met another practitioner, this time a woman.

The woman spoke in English and gave me a lot of explanation about what my treatment would consist of. She explained how first she would work on my lower back, and then gradually work upwards towards my neck and face. She began by massaging outwards from my spine. I sat in my underwear, on the edge of a massage table in front of a mirror. I watched as she worked her way up to between my shoulder blades. The therapist was very friendly and seemed to be using her time with me as an opportunity to practise her English speaking skills; which I was very happy about, as it meant that I was able to relax and forget any language-based stress. Whilst I was gazing into the mirror, focusing on nothing in particular, she told me she could see (without touching me) that there was inflammation on the left side of my jaw. I glanced up and looked at my face in the mirror. I could see the inflammation too. I had seen it in my reflection since the day I’d lost my hearing. Yet I couldn’t recall if there had been swelling there before my hearing loss.

I was then asked to lie down on my stomach, on the massage table. She started pulling at my skin around the base of my spine. As she pulled there was an occasional loud popping sound. This was a new experience that no amount of massages enjoyed and endured whilst living in Thailand could have prepared me for. It was quite a painful and uncomfortable experience, yet was also quite satisfying – like tension was being forced away from my back with every pop. The practitioner explained that she was releasing my skin from the bone.

I asked the practitioner if she’d ever seen anyone who’d suddenly lost their hearing. She said she had. She said she had seen people with all sorts of problems: problems with facial muscles, problems with senses, neck problems etc… The walls around the small massage room were decorated with posters. The posters were diagrams of the mouth and teeth. The posters showed the connection between the ears, nose and throat. The posters showed how issues with the neck can affect other parts of the body and face. Hmm, these were all familiar issues.

I then asked the practitioner more directly if she thought my jaw problems could be connected to my hearing loss. She immediately replied, “Yes”, as though it was a question that didn’t require any thinking time to answer. She then quickly added, “But obviously I don’t know what’s going on inside the ear…” When I told her that my MRI scan results had been normal, that there was no virus, that my blood tests had been normal, and that the doctors couldn’t explain my hearing loss, she said, “Well, if they don’t know, then 99 percent I think it could be connected to your jaw.” She also mentioned some other possible attributing factors including stress, serotonin levels, and hormones.

After about half an hour of massage, the woman left the room and the original guy returned…

Review of my new ear

Receiving my new ear was a positive experience. I was hoping my CROS hearing aid would give me some hearing ability on my left side. I was hoping it was going to give me a chance of hearing some elements of speech on my left side; to help me gain some confidence in communicating with others. I was hoping my CROS hearing aid would provide me with some support with hearing in situations with background noise.

Contra Lateral Routing of Signal (CROS) is a hearing aid technology for people with unilateral hearing. The CROS system is for a user who has relatively normal hearing in one ear and has hearing that can’t be aided in the other. The receiving behind-the-ear device on the deaf side transmits the sound to a device on the good side. The user hears the amplified sound from the deaf side in their good ear. The person hears the sound from the good side naturally in their good ear, without amplification.

I would be trialing the device for three months to see if it would be useful for me. If I decided that it wasn’t helpful, then I would be entitled to a full refund.  The CROS hearing aid technology was relatively new, and I’d read that some people really benefit from their CROS hearing aids. I even read someone’s account saying that, with the aid they were able to hear in background noise, and it was like they didn’t have a deaf side anymore.

I was very happy with the way my new ear looked. The aid components were a similar colour to my hair and if I chose to wear my hair down, they were almost invisible. However, I actually liked other people to see them. When traveling on the Metro for example, I would tuck my hair behind my ears so that they were visible. I liked that my disability could now be seen. Before I received my hearing aids, I had felt some frustration at the fact that people had no visible clue of any difficulties I might be having with communication. But with my new ear, if I failed to react to someone on my deaf side, or didn’t move out of the way for someone, I had a visible reason for my lack of response. This made me feel more relaxed on public transport, and in the city. I didn’t feel like I was constantly looking to my left to check if there was someone there, or if the lips of the person next to me were moving.

