Discoveries

Life is full of discoveries, mostly inconsequential tidbits rather than monumental, life-changing revelations. Yesterday I learned that donkeys (aka: burros) love human contact and possess the temperament of a devoted canine. I've lived for nearly 6 decades, and I never knew that. Important stuff, huh?

Well, today I discovered that when I whistle, the sound registers as 2 distinctly different pitches to my bionic ears. My left ear hears it as a lower tone than my right ear, I suppose because of the difference in the implant technology of my older C1 on one side and the new Harmony implant on the other. It seems really weird since I'm blowing one tone and hearing two!

Life is full of discoveries . . . .

Bilateral Birthday

The day came and went without fanfare - - - no birthday cake or even a cupcake with a single candle! A whole year of surround sound made possible by the "birth" of hearing in my right ear, yet we did not celebrate.

Was it because it was the dreaded tax day? Was it because it was a typical Wednesday workday? The day that always marked the return of the hummingbirds when we lived in Virginia? Maybe it was because it was my second cochlear implant instead of my first one, less dramatic somehow to add more sound than to initialize it from silence or useless hearing aid amplification? The second child in the family has less baby pictures in the photo album, doesn't he?

A recent comment from a neighbor, "You probably hear better now than the rest of us.", may be a clue to our lack of celebratory spirit. My hearing is so normal, so natural these days that it is easy to forget that it is abnormal, unnatural for a deaf person like me to function as I do. A twinge of discomfort and anxiety does invade my relaxed state of mind on occasion, such as when someone leans over to whisper something in my ear or when I enter a crowded restaurant with ridiculously loud music bellowing forth from the ceiling speakers. But there are also times when Gerry will request, "Say again, please," and a trace of a smile will grace my lips as I marvel over the fact that I heard the comment.

You know, we really should have celebrated. Bilateral hearing is truly wonderful, and I am profoundly grateful! Belated parties are great fun, too. I think I'll drop some hints.

Il Divo

I have always loved acapella male choirs and the wonderful harmonizing of skilled quartets. Gerry used to sing barbershop when we lived in Virginia and his weekly practice sessions were such a treat for me.

I'm a bit behind the times, I know, but I've only just discovered the foursome, Il Divo. When you consider the fact that Christians were tortured and executed in the Roman Coliseum, this rendition of Amazing Grace 2000 years later is truly amazing.

Amazing is a word I often use to describe the sound I get from my cochlear implants. To think that I would have never heard Il Divo if not for the miraculous gift of bionics!!

The setting of this music clip is a coliseum in Croatia. Enjoy.

http://link.brightcove.com/services/player/bcpid271552717?bctid=1913313052

Sousa

I have always loved march music. Play me "The Stars and Stripes Forever" and I'm toe-tapping and on the edge of my seat in eager anticipation of the piccolo solo in the middle. I adore the piccolo, I suppose because it reminds me of a songbird singing its little heart out. Or maybe it's because that high frequency serenade was missing in my life for 20+ years.

We attended a concert tonight that was billed as a tribute to John Philip Sousa. (There are some wonderful perks for those of us who reside in a town with a university that is renown for its music department.) We sat in the front row in the balcony, but I was really in 7th heaven! During the second musical piece, I nonchalantly detached my headpiece from first one ear and then the other to compare the sound of the xylophone and the wood block. I loved the clarity and sharpness of the new Harmony, but I also missed the mellow bass fullness of the clunkier sound of the old C1. So these occasional experiments were conducted as quickly as possible because together the two CI's provide the creme de la creme of sound in a live performance.

Take a bow, Stetson University Symphony Band.

Improving

Ah, the look of healing. Ain't it grand? Gerry's now off his pain meds, and we are both rejoicing over the speed of his recovery. I'm often saying to him, "Hon, would you say that again, please." because his swollen tongue makes him sound like a TV drunk. I had forgotten how much clear diction affects how well my implants work for me. He's such a good sport about my frequent requests for repeats and gives it another try.

A Week Later

It's certainly not a bowl of cherries to spend eight days in the hospital, but there are always blessings to consider in light of the alternatives. Apart from the obvious great medical care available in the U.S. of A. that so many other countries would die for (oops --- that didn't come out quite right), I'm so grateful that we have insurance to cover the whopping costs that Gerry's many tests and procedures were piling up.

