Deaf Girly and Jose Gonzalez

One of the highlights of this week – apart from a very lovely dinner with Fab Friend last night – was seeing José Gonzalez play live at the Royal Festival Hall with The Goteborg String Theory.

I've loved José Gonzalez since I first saw him perform live in the mid 2000s – there's something about the richness of his voice, the lightness of his touch on the guitar. In the years since, I've seen him perform twice more. It's spellbinding. And this concert was just that, once again.

One of the things I feel incredibly lucky about regarding my deafness, is that, while I've lost most clarity of speech and indeed, all of my higher frequencies, I seem to be able to really enjoy and hear music. Yes, I only have hearing to an octave and half above middle C, but that still gives me an amazingly rich experience. And what's more, I also seem to have some sort of musical memory – just like when I am lipreading and my brain fills in the word gaps, when I listen to music, my brain fills in the music gaps.

I first noticed this when I was practising for my Grade 8 flute – the two years before had seen my hearing spectacularly nosedive and I was struggling with the pace and emotion in my exam pieces. So I learnt them on the piano – two octaves lower, imprinting the tune and the story behind the music on my mind. This meant that when I played them on my flute and the music missed my ears, I still had it in my head.

Rather helpfully, this concert was brilliantly visual. It started with carrier bags being scrunched and crinkled. I couldn't hear this but I could see it, and my brain filled in the sound effects. The large group of musicians were all clearly visible to me, and I sought each one of them out and worked out what I could and couldn't make out in the amazing music. 

The brass and bass guitar rang clear, the cellos too. And then there was José's guitar playing. When he plays it's like there are multiple people producing the amazing music that my ears can make out. I watched his fingers and while the overriding 'melody' I had was the bass line, I was also able to imagine what was going on out of my frequency. And it was awesome.

Music more than anything else, is incredibly evocative for me. I think it's because whenever I hear something amazing, I am reminded that I must never take that sound for granted. Never take what I am hearing for granted or the fact that, even though I am deaf, it still sounds amazing. I am lucky.

There were moments during this concert where I felt myself welling up. When José played some of his older stuff – it took me right back to the first time I heard it. 

I feel so lucky to have my audio memory – it's like my ears grab on to what they can and my brain stores it away just in case I never get to hear that sound again.

It's so much more than just music for me. José Gonzalez is proof to me that my hearing, while not perfect, is still bloody brilliant. And while I can't hear the radio, or conversations in the office, or the TV without subtitles, or what people are saying in the car or in the dark, I can hear music. Or at least my version of it. And because I don't know what I am missing sound wise, to me it sounds perfect. Or in the case of Mozart chamber music or handbell ringing... completely and utterly silent.

Happy Friday peeps.

DG

xx

Deaf Girly and the tax man Part 2

I am now in year three of doing my self assessment for HMRC – having never done this before in my life, I liken my capabilities to that of a Year 3 school child, but one that needs extra coaching at every turn.

When I decided to quit my job, rent out my flat, become and au pair and write a book, I didn't envisage that the most stressful thing in all that would be filing my yearly tax return. Oof, the paperwork, oof the maths, oof the organisation of keeping everything in a folder so that you don't drop any figures, receipts, numbers or important details that might risk one of those very stressful letters from the HMRC saying they're investigating your self assessment.

Year one of my self assessment was a complete success. Why? Because I discovered – via one of my amazing Twitter pals – that you can email HMRC and organise a face-to-face appointment with them at a nearby location to your home address.

So this was what I did – read all about that here. And a patient man talked me through all those boxes I needed to fill in, all the things I needed to say yes or no to and then explained why I wailed at him, why I had to put MORE money on account after having just paid my tax bill.

Last year I thought, hey, I got this so didn't bother to organise a one-to-one and tried to answer all my own questions myself, which obviously was never going to go well seeing as those little question mark blobs on the self assessment form are about as much use as a chocolate teapot – only less edible.

I filled in everything and hit send. And I got a tax rebate. Marvellous eh?

Until three weeks ago when one of those very unmarvellous letters turned up saying my tax return had rung alarm bells and they thought I owed them quite a bit of money complete with interest and a rather nice fine for my stupidity.

And it turns out that the tax man is rarely (most likely never) wrong.