The main positive outcome of my new ear was that it was really wonderful to have some sense of hearing again in my deaf ear. If someone was speaking to me on my deaf side, the aid would make a high-pitched distorted sound, similar to a ‘beep’,  for each syllable spoken. These beeps would alert me to turn and focus my attention to my deaf side. Without the aid I would be clueless to the presence of anyone next to me on this side. It was comforting to know that if there was a sound on my deaf side, such as someone speaking, or a car approaching from the left whilst I was crossing a road, then I would be alerted.

I also had some frustrating experiences with my new ear. The component in my deaf ear kept popping out. I would fit the mold correctly inside my ear, and within minutes, the aid would have squeezed its way out, so that it was no longer fitted snugly. This meant that throughout the day, I would keep having to push the mold back into my ear. Also, although I was happy that I would be made aware if someone was speaking on my deaf side, the hearing aid didn’t help me understand speech. The high pitched beeping that occurred in time with spoken syllables became an uncomfortable sensation. After my hearing loss, I had developed a sensitivity to noise, and the aids job was to amplify sound; this obviously did not help my sensitivity situation. I became frustrated because I couldn’t make sense of the beeps. I knew they represented words, but however hard I tried I couldn’t hear any difference in the tones to identify letter sounds or words. My good ear was also hindered. My brain seemed to be paying so much attention to the strange sensations and uncomfortable noises brought on by the introduction of my new ear, that it struggled to concentrate and understand speech. So in effect, the aid actually hindered my ability to follow conversation.

One of my hopes had been for the aid to help me hear better in background noise. This was not the case. The mix of music and chatter experienced in a restaurant was overwhelming for my new ear. It would produce screeching sounds and amplify all the noise I didn’t want to focus on. Going out for a meal for a friend’s birthday with a group of people, was a confidence draining experience. I was only able to focus on one person talking, if I could get close enough to them with my good ear to hear them. This meant that I wasn’t involved in the dynamics of the group chatter. I felt isolated and I resorted to smiling and nodding at people to fake my following of any group discussion or jokes. This is a similar overview of my restaurant experiences with more than one person, when I am not wearing an aid. With the aid, the screeching noises also made it difficult for my good ear to focus on conversation.

The amplification of sound from my new ear of everyday city noise such as motor cycle exhausts, building works and sirens, was at times very uncomfortable. Therefore a walk around the city would result in me opening up my aids or covering them to stop them working when confronted with one of these overly intense sounds. My life in a busy city didn’t seem to be a suitable place for my new ear. The city noises when amplified were just too uncomfortable, and weren’t helpful in aiding me to decode speech or make sense of the noises around me. The only place where the amplification of noise didn’t cause too much noise discomfort was at home…but home was the one place I felt like I didn’t really need to wear my hearing aid. At home I could generally hear OK when speaking with my boyfriend in the relatively quiet environment of our apartment.

There were also some strange experiences. One day, I had fitted the right component of the aid into my ear, when I started to hear what sounded like a radio. I had no idea where the noise was coming from. I thought that it was maybe something to do with the Bluetooth connectivity of the aid. Later I thought that it could have been noise being picked up from the television that was playing in the living room. Another time, I fitted the aids into my ears, and I realized that they felt much better; The sounds being produced seemed more natural and I wasn’t receiving the uncomfortable screeching noises. Then I realized the reason they were feeling more natural, was because the battery had died – The aids weren’t turned on! I was hearing normally in my good ear, but without the interference of the beeping from the device into my deaf ear!

I had willed my new ear to work for me, but it hadn’t provided me the support I had hoped for. After three months of wearing it, I returned my CROS hearing aid. I felt some sadness when saying goodbye to my new ear as it had provided me with some hope.


Playing the game: another hospital appointment

Going to a hospital consultation, in a country where I only speak a little of the language, is not dissimilar to my time spent as a child playing adventure games such as Monkey Island, on my old Amiga computer. Yet instead of following the misfortunes of the hapless Guybrush Threepwood as he struggles to become the most infamous pirate in the Caribbean, the focus is on me, an English girl; half-deaf and with limited Spanish, trying to fathom her way around a Spanish hospital system. Yeah, it doesn’t sound as interesting, and it’s not, but it presents a puzzle in itself nonetheless. As in such adventure games there are questions, feelings of apprehension, and puzzles that must be solved before progressing with the story and moving forward in the game.