Even that uncomfortable, sagging child-size roll-away bed I slept in every evening was a blessing because I really wanted to stay by his side as his team of doctors tried to diagnose the problem. (Can you find me in the picture?) He was wheeled out at 10:00 pm on Friday night for an MRI which uncovered a major problem, 80% blockage in his left carotid artery. This was NOT the cause of his "event" last Wednesday but was indeed a dangerous situation --- a stroke just waiting to happen. A vascular surgeon came in on Saturday night to explain the recommended surgery and to schedule it for Monday, his first available opening.

With each new day came a visit from several different nurses or the occasional case worker, student intern, and the all-important hospital specialist to check on him and to give us a report on his CT scans, blood work, EEG's, EKG's, etc. All negative, thank the Lord, but perplexing since the cause of his previous troubles was still a mystery. Hearing these scores of visitors was challenging for me because the majority of them were non-American with heavy accents.

Now here's a pretty picture! A day and a half after carotid endarterectomy and a few hours before discharge. Gerry's voice is at least one octave lower, sounding like Louis Armstrong, and his swollen tongue makes eating and speaking a bit of an effort. Time should allow these nerves to heal.

Ears for Emergencies

I was never more grateful for my CI's and bilateral hearing than yesterday. Gerry had an "episode" while we were in the work van. He pulled over, white as a sheet and clammy to the touch, and said to me, "Call 911." Using my cell phone in my left ear, I could hear the dispatcher's questions, such as, "Is he having trouble breathing?", "Can he move his legs?", "Is the nausea any worse?", I could relay each question to Gerry, then hear his mumbled responses in my right ear. While the EMT's tended to him, I handled the steady stream of questions with only a few, "I'm sorry - would you say that again, please."

We are still in the hospital since all the tests may take days. I drove home in the evening for essentials, like my CI battery charger, and thanked our merciful God for the ability to hear and for His promised presence and care for us.

Riverdance

Last weekend we celebrated Dad's 84th birthday by going to the final Orlando showing of "Riverdance", the famous Irish music and dance extravaganza. Imagine the thrill for me to hear this marvelous production with both ears!I must confess, by the end of the show I had a dull headache 'cuz I just couldn't bring myself to turn down the volume on my CI's. I wanted to experience the full spectrum of surround sound from start to finish, every tap and shuffle, every penny whistle and drumbeat. From the melancholy haunting wail of the Uilleann bagpipe to the flat clank of the cowbell - - - I loved it all.

Our Email Christmas Card, 2008

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

Cell Phone Success

I am so proud of my "new" bionic ear. I gave it quite a test today and it passed with flying colors. The work-out was a lengthy cell phone conversation - - - not a call in the quiet of my own living room and not with a familiar, "safe" voice of a family member. I was in the passenger seat of a very noisy Chevy van with my "new" ear next to the window. It was Friday afternoon and traffic was heavy. I was talking with an acquaintance from Atlanta whose voice I was not accustomed to. Holding it to my ear to take advantage of the built-in t-coil and the T-mic, I never once needed to say, "Pardon?" or "Could you please repeat that; I didn't catch what you said."

This event means nothing to a person with normal hearing, but to this phone phobic who is deaf as a do-nut hole, it was a shining moment.

Clues

During our prayer request time after Bible Study on Tuesday, Linda quietly exclaimed, with her eyes gazing at her hands, "I have one kitty." My mind immediately began to consider the possible reasons for her obvious distress: something has happened to her other cat? She's about to tell us about something terrible that has happened to her precious kitty?

Then I hear " . . . new doctor . . . in renal failure stage 3 . . . I'm waiting for blood test results . . . drinking more water . . ." and I begin to suspect that maybe I've misunderstood something. What's the matter with her darn cat?

Try as they may, these dear ladies who attend our neighborhood Bible study just can't seem to abide by the one-voice-at-a-time rule, especially during the prayer request time at the close of our bi-weekly gathering. Each one feels compelled to add what they know about the details of the prayer concern. With everyone talking at once about this and that -healthy diet, the negative impact of stress, a great aunt who had - I'm at the mercy of catching a word or phrase here and there from poor Linda who is seated across the large circular table.

And then it dawns on me. Oh, she said that she has one KIDNEY! I try to suppress a smile, which is certainly not an appropriate response to Linda's current tribulation. Hearing loss can still get me in trouble from time to time, even with two great cochlear implants.

Electronic Buzzing

The mystery of that occasional electronic buzzing sounds since my last mapping has been solved. I had assumed it was the wider IDR on my new program slot, but not so. Strange as it may seem, I figured it out when riding in Mom and Dad's car.