So after parting with ALL my money – bye bye summer holiday – I fired of an email to the peeps at HMRC to request a meeting regarding this year's tax return and also so I could ask them just how I stuffed up so incredibly on last years. And also to ask whether they would consider waving the fine – I figured the last one couldn't hurt right?

Within 20 minutes I had a reply. Within one hour, I had an appointment confirmed for just five days later. And yesterday, I made the short 15 minute journey to the serviced office where the HMRC man awaited me... and my file of paperwork, and my slight hysteria over self assessment.

He was brilliant. He checked my file and confirmed that my prompt payment of my outstanding balance meant that my additional fine had been waived! HURRAH! He talked me through just what I'd done wrong. He went through all my many printouts and details and answered all my questions far more efficiently than those little clickable question marks and I left with a near complete tax return and the reassurance that there was NO black mark against my name for last year's stuff up.

And so today, I filed my self assessment for 2015/2016 and parted with yet more money. But hopefully with the confidence that I will not have to part with any more money after this or get one of those letters again.

I can't recommend this service enough. It doesn't take the place of an accountant if you have a complicated self assessment set up. It doesn't take the place of learning how to do it yourself. But what it does do is provide the same support that you'd get at the end of the phone if you were a hearing person. But without the tinny hold music and endless wait to speak to someone, which I think means that deaf peeps have a better access option than hearing peeps don't they?

Happy Wednesday peeps

DG
xx

Meeting Deaf Girly's deaf heroine

For those of you who don't know, I have written a book. It's not there yet – I thought it was, as someone who has never written a book may think, but it's not. Quite a few of the lovely agents who I sent it to have said this.

Actually some of them have turned me down in such a nice way, I've had a little cry at the wonder of lovely words and it's given me hope. Not one of them has said I can't write. In fact most of them have said I can write very well. It's like a glowing school report on a first draft of coursework.

I'm currently in the middle of a massive re-draft attempt. This involves spending most of my time living in the head of my main character, which is quite weird as she's not really like me at all. She has a cat – the lucky thing – and a very nice flat in my favourite part of London. I think she's also got slim ankles (a girl can dream), although she's never mentioned it if she has. And, she's definitely got one hell of a chip on her shoulder. So you see, nothing like me *raises eyebrow.

The one thing we do have in common however, is that she's deaf.

Living in the head of someone else who is deaf means that Deafinitely Girly has been taking a back seat because I'm no longer thinking about my deafness anymore, I'm thinking about my main character's deafness.

It's hard thinking about someone else's deafness, especially a fictional person who you love because you created them, but who you are still desperately trying to find everything about. It's hard knowing whether she'd be annoyed, for example, about someone else writing a blog about her, or whether she'd get upset about the lack of decent subtitles on the Channel 5 catch up website and app – although somehow I don't think she's such an avid Home & Away fan as me so it probably doesn't bother her.

At times, I step around her rather gingerly, in disagreement with her views on deafness and how it should be dealt with in the real world. At times, I think, we wouldn't get on at all. But really, I love her because she's my first ever main character, and hopefully not my last.

The problem I've been faced with during my 2nd draft – before I submit it to my Romantic Novelist Association reader (I'm on the New Writers Scheme this year – HURRAH!) – is that I love her so much that I don't want anything bad to happen to her. I've given her a bit of an easy ride. So for the last two months, I've been getting up at 5.45am to write before work – not new stuff, but tough stuff.

It reminds me of the early days of DeafinitelyGirly.com – back then I was so emotional about things not being right with my deafness. Emotional and hot headed and definitely of the flight, not flight, mentality when the hearing got tough.

But I think I've turned a corner. I hope that there's enough dark to balance out the light. I hope that my character brings deafness to life in a new way. And I hope that when I do round two of agent submissions, someone reads about my character and her rather bonkers journey and says, 'I love it.'

In the meantime, I'm going to try and get back into my own deaf head. There's so much I want to write about – from new words I've learnt to pronounce – 'eyot' is 'ait' – WHO KNEW?! to what bees are in my bonnet and why.

Happy Tuesday peeps

DG
x

Deaf Girly and the FaceTime fear

Ever since the summer disappeared, I've been in full-on hibernation mode. I'm like a squirrel that won't see food for the next six months – snaffling peanut butter-themed things that FJM and Big Bro sent me, all of which you can imagine are tremendously low in sugar and calories!

