Josiane Broussard

Family holidays: not the best or most appropriate time to wear earplugs. Some would even think the act a little disrespectful. But what’s a family reunion without a little bickering?

My Deaf Day started off with a nine hour drive from Maine to Philadelphia. Of course, nine hours is on a good day; this time it took us eleven. I listened to my books on tape at what seemed like a distance from my ears, but with the volume turned up, the effect of the earplugs was all but erased.

Everything sounded far away and I felt quite in my own world. When I couldn’t see anyone else in the car I felt like I was alone. After a while I starting humming and talking to my self so I could hear something at normal volume–my voice in my head.

I could only hear my family talking to me after they got my attention by hitting my arm. I had a very hard time hearing anyone clearly if I was not looking straight at them. (My brothers swore I could hear them perfectly and was only pretending not to for the sake of torture.) Hearing with the earplugs required a lot of attention, so without looking at a person’s mouth and expressions, their voice was attenuated almost completely.

I felt like my vision suffered due to the lack of hearing. The field of vision seemed inadequate because (I think) hearing adds to the perception of your entire surroundings–including behind you, which naively I always assumed was solely a job for vision.

It was the quietest trip to Philadelphia in 20 years. But it wasn’t really quiet. External sound was turned down, and drowned out by the sound in my own ears. I could hear the blood in my ears and my own breathing. The loudest things I heard were the sound of my fingers scratching my head or my hand hitting an earplug.

All small noise or busy noise was totally removed. No turning signal; no rustling of chip bags–but the crunching of the chips in my mouth was almost unbearable. The strangest part of being in the car so long with the earplugs was the lack of the engine noise of the car.

Low frequency was the easiest sounds to hear–bass and drums. Much more difficult was conversation and words to songs on the radio.

All the attention paid to my ears (and not to staring straight ahead out the window, and always looking around at the speaker) started taking its toll as I became carsick and fought the urge to tear out the earplugs.

When we finally got to Philadelphia it was late. We unpacked and I turned on the TV to see what the Florida Supreme Court was up to. Everyone else went to bed and I started thinking–there in the dark–that I would not hear the footsteps of a burglar or murderer coming from behind me. After terrifying myself completely, I took out the earplugs to listen and thus ended my day of deafness. Every sound was clear and crisp and close. And I thought, maybe it would be better not to hear the murderer…

It was a strange and muffled day, to be forever associated with carsickness. I think when one sense is damaged, at first perhaps, all senses are also confused and weakened (I say at first because many people insist that the loss of one sense strengthens the ones left, and if true, perhaps this develops over time), because I felt completely disoriented. I felt insufficiently informed, you could say, and was worried about crossing the parking lot for fear of being hit by a car–even though there were none in sight. It still felt dangerous.

However, as tragic as permanent hearing loss may be, it would not be impossible to adapt and continue with the same lifestyle to which you are accustomed. At least you wouldn’t be blind…