Gerry "looped" their car years ago so that my hearing-impaired mom could be a part of our conversations. All the passengers wear boom mics and Mom flips a switch on her remote which activates her t-coils on her hearing aids. Voila - - - our voices go straight to her Phonak aids and she stays in the "loop".

Well, we were pulling out of the driveway and Mom's knee rubbed on the boom mic protruding from the seat pocket. My Harmony ear made a crackling "kkkrrr" sound and I thought "Hey, what's this about?". She touched the foam covering the tiny mic and I heard a rustling sound again.

The light slowly began to dawn on me; I sensed the approach of an "Ah-ha" moment. I retrieved the mic, passed it up to Gerry in the driver's seat, and asked him to talk into the mic. Mom commented, "Sheila, I don't have my t-coils turned on yet." Gerry started talking and his voice was immediately in my right ear.

So . . . . mystery solved. My audi must have activated my t-coil on program #3 when she put the wider IDR setting in that slot. It's no wonder that I buzz when I get close to the TV or walk through those sensor panels at the drugstore. Since I prefer the 80 IDR for everyday listening, that buzzy t-coil needs to be moved to another program slot. Guess what I'm going to request next time I go to Tampa for another mapping?

CI Semantics

Oh, the world of techo-lingo abounds with cochlear implants. Words and acronyms, such as threshold, compression, spectral channels, RF, NRI, AGR, IDR, HiRes -P, HiRes -S . . . . what does it all mean? Well, the bottom line for me is this: if my audiologist works her magic on the computer and I hear better as a result, I'm a happy camper.

At my 6th mapping session today, I asked for a wider IDR for my last program slot, position #3. The letters IDR stand for Input dynamic range. The "standard" IDR default setting is 60, I think, and the maximum on my new Harmony is 80. This is the widest in the CI industry and a unique feature of the Harmony processor.

So what, you ask? The bigger the number, the bigger the sound window. That means that my world of sound has now expanded outward if I switch to slot #3. A wider IDR is designed to allow me to hear more loud vs. soft and near vs. far away sounds.



What have I noticed so far?

• fuller, louder choir at church on Sunday. WONDEFUL!!


• easier to hear a book-on-tape through the car speakers - the voice seems to "come through" better somehow


• clearer sound on the TV - I catch more words without looking at the screen


• hearing some soft electronic buzzing when close to the TV and when walking through the monitor thing-y at the drugstore entrance. I remember having this annoyingly loud with my digital hearing aids but not with my CI.

I've heard other CIers with Advanced Bionics refer to this IDR setting as their "music program" since softer softs and louder louds makes quite a difference for music buffs. After just one week, I think I like it as my daily setting. I may prefer to switch to program #1 in a noisy restaurant, but I haven't been out to eat yet. Humm . . . excuse me . . . "Gerry, . . . ."

Non-CI Moment

Some wonderful moments do not involve sound. It's no secret that I'm a butterfly lover, not because of their melody but because of their incredible symmetrical beauty and their remarkable power of metamorphosis. I even think the caterpillars are gorgeous.

I love providing them with host plants for their eggs and with flowers for the adults to feed on. I do the gardening and Gerry takes the photos - a good team approach.

This morning we were entertained by a visitor we'd never had before and who graciously allowed us to take his picture. I theorize that his resting posture may have something to do with the dreary week of downpours from Tropical Storm Fay that we've just endured. We've had a record-breaking amount of rain, deluging weather that is distasteful to butterflies as well as people. This butterfly is called a red-spotted purple admiral. Isn't he a charmer?

Dad's Recovery

The ordeal is over. Well, at least the hospital part for my dear Dad. He and I have similar temperaments and now we have another thing in common: metal in our bodies. His is a metal plate with 10 screws in his upper left arm, fusing his broken humerus.

My miraculous CI sound was really put to the test throughout the day of surgery, and I silently thanked God for my bilateral hearing time and time and time again. When I heard Mom introduce me to one of the nurses, "This is our daughter. She is my ears.", the wonder of those words warmed my heart to the core.

While we were in the crowded waiting room during Dad's operation, there was a hall announcement of a code red emergency, something about a fire alarm on the 5th floor. I heard it and could tell Mom what was going on! While the room buzzed with numerous conversations and a TV mounted high up in a corner droned on with some news program to which no one was listening, the desk phone rang. Since I was seated close by and no one else seemed to be making a move to answer it, I picked it up. The gist of the conversation was something like this: "Is this a volunteer? (No) Are you a waiting family member? (Yes) Is Patricia D - - - there? (Excuse me?) Patricia D - - - from Daytona Beach (Sorry, what's the name again?) Patricia D - - -, D-E-E-N-G. (I'll ask . . . Is there a . . . .) WOW! Later I heard the all-important message about Dad and his assigned room number.