So anyway, yesterday after seemingly forgetting I was actually a member of a very expensive gym, I decided to go and pay it a visit and actually work out. It involved getting in my car and driving somewhere. It was cold and getting dark. The traffic was on the cusp of becoming murderous. I almost wavered as I locked the front door. But I didn't.

One minute into my cross trainer workout I was wondering if I'd done enough to work off the three peanut butter cups... but then my phone rang.

Well FaceTime went off to be exact and it was Big Bro calling me on his way home from work. My knee-jerk reaction – probably stemming from my forced-phone call days is to reject any call to my phone. Sometimes I forget that I can actually follow FaceTime.

I looked around the gym. It was basically empty. So sod it, I thought and hit connect. And there was Big Bro and there was I, sweating it out on a cross trainer. After he'd finished laughing his head off, we had a great chat. Me getting more and more out of breath and red in the face, him finding it more and more amusing. Although I have to confess, it is quite hard to lipread while striding along like a mad woman on a cross trainer.

But what was amazing was that by the time I'd found out how he was and told him how I was, 30 minutes had flown by and I'd actually done enough to work off about one quarter of a peanut butter cup, which is better than nothing right?

Obviously, I'm not going to make a habit of FaceTiming at the gym. I don't really want to become the most hated person there, after the ridiculous person who does handstands at the top of the only staircase to get in and generally makes a complete nuisance of themselves while putting the whole thing on Instagram, probably with a scowling me in the background. But it was reassuring after yesterday's blog about not communicating well with kids, that I can keep in touch with people. Not in the email and text sense (which is easy), and all very well and everything but there's nothing quite like hearing (kind of) someone's voice and seeing their face to make you feel connected.

I need to remind myself to FaceTime people more. To ring up the people I miss and love and see their faces rather than relying on text messages and email. OK, so it's not as simply as just picking up the phone. Outside of the big cities, you need a reliable wifi connection to FaceTime and you can't just pick up when you're out and about if you want a reception good enough to lipread on, so yes, it takes more planning. But I need to make that effort.

It's so easy sometimes to sit back and go 'Woe me, I can't use the phone, I can't listen to podcasts, the radio is no good, cinema is only good once a week in July at 4.30pm on a Tuesday,' but the reality is things are so much more awesome than that.

I think I just forget it sometimes. And if I'm honest I am a bit nervous about the whole phone thing. The idea that you're not disturbing people if you call them unannounced as I've always had to plan FaceTimes and have never really used the phone.

Silly really.

So in December I've decided to FaceTime someone once a week (aside from my rents or FJM who I do talk to more often) and keep in touch with the people I miss and love. Be spontaneous...

First on my list is my 93 year old Gma who has just got an iPad... she's not that keen on it, and I've been putting off FaceTiming her in case it's not switched on, or she gets stressed out... but I'm just going to give it a go. After all, this is a women who sends text messages in text speak and can beat most people in the completion of The Times daily crossword... so if she's up for it. So am I.

Happy Tuesday.

DG
x

Deaf Girly and the children

Do you know there are two things that almost never reach my ears when they're undressed:

Cats meowing and children.

Cats are just silently opening their little furry jowls at me – except when I have my hearing aids in and then they make low meowing sounds that I find quite fantastic but no one else hears the same way – but children, while I can hear the noise they are making, it very rarely makes sense. 

I noticed it greatly this weekend – FJM and I met with friends who all had children. There were double figures of children. All under 8. And I personally spoke to none of them. 

I realised as we drove home that I've almost stopped attempting to interact with children as they are so hard for me to hear. And this makes me a little bit sad.

It's something I've thought about before. In fact, when Elle magazine ran a competition for a 500-word piece on Relationship Goals, this was what I entered with. It wasn't selected. But that was OK, because what these 500 words do is remind me that the children who are important will be heard by me. Now and in the future.

So here it is:

DG on Relationship Goals

It’s 4pm on a Saturday and I’m surrounded by a gaggle of children (four to be exact) in the country kitchen of one of my best friends. My boyfriend is busy playing catch with the three boys as they chat about Minecraft, spiders and farts. At least that’s what I think they are talking about, because I can’t hear them. My nine-year-old goddaughter is quizzing me on whether I’ll let her design my wedding dress. I am not engaged. I’m hoping my boyfriend can’t hear her.