My game begins with the intense feeling of nervousness whilst sitting in the waiting room. I sit asking myself various questions: Will the specialist speak English? Will they listen to my Spanish and take me seriously, even though I’m obviously not fluent? Will they slow their speech down so I can understand some of the words? Will they be OK with writing down the names of any necessary tests, so that I can go home and Google them? Will I even hear them when they call my name!  My main hope is that they will be patient with me.

The next part of the adventure is the actual consultation. If I am not fortunate enough to meet a specialist who speaks English, I feel the difficulty level increase immediately, and uneasiness starts to claw at me. Trying to make sense of what a specialist is saying, involves me grasping at the words of which I know the meaning of, and putting them together as quickly as I can. Sometimes I find myself listening and trying to concentrate so hard, that I actually end up not concentrating at all. Sometimes I succeed in listening carefully and I manage to understand some words. However, in the time it takes me to make sense of the words, I end up missing the rest of what has been said. On occasions I am handed papers and may be told to take them to another department or area of the hospital, or to use them to inform another member of staff as to the nature of a follow up appointment. The next level follows my journey as I walk around the hospital following signs, and then coming to the realization that I have no idea where I’m going, or why I’m even walking around clutching my paperwork in the first place!

Four weeks after my appointment with the new ENT specialist, I went to the hospital for my referral with the maxillofacial doctor. The upper jaw is referred to as the ‘maxilla’, and the type of doctor I would be seeing, specializes in treating problems related to the hard and soft tissues of the face, mouth, and jaws. I went to the hospital by myself. As usual, my game began with me sitting and waiting anxiously in the waiting room. A mixture of questions were eagerly pushing themselves forward; fighting to be at the forefront of my mind. I scanned the faces in the room. There were people here of all ages. I had found myself sat next to an old man, who kept coughing loudly into a crumpled handkerchief. Whilst battling to ignore the interrogation of persistent questions in my mind, I couldn’t help but glance at a few individuals around me; studying their faces, and wondering why they were here. I’d focus for a while on someone’s features; looking at the shape of their jaw, and assessing the symmetry of their face, until I felt they had sensed my stare, and were about to look back at me. I’d then quickly move my eyes away from my subject.

My name was called, and I walked into a small room. Immediately the specialist started speaking in Spanish. Difficulty level up! I started to answer her questions, and I apologized that my Spanish wasn’t good. She reassured me by saying it was OK. The doctor had a young face, dark hair and radiated compassion. She listened to me as I explained how I had suddenly lost my hearing. She was writing everything down. Then she examined my jaw. She asked me to open my mouth as wide as possible and she felt the joint. She then asked me to close it. I repeated this a few times and she asked if I had any pain in the joints. She placed a tiny piece of card with measurements on, next to my front teeth, and told me my teeth were 3mm to the left, off centre. Then she told me that I was going to do a test. If the results of the test were negative, the treatment would be physiotherapy and wearing a night-time mouth guard. But, if the test showed that I have…then…Oh dear, my skills of following the Spanish conversation were dwindling. I had missed some important information. I told her I didn’t quite understand. She told me not to worry, and the main thing was that first I would need to do the test. I asked her to write down the name of the test and condition she was referring to, so I would be able to research it later at home. Then I was handed some papers and told to go to the receptionist.

Next I went around the corner to the receptionist. As she was speaking to me there was also another woman in the small room, speaking very loudly on the phone. I couldn’t hear my next instructions.  I apologized to the receptionist and said that I didn’t understand and that I couldn’t hear very well. She kindly accompanied me out of the door, handed me some more papers, and directed me to take them to a window down the passage. I thanked her.

Next level. I then walked forwards as far as I could go – which is the direction I was given, and wandered around for a bit. Then it hit me, the moment of realization that I didn’t know what I was doing or where I was supposed to go, or why! I spoke to a nurse who was talking to another nurse in the corridor. She directed me and told me I needed to get a ticket and then go to a window. I walked again in the direction she told me, but didn’t find a ticket machine. Hmm puzzling…I spoke to a man who was sitting at the Information desk in the entrance, and he printed me a ticket. Oh, there wasn’t a ticket machine – this man was in charge of tickets! Then he pointed to the first window and told me I was next. Next for what, I wasn’t sure! I handed the woman behind the glass screen my papers, and she was very patient as she spoke to me. I had to put my ear into the small opening of the glass, so I could hear some of what she was saying. I managed to make appointments for the test and also a follow up appointment. Then I went back to the receptionist in the maxillofacial area, and showed her my papers. She checked them. She seemed happy with my accomplishments and we said our goodbyes.

