When Sound Fades – New Frustrations and New Dimensions

By: Jean Johnson for Body1

“What’s it like being deaf?” asked Beverly Rupp of Sandy, Ore. who, although in her 50s, has a beautiful head of natural chocolate brown hair. Rupp first noticed her hearing problems as a child, but they did not become pronounced until adulthood. These days she communicates via a hearing aid and reading lips. We’re having a late dinner – garbanzo bean soup with garden veggies, corn tortillas, and a deeply veined blue cheese. In the candlelight, Rupp’s shoulder-length bob sways and her freckled face is animated. She is relishing more than her food and is taking obvious pleasure in recounting what life is like for her.

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Living with Hearing Loss Scientists have known for a long time that people with hearing loss take longer to process a spoken message, and they believe that part of the reason for this is that they are spending so much energy just on the listening task. Hearing loss has been described as an invisible handicap, especially in the social realm. As Helen Keller said, “Deafness cuts one off from people, whereas blindness cuts one off from things.” Author Susan Roberts has written “Lifting the Veil of Silence: Spiritual Help for Hearing Loss” (2005). Roberts has normal hearing but has a lifetime of experience with her mother’s hearing loss.

“I miss things like the sound of water and birds singing, but as long as I’m in my own head and not running across situations where I have a deficit, it really brings a lot of peace and quiet. Part of losing hearing is that you’re losing the background noises that annoy you. Then someone hands you a hearing aid, and you go ‘ahhh.’ But after the thrill is over, you just flip it back off again because you get so used to having that peace and quiet.”

Rupp is fortunate in that she married her former English professor. He’s retired now, so they travel quite a bit. When home, she enjoys a bit of bell ringing for the Salvation Army at Christmas, modeling for art classes at the local community college and time in her garden. Thus she is spared having to find full-time employment and contend with her hearing issues on the job. And, although she doesn’t mention it, her husband, with a rueful grin, once confided that she’s very capable of turning off her hearing aid when she’s listened to enough of what he has to say as well.

Frustrations

“When I worked in fast food, they had these little machines above the deep fat fryers to tell when the french fries were done. Of course, I didn’t hear the little beeps, and so the joke was that a burger up side the head would get my attention,” she said. “But when I couldn’t hear the phone – that got a little more serious. I don’t think my fast food career would have been all that great in the longer run.”

Rupp grows meditative. “I feel that my deafness is not a big deal, but I’ll tell you what is a big deal – the world is crowding me out. I can’t not go anywhere – but I have to start by telling them I’m deaf,” she said. “That’s when things can get pretty annoying.

“As soon as they hear that, it’s like ‘Oh! Deaf person here! Talk to her like she’s a 3-year-old.’ It’s weird. It’s… It’s…” Rupp’s voice trails off in a mix of frustration and bewilderment.

“Also I’ve had people react to me with anger. In fact, it’s the most common reaction I get. Just being asked to repeat themselves drives people up the wall. And there I am staring at them too long. It really puts people off,” Rupp said. “But compared to the ‘Oh I’m going to help that poor person across the street’ that blind people get – I’d rather have people pissed off at me!”

After dinner we head to the living room with our decaf espressos and baked pears. Rupp seats herself on the couch, and I plant a chair in front of her. We drag over some end tables and are good to go. She’s all in black except for a brilliant turquoise scarf with orange paisleys around her neck. The splash of color frames her face to very good advantage as she sits up straight, crosses her legs, and folds her hands over her knees.

“Part of my hearing loss is that it takes some time for me to process words. If I have a little bit, I can often pick up what someone is saying. But when you pause even for a split second while you compute, people think you’re slow,” she explained. “Sometimes I don’t mind, though, because when people think you’re a flibbertigibbet, you can get away with a lot of things.” Rupp laughs and chases a bite of pear with a sip of java. “These pears are good. What did you put on them?”

I fess up to dousing them with few thimbles of ruby port. She smiles and raises a second bite of pear like one does a glass of wine. “Cheers.” Then she moves on to more of the frustrations living in a world without sound can bring.

“I have a whole fire thing since I can’t hear fire trucks or ambulances or smoke alarms.” To that list she adds, “Or back up signals on trucks. Anyone who screams. Gun shots from a distance – that’s new.”

Rupp explains that emergency vehicles can be especially problematic. “When they come around a corner and I didn’t have time to see their lights, they’re just there. I’ve almost been plowed into many times.”

She leans back into the couch and ponders. “Yes, that’s probably a big downside to being deaf. The only real downside. But it can get you killed.”

Now that she’s on the subject, she speculates that “if I was walking down the street and someone yelled ‘stop in the name of the law,’ I wouldn’t have a clue.” Since she’s not had any close encounters with the law lately, though, she moves on to the social scene.

“It makes it hard socially, you know. Parties, music, dances. My husband can’t dance because of his knees, so that’s not a problem, but if I’m at a party sitting with a group of seven or eight people and everyone’s talking, I can’t even find a thread,” she said. “So I have two choices. Hope no one talks to me or take the floor and do all the talking. Mostly I hold forth and I don’t like that. It’s a really bad habit.”

Bad habit or not, it’s easy to see why someone who can’t hear might just want to go for it and talk with abandon in an attempt to communicate. Indeed, Rupp acknowledges that “it’s very hard to have a back and forth conversation.”

She explains that if I weren’t sitting in front of her and enunciating fairly well, she wouldn’t be able to understand me. More, if she wasn’t wearing her hearing aid, she says even looking at my lips wouldn’t do the trick. Since Rupp’s deafness has only come on later in life, she has not become very adept in the alternative communication skills – like lip reading and sign language – that people who are born deaf generally acquire.

Also, Rupp explains that having someone look right at her is relatively disconcerting. “I’m a normal human being and have the normal response to someone getting in my face. Even though that’s what it takes, I still feel the anger.”

New Dimensions

I’m glad I’m seated a polite distance from Rupp. I’ve no wish to infuriate my long-time friend, especially when she’s about to launch into an unexpected topic that piques my interest.

“You can tell a lot about people when you just watch their body language without the distraction of sound,” Rupp said. “And a lot of people look like Muppets, bobbing this way and that with all their hair flying around.” She starts laughing again, but then she grows serious.

“What really bugs me is people with low esteem and confidence. They’ll have their hands up over their mouths when I’m trying to read their lips. It’s like they’re apologizing to the world for having an opinion on something.”

Really? I’d forgotten how transparent we humans can be and am glad my hands are on my laptop fully engaged in note-taking. Chuckle.

At any rate, it’s been instructive to talk with Beverly Rupp and listen to her remarks on life in a world marked by more peace and quiet than most of us ever even consider. For sure, I’ll remember the body language thing and realize that the next time I’m around someone with hearing problems they are probably getting more tips on who I am than I realize just by watching my actions.

Also, I appreciate Rupp’s remarks on how being deaf is not a sign of low intelligence. Why is it that we tend to equate some sort of physical disability with not being in the know, anyway? All that patronizing arrogance goes nowhere. Somehow I think I knew that already, but it helped to have someone in the real know to remind me.

Thank you, Beverly.

Last updated: 19-Apr-06