But in truth I can’t really hear her either. And it’s not because she has a lisp or talks fast. It’s not even because she looks down to fiddle with her loom band bracelet or that the conversation bounces from one unpredictable subject to another. It’s because I am deaf.

Having lived with my disability for much of my life, I don’t often feel sad about it anymore. I’ve learnt to get by with lipreading, clear explanations to others about my needs and an almost bullish determination to get what I want. When it comes to relationships, it takes me longer to form them. I can’t get to know people easily in a group setting. My best friendships are formed over dinners for two, chats with coffee and cake, FaceTime and text messages. This works very well in the adult world. But with children it’s different. You can tell them you don’t hear. But expecting them to understand what that means is quite a tall order.

When I look at my nine-year-old goddaughter I am filled with terror that I am missing out on getting to know her, that I could be a better godmother and that my deafness is causing me to miss out.

This weekend was no different. Watching my boyfriend effortlessly interact and seeing the kids chase after our car when we left yelling how much they loved him, I felt both a pang of pride for him and heartache for me.

With children you get back what you put in. So I just have to find different ways of interacting with my goddaughter, of getting to know her. This includes giving her an old phone of mine that works over wifi, so I can ‘What’s App’ her and say hello at no expense to her mum. That way she can keep me updated about her world and then the next time I see her I’ll have the right questions and a better ability to follow her quirky, intelligent train of thought.

I know as she gets older, so her understanding of my deafness will get better. But I want to make sure that the promise I made, to be there for her always is honoured. I want to make sure she can talk to me about anything. But most importantly, I want her to remember that just because I don’t always hear her, doesn’t mean I’m not listening. And certainly doesn’t mean I don’t care.

Happy Monday peeps

DG 

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Deaf Girly & Twitter

This morning, I was frustrated because the programme on Rugby and head injuries I'd downloaded onto iPlayer iPad app to watch on the way to work didn't have subtitles. I was frustrated because this hardly ever happens anymore. Especially not on iPlayer.

This year, I've been frustrated that the subtitles didn't work when I visited Odeon. It was annoying. I ate plastic cheese – that was horrendous.

But what I have to remember is that things have changed.

They really have.

When I look back at my early blogs – I can't believe I've been writing Deafinitely Girly's ramblings for more than eight years now – so many of my posts were full-on rants about how many things were inaccessible to me in London.

If I went to see a subtitled movie it was a massive event. It normally didn't work. This year, I have successfully watched four subtitled films at the cinema. Things have changed.

Other blogs I wrote were about my difficulty in contacting customer services for companies. Anything from British Gas and O2 to car insurance and doctor's surgeries.

But things have changed. And the thing that's changed it the most for me personally is Twitter.

Now, I don't even consider calling a company if I have a question, a problem or something I want help with. No longer do I struggle with the automated options, the beeps, the strong accents and the fact that I am a deaf person trying to make a phone call.

Nope. In the last two years alone, I have sorted out my phone via the @O2 Twitter peeps, sorted out a meter problem via @BritishGasHelp and got @TheAA_UK to email me about something when I couldn't find how to contact them by email on their website.

Yesterday, I had a text from DPD to let me know they were going to deliver a parcel to my flat. The postcode was wrong. I was at work. Online, I could alter the delivery so that I could pick it up at the DPD depot, but I still had a lot of questions, such as 'Would they hand it over if I didn't have documentation with that postcode on?' and 'Had I changed the day correctly online?'

Forgetting about the power of Twitter for a moment, I lifted the phone (I know!! Why do I even bother?) and got trapped in an automated recorded message with loads of options and no way of hearing them. And then I remembered Twitter. And Tweeted @DPD_UK. They got straight back to me. They followed me and continued the conversation over direct message. And by the end of the day it was sorted. Just like that. No tears of frustration. No roping poor, unsuspecting – but never complaining – friends and colleagues to sort it out for me.

'This must be what it's like for hearing people when they call up customer services,' I thought. But do you know what, I think I'm luckier. I don't have to go through a million options on the phone before getting to a real person. Real people are on Twitter for these companies and more than happy to help me... and most likely anyone else who Tweets them.

Twitter has totally changed how I interact with companies for the better. So many of the struggles I used to blog about are disappearing little by little, year by year.

Amazing huh?

