Day One

“Your word differentiation has dropped in your right ear from 72% to 8%. This means you're a candidate for a cochlear implant,” the doctor said to me, pointing his finger to a numerical figure on my latest audiogram.

Those words dropped into the pit of my stomach with a thud. I knew this day would come but I hoped it would be when I’m in my eighties.

Not in my forties.

I tried to joke back about my left ear having a word differentiation of 92%. “So, I’m hearing 100% in total, then?” It took him a minute to catch my jest, so I explained, “92 in the left ear, 8 in the right, so I’m good then?”

Realizing my twisted math quip, he smiled, chuckled, and gave me a playful tap on the arm, “Ah, I gotcha!”

“Angela,” he switched back to the topic after seeing my face fall again, “you don’t have to decide now. You can do the cochlear implant assessment first while you think about it.” Thankfully, my husband recited this back to me later because, at the time, I didn’t hear anymore.

And, it’s not because my word differentiation is 8%. Or 92%. Or 100% total.

I spent the rest of the appointment choking back the sobs that wanted to break loose. Keep your shit together, I told myself while waiting to check out. I’m not usually given to cursing at myself but this was a special occasion.

After my husband and I left the office and entered the long hospital hallway, I clutched his shirt and heaved tears of devastation while he just held me. I’m sure he didn’t know what to say so he just said, “It will be alright.”

I’ve been quite a case today ever since.

I know that cochlear implants are a modern medical marvel and I have seen all those damned videos that make me weep tears of joy when someone gets their “ears” turned on. I love those videos and I am absolutely touched to my core by their ability to hear their loved one’s voice.

But, I’ve never been completely deaf and the thought of it happening has been utterly terrifying to me.

I know. Maybe that’s not fair to those who are deaf and I'm not being insensitive or dismissive of their journey. It’s their journey and I honor that with my hand on my heart. But, being deaf just hasn’t been my experience. I’ve always been on the brink of deafness but wearing hearing aids and growing up in a hearing world has been the only thing I’ve ever known. This shattering news means that I have to grieve the loss of the little hearing that I do have. And, take a risk with the implant working once they sever those auditory nerves and attach them to “the device”.

The immediate questions that plague me on this Day One flash and pop in my mind. I know they are fearful ones driven by uncertainty but I will give them their spotlight for now.

Will the nerves heal right?

Will the implant sound weird?

Will I enjoy the sounds of the ocean, the rain on my She Shed roof, the melody of my favorite song…even the rhythm of the songs I don’t like? What about hearing Adele sing those stretched-out notes as only she can? Or, the cello playing the strings that seem to pull your agony through your chest wall and leave it hanging in the particles of air in front of you. And, now you see it there. Sinewy, silver. and swimming delicately. So present that you swear you can reach out and touch it?

When I hear “Lost in Your Eyes” by Debbie Gibson, will I conjure the memories that sound brings anymore? Like the one of me being an awkward 8th grader at the school Valentine’s Day Dance, waiting for a boy to ask me to dance. (No one did, by the way)

Will sounds sound the same? Will I love them anymore?

These are the questions I ask myself on Day One of another big life event.

I recognize that it wasn’t a terminal illness diagnosis and I’m going to keep on living. Things could always be worse.

But, this is my reality right now in this snapshot of time and if I’ve learned anything in my 40-(mumble) years of life, it’s this. Pain that’s not dealt with and swept under the rug of positivity always comes back to haunt you. Grief unfelt will manifest as anxiety, depression, chronic pain, or any other myriad health conditions out there.

So…yes. I’m going to be scared.

Angry.

No…

PISSED.

Sad.

And then, what will emerge eventually must certainly be hope.

Right?