Facing my fear.

The always-eloquent Rebecca wrote this post earlier in the week. Rebecca and I spend a lot of time e-mailing back and forth in response to one another's blog posts with comments like "exactly," "spot-on," "me too," and other testaments to the similarity of our experiences with hearing loss. In her most recent post on the subject, Rebecca describes how a two-week hearing-aidless stint caused her to withdraw from socializing and conversing and daily human interaction. Among her many insightful observations, Rebecca writes:

I was acting like someone who was impaired - not just in terms of volume but in terms of socialization. It wasn't like I was thinking "I can't hear, therefore I don't participate" but it was much more subliminal than that. Mostly I just wanted to avoid the conflict and strain of trying to be involved. There's also an odd comfort to it, of not being jarred by sound, of not having to interact with the outside world.

I have found myself falling prey to this same withdrawal pattern. I come up with excuses to skip parties, happy hours, and other large-group gatherings, and only later realize that I didn't want to go because I anticipated not being able to hear or understand. Other times, I will go, but find that I am tense and irritable for hours or days in anticipation of the event. On occasion, the reality of the situation is far easier for me to navigate than feared, and I have a wonderful time and mentally kick myself for wanting to stay home. Other times, the reality is as dark, loud, and stressful as I expected, and reinforces my reluctance to attend such functions.

Now that both the district court and the 10th Circuit are wired for infrared amplification, I no longer dread court appearances. But whenever I am expected to speak in public, I get a little nauseous, not about the presentation itself (I like that stuff), but with the fear of not being able to follow what is happening and respond appropriately. I worry that I will make a fool of myself on my way to and from the podium (I crash into tables and chairs, I misjudge the height of the riser, and inevitably, a hand extended for me to shake flails emptily while I focus on the person's lips, oblivious to the proffered appendage). I worry that I will be asked question but will not hear well enough to respond. I worry that I'll miss my cue or repeat someone else's statements or misunderstand the content or context of the topic at hand. For the most part, these fears are unfounded, or at least exaggerated. To the extent they are valid, they can be addressed easily by speaking with the appropriate powers-that-be. That they are solvable, though, makes them no less fearsome.

When I learned last week that I would soon be receiving a big award, I was alternately thrilled and terrified. Thrilled for the obvious reasons, and terrified because I not only will have to give a short acceptance speech in front of some 2,000 people (many of whom are important folks like senators and ambassadors and titans of industry and stuff), I will also have to survive three days of intensive schmoozing in very crowded, marginally lit hotel conference rooms. I thought about coming up with an excuse to accept my award in absentia. I contemplated skipping all the cocktail parties, receptions, and similar events and sneaking in at the last minute to scoop up my prize. But I know I can't get away with this, and I'm so very honored to be getting this thing that I couldn't possibly justify shirking its related responsibilities.

But I'm really, really nervous about all the seeing and hearing I'm going to have to do in impossible circumstances in the coming weeks. I know that it will all be fine, that people will be helpful and understanding about my communication hurdles, and that the conference and the award ceremony will be fantastic. But as Rebecca so aptly observes, it's not about any conscious, rational knowing. It's about staying in my comfort zone, avoiding conflict and strain, and being a complete wuss.

Comments

[rebecca]

Ah, Mad, you know I love you. Re. the award ceremony situation or any similar situation, the best thing you can do is be really up front about your hearing and vision, right off the bat. With it out in the open, it becomes less scary - you're not trying to pull the wool over anyone's eyes so to speak and suddenly they have an explanation for all your behavior. The weight of the situation is lifted as well, and humor and a willingness to work together to achieve the common goal of communication emerges. You'll do great, I know. You might not hear great and you might not see great but you'll still do great. :-)

[UCL]

Thank you for sharing this insight into your life with the rest of us, who are totally ignorant about such issues and take them for granted. Doing what you do as a litigator takes tremendous courage. You are anything but a "complete wuss".

[Dawn]

Mad, I TOTALLY agree with Rebecca! I find it so much easier when I'm just upfront about my hearing loss. If everyone knows, then there's an explanation for my sometimes otherwise odd behavior. :) I still hate to bring it up sometimes, but 9 times out of 10 I'm so glad I did. As for smoky bars, who needs 'em?!

[mad]

It's one thing in individual conversation (and I will try to let people know the situation during the assorted upcoming receptions and cocktail parties). But it is quite another when I have to get up in front of 2000 people and accept the ADL award. I've spoken to the conference people about having some type of amplification system in place, although they are not sure whether this will be possible. But I really don't feel the need to say to the assembled masses that the reason I crashed into five people and ran my pantyhose on the way to the podium is because I can't see for shit.

[Dawn]

It's me again. I rattled off my post to you without giving it too much though. Hopefully my last comment wasn't too flippant. I feel the same way about crowded cocktail hours and big group gatherings. One way I've sometimes compensated for this (other than what I've already described) is to tell the friends/coworkers I'm with to please say something if they see someone is trying to talk to me and I'm oblivious. Okay, I'll stop now...you're probably saying, "enough with the advice already." :)

[Dawn]

Okay, I just saw your latest comment, so here I am again :) Of course you don't need to say anything to the audience if you don't want to, but it might lighten the moment for you a bit if you're concerned about tripping or not following something. You might feel more comfortable that the audience is on your side...not that they won't be already.