There is however just one final thing I want to fix. And that is having a GP surgery where I can make appointments online. So I don't have to get someone else to make an appointment for that embarrassing problem (NOT THAT I HAVE ONE BY THE WAY) and so that I can finally take control of most aspects of my life.

So yesterday, I trawled through all the GP surgeries in my area until I found one that I could make online appointments with. And I'm going to join it. I am ridiculously excited about this.

Sure, there's still things that could be improved, and I'm sure I'll rant about them at some point, but today, I'm quite happy to say that from Deafinitely Girly's point of view, things are changing. It's not so hard anymore.

Have a lovely day peeps

DG
x

Deaf Girly and Spotify subtitles

I'm one of those people who takes advantage of Spotify's free service. The one where you watch an advert for 30 seconds to get 30 minutes of ad-free music. It's not really a hardship. And it has running music.

So far however, my usage of Spotify has been limited to the gym on my phone. Music to run to. Music to stretch to. Zen music for lying on the mat in the stretching area with my eyes closed while pretending I'm actually doing something.

But today, bored of my iTunes selection – I've had the Tangled soundtrack on repeat since I sat down this morning – I decided to try Spotify on my laptop. 

And, since I don't listen to the radio and have no idea what the latest music is, I clicked on the top UK songs that are in the Charts right now. I've never heard many of them before. It's a new experience.

But imagine my surprise when browsing on the Spotify app on my Mac when I saw a little option in the bottom left corner that said 'LYRICS'.

My first thought was – it's a trick. It won't work. It'll get my hopes up and I'll click on it and get a message about lyrics not being available at this time. I mean, you learn to live with these constant disappointments. Like the fact that I have yet to find a subtitled evening showing of the new Jurassic Park movie to take FJM to. *sniff* Or the fact that there is still UNSUBTITLED content on the iPlayer – I really did want to watch that documentary on The Trellick Building and I CAN'T.

Anyway, with my expectations lower than a primary school sports day high jump, I clicked the lyrics button and OH MY GOODNESS...

It WORKS.

Gosh I am shouty today.

Not only are the lyrics there but they give you the lyrics as they are happening, which means I am less likely to be singing the lyrics out of time. This happens a lot. I'm singing away and realise I'm in a completely different place to the actual singer. Bet you're glad you don't live near me eh? *closes windows*

Ooh as I write this Bruno Mars has just come on... *taps foot*

'I'm too hot (hot damn)'

Who knew these were such inspired lyrics *raises eyebrows*

'Uptown funk you up' eh?

But seriously, this is amazing. Amazing. There are lyrics. And as far as I can see, this is better than SoundHound on my iPhone, which regularly tells me it's sorry it cannot find the lyrics to something.

This week, with my mended hearing aids, FaceTime and now lyrics on Spotify I've been feeling amazing impressed with technology and how it makes my life bloody amazing. That and the fact I've downloaded a new HIT exercise class from iTunes that has subtitles and has rendered me unable to move today.

It's all marvellous.

Completely marvellous.

Happy Tuesday peeps

xx

Deaf Girly and the song lyrics

I'm off to Rotterdam (or anywhere) soon and this has meant for the last few weeks, I've had the ear worm (yep, even through my hearing aids) of that catchy song by The Beautiful South. However, the only words I know are 'Rotterdam or anywhere, Liverpool or Rome' and then I am stumped.

I did't even know what the song was about until I found a subtitled YouTube video last night.

I remember realising I couldn't hear song words four years before I knew I was deaf. I was six years old and my grandparents gave me a red Walkman cassette player and a Kylie album for Christmas. The first thing I had to do was crank the volume up to the highest level and even then with those fetching foam covered flimsy 80s headphones, I could hardly hear it – but I assumed that this was just something that everyone struggled with. And then I remember truly believing that pop stars didn't sing song words. I thought they just mumbled the words and that it was your job to guess what was being said.

On a totally separate subject, I actually used to think that was the whole point of Dictation exercises at school, too and often used to used them to creatively enhance the story instead of writing what was being said as I couldn't hear what was being said. And then was totally gutted and confused when I did badly in them.

Anyway, back to those song words. The first time I realised that song words actually did exist was when I started singing my own version of Hand On Your Heart by Kylie with some friends from my class on the rounders pitch and they all started laughing at me. Mortified, I found the words in the cassette cover and memorised the whole lot to prevent it happening again. Assuming that this is what all my friends had done in the first place.