Based on names such as Graal, Lucretia, Mojak, and Chandra, you might guess that most of Dad's nursing staff were not as American as apple pie. Just as I would become accustomed to one nurse and her "signature" accent, her shift would end and another one would arrive. As soon as she spoke her first sentence, she would reveal yet another unusual dialect. To be fair, there was a Denise from New York and a Krista from Georgia or some place where a southern drawl as thick as spoon bread is commonplace. An oriental lady from admitting arrived sometime in the afternoon, toting a laptop and needing to ask umpteen questions which I'd answered at least a half dozen times already. She and I went out in the hall. I think I asked for only one repeat!

Gerry and I drove my parents home on Friday evening after an exhausting 2 days of hospital routine. Mom had been allowed to spend the night in a recliner and kept both her hearing aids on to tend to Dad's needs when the nurses were not around. Despite considerable post-op pain, I'm sure their own bed must have felt wonderful.

The Next Step

I do not have and never will have a medical degree, but even I could see that the plan of letting Dad's broken bone heal itself was not working. Today's x-ray tells the tale. This is the picture now, almost a month later. So . . . on to Plan B, reconstructive surgery which will add metal plates and screws to his internal arm composition and a healthy scar to his external physique.

You'd think that once a person reaches his ninth decade, he would have basically seen it all and experienced most of it, but this will be a new one for Dad. He's been blessed with good health and has endured very few hospital stays in the course of his life. Next Tuesday, July 29, we will all have a new opportunity to experience God's faithfulness and His provision for Dad through the world of modern medicine.

White Noise

We had a delightful time yesterday visiting the home of Marvin and Jean Burhenn, the parents of my dear friend Denise Portis. Gerry and I took an alternate route home from Tampa (for my 5th mapping on my Harmony) in order to see Denise, who had flown to Leesburg, FL from Frederick, MD to enjoy a week's vacation with her folks. Their lovely home is truly Floridian, complete with an interior seascaspe theme of soft blues and sandy yellows and a screened porch with a glorious water garden. Denise, always the thoughtful hostess, had warned me that the water pump created substantial white noise and that conversation out by the water might be challenging. I was pleased to discover that I could still converse while we admired her dad's handiwork. I suspect this would not have occurred with only one CI ear - - - I wish I had thought to slip the headpiece from the magnet on one side and test out my hypothesis. Ah, the wisdom of hindsight . . .

And I didn't ask Gerry to take a picture of Denise and her daughter Kyersten either. Duh! Sometimes I wonder about my brain cell count.

Progress?

Dad's latest appointment with Dr. Nguyen on July 2nd was in a different office, so we dealt with new surroundings and different assistants and office staff. In the past, any new social setting would have meant anxiety and stress concerning potential hearing difficulties. It's so incredible to me that this does not even cross my mind any more!! Now I can just worry about my precious Dad!

The surgeon examined Dad's arm, checked his wrist pulse, pressed on the top of each fingernail, and said all the swelling, discoloration, and discomfort were "normal" after such a break. Now I ask you, does this look "normal" to you?

We are to return in two weeks for another set of x-rays to see if the separated bones are beginning to fuse properly. In the meantime, trying to flex the arm at the elbow (ouch!) should increase the blood circulation and help to reduce the swelling.

The healing process can seem so slow when you're hurting day after day and new bruises keep appearing. We are encouraged by the small steps of progress, such as a little less swelling, an easier time getting up and down, and a good night’s sleep.

The Ordeal Continues

It's now 5 days since Dad's fall, so it's time for an update. By Sunday evening, his tender body was quite colorful, to say the least, and we were all anxious for Monday's visit with the orthopedic surgeon.

Dad was given the option of surgery to install supporting rods along the bone or to wear a plastic brace and then re-xray the arm in a week to see if the bone was aligning and the pain and swelling lessening. Dad asked Dr. Nguyen what he would do, but his response was, "I'll do what you decide." Dad chose the noninvasive option and the rest of the family nodded in agreement.