When I returned home I Googled the words the doctor had written down for me. The ‘gammagrafíatest was a ‘bone scintigraphy‘.  I would be having an injection of a dye of radioactive material. This dye would then travel around my body and emit radiation. Then a camera would take pictures of how much of the dye accumulated in my jaw bones. It was a test to rule out a condition called ‘condylar hyperplasia‘ which is a rare bone disease that affects the jaw bone, and causes asymmetry in the jaw amongst other things.

Anyway…Game over, for this day at least!

My first run – Starting to feel normal again

Six months after experiencing sudden sensorineural hearing loss in my left ear I decided I was ready to go for a run. My body had been through a lot during the past few months. The hearing loss had been a shock. I had felt frightened and helpless. My body had felt like a vessel used for experimentation; exploring the effects of different types of drugs on my condition: anti-inflammatories, nasal sprays, intravenous steroids, intravenous anti-viral medication, injections of steroids through my ear drum and different types of vasodilators. My body had felt delicate and vulnerable; I had experienced side effects of weakness, loss of weight, low blood pressure, tiredness and dizziness. But enough was enough; I wanted to start to feel more normal again. I love running. Running always makes me feel happy. It makes me feel strong. It is also a time where I can completely forget about any worries or unwanted thoughts. I wanted to switch off from the recent past.

I had asked my chiropractor, the week before, as to whether he would recommend that I start running again. I remembered that, when I first met him, nearly 4 months ago, he had asked about what kind of exercise I did. Due to the problems I was having with my neck, he had encouraged me to take a rest from running until my neck was feeling better. At this time, I was also dizzy and taking medicine that my body was struggling with, and so didn’t feel strong enough to able to go running anyway. Yet now I wasn’t too dizzy and I wanted to feel stronger. I missed running and thought it might help cheer me up, and help me on my road to recovery. It was also another thing that I would be able to do for the first time with unilateral hearing – another experience to say I have tried, since living with single-sided deafness.

I waited for a few days after visiting my chiropractor, to go for my run. I wanted my first run to be on a sunny day. I wanted my first run to be a good run. I wanted to wake up, see the sunshine, and be spurred on by the beautiful Madrid weather, to go outside and have a go! I did exactly that. I had checked the weather forecast beforehand and it was going to be a nice day. I got out of bed when my boyfriend had left for work, and I rushed to the window. The sun was shining optimistically in the sky, and I decided today was the day.

Putting on my running clothes, I noticed how my body had changed since I had last worn them in the summer before I lost my hearing. My legs were thinner and my bottom was flatter and my stomach looked small and weak.

I walked briskly for 15 minutes to the nearby running track. It is difficult to run on the streets of Madrid as there are always lots of people around, even during the daytime. I didn’t want to feel vulnerable whilst stuck in the traffic of people. I enjoyed the sun, and breathed the air; taking strong breaths to fill my lungs. I find that when I go running, I realize what a small part of my lungs I actually use during everyday activity. Shallow breathing is a habit of mine, as I am sure it is for many people. It’s almost like we forget to breathe, and it’s actually quite an effort to fill your lungs with every breath, when you’re not used to doing it.

When I got to the track, I was surprised at how many people were there enjoying their morning exercise. I immediately started to run; making sure I was moving slowly and focusing on keeping my shoulders slightly back and good posture. I was listening to a storytelling podcast though my running earphones. I didn’t pay attention to the noise of the tinnitus in my ear that resounds with increased stubbornness when the sounds of the outside world are blocked by ear phones. I didn’t pay attention to the fact that I could only hear the story in my right ear. I was purely happy. I was running in the sunshine, enjoying listening to stories. I was feeling normal again.

The only time I thought about my hearing loss and the pressure and tinnitus in my ear, was when I actually realized that I hadn’t thought of these problems.  So the only time I thought about these issues was actually thinking about the absence of thinking of them! Exercise is well known to be a distraction from life’s worries. This was my proof. My first time running with unilateral hearing was a success.

