This is not how I’m feeling today, but I still want to write about the things I’ve experienced as they happened and the next thing that stands out in my mind is the grieving part.  I don’t dwell on what I have lost.  It does creep up on me once in a while.  I have a sweet new little grandson (my first grandchild!) and at the time this hearing loss episode happened he was 3 weeks old.  It occurred to me that I will never hear what his natural voice sounds like.  I only teared up for a second because I also realized that he and I will be able to communicate somehow and I envisioned some grand adventure or game between the two of us where we might talk in “secret code” with each other (sign language?) or something else that makes it fun.  Lord willing, I will be able to watch him grow up and be a part of his life, however that takes place.

What I am feeling the most sadness about is communicating with my husband.  We generally touch base by phone during the day at some point.  Sometimes it’s only a few minutes, sometimes longer when he has a break, but it’s one of the highlights of my day.  It is so difficult to understand him on the phone now and his voice doesn’t sound the same.  I can’t even tell it’s him unless I see the caller ID.  The CapTel (captioning telephone) helps.  At least we can communicate.  But I am finding that it is not the perfect solution.  There is a significant delay between what the caller says and what appears on my screen in captions, which takes some getting used to and often there are places where it just says (speaker breaking up) or (indistinguishable).  Better than nothing, of course, but I still miss talking to him the way we used to.   It’s not just the phone.  Think about how many times you communicate with your spouse.  There are so many just general practical every day things to say (“What do you want in your lunch?”  “The phone’s for you”.  “Where’s Cody?”).  Then there’s the  talking about things that matter, like what’s going on with the kids, or what can we do for this christian who is struggling,  or just sharing what’s on your minds ….even in your most intimate moments together as husband and wife there are words to speak and it’s so hard not to be able to do that.  That loss does make me cry when I think about it.

I mentioned in my last post that I really have only had 2 days that were “bad” or especially tough.  I talked about the first one.  The second one  happened last Sunday.  The high dose of prednisone that I am on keeps me awake at night.  (I’m averaging about 4.5 hours of sleep these days.)  That morning, I arrived at church feeling fine.  I was trying to talk to someone a few rows ahead of me right before things got started and was “talking over the crowd” (ie being  louder than I needed to) when suddenly Chet shushed me very firmly and told me I was being really loud!  My perception at that time was that he was annoyed with me….it felt like I had done something “wrong” and he was irritated about it.  It turned out that he was actually saving me from a very embarrassing situation.  What I perceived as irritation was urgency on his part…the speaker had stepped up to the microphone and the audience was quieting down.  I had no idea.  I was mid-conversation and clearly going to continue at a very loud volume.  I was moments away from everyone else being totally quiet and me continuing to speak at a high volume!  He was saving me!  (My hero!)  I didn’t know that at the time, though, and that was the thing that started me on a weepy meltdown.  I’m sure if it hadn’t been  that, something else  would have been the catalyst.   I couldn’t keep myself together and had to leave for a few minutes and try to get my tears under control.  After church, someone was speaking with me, and joked  “You don’t have to yell, you know.”  They were just trying to help and let me know in a joking way (I often handle things with laughter, too) but I was hanging on by a thread so I couldn’t really laugh about it at that moment. The rest of the day I felt weepy.  We had what our church calls Flock Groups that night (a small group gathering) and it is set up differently (no microphone, lots of group participation, fewer people to sing so individuals are heard more) and it was very difficult.  I couldn’t hear anything spoken and while I could understand some of the songs, I didn’t try to sing at all.  I knew that I was only one wrong look or comment away from a total and very public meltdown.  I have to say, encouragement is everything during those moments.  I chose to isolate myself a bit from the group during the fellowship portion and a friend basically came and got me and told me to come sit down with her.  She let me talk some of my feelings out and it really helped.  Another friend visited with me, and  even though we didn’t talk about any of this,  she walked over to me later and just out of the blue gave me an extra hug. (I’m guessing she noticed along with everyone else my “barely holding it together face” during flocks!)  Those things make such a difference.  I think sometimes we feel that we might say the wrong thing so we are hesitant to talk to someone who is hurting or sometimes we think we need to have some kind of special wise words to share.  Really, a hug or a squeeze or an “I love you” or a listening ear is all that’s necessary.

I imagined that the grief part of this would be similar to grieving a death and that has been true.  The day I had a good cry over it all, it really surprised me just how painful it was.  They were deep, hurting tears.  More painful than I expected.  When I lost my dad in a traffic accident a few years ago, I knew he was a christian and I knew that the scriptures say that for a christian the day of your death is better than the day of your birth.  I knew that in the big picture this was actually a good thing for my dad.  It still hurt to lose him, even with the right perspective on things.  I know that in the big picture, losing my hearing is not really a bad thing.  I think I have a good sense of perspective about that, but  the loss does still hurt.  I remember when my dad first died how much love and support there was, and I also remember that after a couple of weeks there was a distinct feeling that everyone else was getting on with their lives and back to normal (which they were and should have been) but for me it was as if it all just happened and nothing felt normal at all.  I felt very disconnected from “normal.”  I feel that way again here.  It feels like the initial acknowledgment that something has happened is past and most people have moved on with normal life.  Of course that makes perfect sense and is exactly how it should be.  I still feel like something huge just happened to me and I don’t feel like life is normal yet at all.  This is still something I’m thinking about and dealing with almost constantly.  I believe this, too, is probably the way I should expect to feel at this point and I think that I need to allow myself a period of grieving the loss and that ultimately it will help me move forward in the positive way I want to.

Today has actually been a very good day.  I’m feeling much better able to cope than on the days I described above.  I’m thankful for the encouragement I have received and am receiving from all of you.  I think most of us know it’s good to encourage others, but I don’t think we always realize just how much difference it can make for someone.  Your words are making a very big difference for me.  Thank you.