We then made our way south to another part of greater Orlando as Gerry headed north to work. The therapist at Specialty Braces removed the temporary splint and gauze wrappings, and Mom and I gawked at the exposed arm with all its multi-colored bruises and bulge. (Sure wished I'd thought to take Gerry's camera.) The two-piece brace was fitted over an arm sock and velcroed together for a tight fit.

It's now Tuesday and poor Dad is hurting. More swelling and pain than the weekend, perhaps from all the activity of yesterday and the pressure of the new brace. We're going back tomorrow to see Dr. Nguyen . . . .

A Day to Remember

The unexpected, as inevitable as laundry, has a way of jolting us out of our complacency and helping us to re-prioritize. For me, a new experience also serves as a proving ground for the strengths and/or weaknesses of bilateral hearing. Yesterday (Thursday, 6/26/08) was one of those days for my extended family. It was my Aunt Jean’s 86th birthday, and I had planned a short low-key outing designed for 3 octogenarians, my parents and the birthday gal. First on the agenda was a visit to Gerry’s workplace to see how he prepares flowers for the florist and to ooh and aah over the beautiful things in this high-end gift shop. Then we were off to a nearby neighborhood restaurant for a home-style lunch, complete with a rich chocolate fudge cake with a single candle. Next on the itinerary was a stop at our church so that Dad, Mom, and Aunt Jean could see the progress being made on the new sanctuary building and to marvel at the scaled model under glass in our narthex. The last stop mid-afternoon was a return to the flower shop to give Aunt Jean her birthday gifts before driving her home.

All went as planned until the final entry into the flower shop. A portable metal sign near the door had blown over and apparently Dad did not see it. In a split second, he was down in a heap on the sidewalk, falling hard on both the sign and the concrete. Gerry and I helped him to a sitting position as the realization of the seriousness of the event took shape in our minds. All of us were jarred into prayerful action and began asking Dad about his precious physical body. Miraculously, Dad was conscious and coherent. Surveying the damage, we soon noticed that his left arm, just below the shoulder had an abnormal bulge and a 911 call was in order.
The last thing my shy, modest dad ever wants is public attention, so two fire trucks, at least five EMT’s, and gawking shoppers would not be his idea of a relaxing family outing! The EMT’s worked their magic on Dad, and I moved to the fellow with the clipboard standing next to Mom, knowing instinctively that she would need help in hearing his questions. Such an incredible blessing to be able to do this again for my mom! The inability to be her “ears” had been such a great personal heartache for me during those years when my hearing loss was so severe.

Back to yesterday’s saga ― we followed the ambulance through heavy interstate traffic and drizzling rain to a hospital about 10 miles away. Fortunately, the trauma center was not especially busy at 4:15 pm, but we soon realized that this fact did not equate to immediate and efficient health care. It took a whopping eight hours for Dad to get some painful x-rays, a temporary splint contraption, and more x-rays. After 11:00 pm we were finally informed that an orthopedic surgeon wasn’t available and that Dad could go home if he felt able. We should call for an appointment the next day, but since this would be Friday, we weren’t likely to get an appointment until Monday. Use ice and pain relievers and keep the arm in a sling.

My left ear, with its power-hungry older CI technology, died around 9:00 pm, and my pocket cache of batteries was depleted. After all, I’d planned a short outing, hadn’t I? Gerry had left the hospital at suppertime to make the 80-mile round trip required to take Aunt Jean home and then drive to our house to pack an overnight bag, including my all-important battery charger and spare batteries. With only unilateral hearing, I sensed the return of a bit of inner trepidations concerning not hearing all the words of those infrequent visits to our little cubicle by some medical person who would dart in, mumble something, and be gone almost before we had time to register their presence. Yes, I hear so much better in noise with 2 ears and yes, the old fears still reside just under the surface.

With Gerry’s welcomed arrival, I was relieved to be back in the bi-lateral business. We were all weary and anxious for resolution. My dear mother, ever the gracious one, requested care for Dad’s bloody abrasions before we were discharged. “Ah . . . sure . . . OK . . .” A nurse (?) was dispatched to do the deed. After viciously wiping and blotting his tender knee and forearm with some smarting stuff called sterile fluid, it became obvious that she was clueless as to how to proceed and needed to enlist the help of her ‘mentor’ who said, “ . . . blah, blah, blah . . . gauze and some tape.” Is it just me, or does this strike anyone else as both startlingly inept and unacceptable medical service? We shall see what Monday brings . . . . for now, we are all thanking God that Dad is at home and asking the Great Physician for comfort, healing, and guidance.