I sent my sister a message later that day, telling her about my achievement. She replied and wrote that she was so glad that I had been for a run and that I was ‘getting my Carlyness back’ 🙂

Day four with my new ear

My boyfriend and I had planned to go to Cercedilla, a nearby mountainous town, an hour from Madrid by train. It is a beautiful town surrounded by nature, and is a perfect place for hiking. We were going there for the day to escape the busyness and noise of the city, and to enjoy a gentle walk in the mountains.

It was day four of wearing my hearing aid. I had already tested out my new ear whilst watching television and whilst walking outside. I was going to use this opportunity to try my new ear in some other, more challenging, situations; the Metro and on a train.

The first test was the Metro. I was standing with my boyfriend on the platform waiting for the train to arrive. Since losing the hearing in my left ear, and gaining a sensitivity to sound, the noise of the Metro approaching the platform can feel painful and unpleasant. I can feel it piercing deep inside my ears. Whilst wearing the hearing aid, this uncomfortable feeling was accentuated and my immediate reaction was to try and cover both ears with my hands in an attempt to soften the noise. When the train was approaching, a guy came to ask us for something. He was speaking to us and making animated gestures with his body. The noise of the train and his voice were processed by my hearing aid and were turned into a harsh series of beeps. I couldn’t understand what the person was saying. Every word he spoke made a metallic beeping sound when it reached my new ear. My boyfriend explained later to me that the guy had first spoken in Spanish. My boyfriend hadn’t understood the guy and had told him he was English; he hadn’t wanted to encourage conversation with the seemingly unsavoury character. The guy then replied in English, expressing to my boyfriend that he wanted to go to a café. I hadn’t comprehended any of this small exchange of words. I hadn’t even realized that the unusual character had spoken in two different languages. All the sounds of the Metro station were amplified in my new ear; the bell sound to signal the train approaching and the screeching noise of the decelerating train. My new ear was supposed to be helping me to hear better in the presence of background noise. This was not the case. The amplification of sounds and the accompanied beeping noises were dominating my listening skills, which in turn was distorting and obstructing the understanding of my good ear. Normally, without any hearing aid, I could have moved closer to the guy who came to speak to us and put my good ear next to him. I would have been able to hear some of what he was saying. The hearing aid had actually hindered any chance I had of following the conversation. I felt a momentary sense of deflation crushing me. Confusingly however, I also felt some optimism. Although the metallic noises I was hearing in my new ear weren’t actual words and although they were distorted and difficult, it was still comforting to hear something; anything in my deaf ear.

Whilst sitting on the Metro I also noticed something positive. I was sat next to a girl who was sitting on my deaf side. She was talking to her friend who was standing up next to her. Normally everything would fall into silence on my deaf side on the Metro, and I would be oblivious to the world to the left of me unless I turned my head to see the activity. But this time, with my new ear, I was faintly aware that the two girls were speaking. Although I couldn’t hear any helpful letter sounds or words, I was hearing a slight beep for each syllable they were speaking.

The second test was the train station. On entering the train station I simultaneously entered my bubble of noise. Noises of train announcements and the chatter of people merged together. In large covered spaces with many sources of noise, the sounds seem to bounce off one another and encircle me; forcing me into my bubble. It is a bubble of misunderstanding and bewilderment. It is a bubble of pressure that dominates the inside of my head and ears. It is a bubble of isolation. My new ear was supposed to be helping me to hear better in the presence of background noise. Again, this was not the case.

As to be expected, the train was also bustling with the chatter of adults, and with the weekend excitement of children’s voices. On the train I opened the battery compartment of my hearing aid on my deaf side, so as to stop my new ear picking up the train noise. I decided that I would prefer my left ear to be in its world of deafness; ignorant to the bustle that surrounded it. I played music from my iPod into my good ear. It was a beautiful sunny day. I’d been avoiding wearing earphones. I’d been avoiding music. It had previously felt too intense in my good ear. But on this day, above all the chatter and train noise, it felt amazing to be listening to music in my little world. On this day, although the tests of my new ear had proved somewhat disappointing, my body was showing me that it was starting to adjust to my unilateral hearing. Being able to listen to music for a short time without too much discomfort was a small but wonderful improvement. It was some encouragement. Small triumphs were spurring me on. During the train ride, with my music playing and the sun shining, and with my view of Spanish countryside whizzing past my window, I was holding back little tears of contentment.