On discovering I was deaf, a lot of things started to make sense – dictation at school was in fact a test of your ability to follow and write down a story without making errors, French listening was actually to see whether you understood the words, not whether you heard them, and the violin – those high notes, well that wasn't guess work, normal people could actually hear them.

And don't even get me started on the fact that birds actually sing.

Anyway, back to those song words. Back in the 90s, there was no internet to Google lyrics on, so instead I spent all my pocket money on Fast Forward and Smash Hits magazines so I could tear out the lyrics pages and learn them after recording the Top 40 charts off Radio 1 onto my pink and white cassette recorder.

For years, my bedroom cupboards were plastered with the lyrics to Chesney Hawkes, New Kids On The Block and most importantly Kylie. 

Next, came a rather amazing school friend who wrote all the lyrics I requested into a book for me and another friend who mouthed them to me with hilarious home-made sign language that I can still remember to this day.

It worked – and it's these songs that I can still remember all the lyrics to.

By university, lyrics websites had popped up and so I printed and learnt the lyrics to the songs that I needed to bounce around to in the Students Union – storing them in a ring binder, creating quite a library. And then all of a sudden came the Sound Hound and Metro Lyrics apps which worked with your smartphone and literally turned it into a Karaoke machine and the rest is history.

To this day however, I still don't really get the importance of lyrics. In fact, quite often, learning the lyrics can actually ruin a song for me. My favourite songs are much more about the chord sequences or melodies than what the lyrics are. I feel quite lucky that while my deafness has take away so much clarity of speech, but I still seem to be able to retain my understanding of pitch and melody. So long as it's not more than an octave and a half above middle C. 

But for the sake of my sanity, I did google the lyrics to Rotterdam Or Anywhere and they're really quite weird, but I'm going to learn them, if only to get me out of the 2-line repetitive rut I am stuck in.

So if you hear someone singing The Beautiful South, horribly out of tune in a check in queue at Heathrow in the next few weeks, be sure to wave won't you?

DG

xx

Deaf Girly loves LV insurance

OK, so regular readers will know when I am not happy with a service, I often shout about it here.

But what about when I am?

Since I moved house a few weeks ago, I've been faced with all the usual life admin tasks of changing addresses on things. This has been a mega pain. Mainly because it involves quite a lot of compulsory phone calls.

The calls I least enjoying making are to insurance companies. This is because they normally have to quote a load of compulsory blurb down the phone at me that I haven't got a chance of understanding.

So a few weeks ago I emailed Liverpool Victoria (LV) my car insurance company to let them know I had moved house and needed to change my address.

I heard nothing.

One of the reasons I chose LV is that London Aunt and Pa speak so highly of them. Pa especially likes the fact they have a UK call centre. And so I have insured my car with them for 2 years.

In that time, I have had to indeed contact them after a moronic lady reversed into my car in KwikFit car park less than five minutes after it had passed its MOT. I ended up doing a conference call with LV and HannahBanana where she lip-synced with the lady on the other end of the phone so that I could sort out my claim. And LV was nothing but accommodating about this slightly unusual scenario.

So anyway, after realising that I probably wasn't going to hear back over email from LV, I tweeted them. Their twitter handle is @LVcares. And guess what? They really do. They wrote back straight away. They told me there was a live chat service on their website that I could make the address change on.

Now, I had noticed the live chat function but had dismissed it as only for general enquiries as my previous experience of these sorts of things usually don't allow sensitive data to change hands.

So I clicked the link they sent me on twitter and then selected the Chat Now button.

A chat window popped up, I entered my details and within 10 seconds had someone asking how they could help.

And then within 10 minutes the whole thing had been done. New documentation will be emailed to me within three hours and…

Well that's just it. There is no 'and'. I managed an essential piece of life admin without having to lift the phone. And I am still in quiet shock about it.

You see, this is quite literally life changing. If more companies are going to adopt a secure live chat function then sooner or later I will be able to organise my entire life this way. No more getting emotional when I can't hear what the other person is saying. No more putting off crucial things like changing my car insurance details.

So it's three cheers for LV on this rainy grey Wednesday. They just totally made my day.

*beams

Deaf Girly and the lipreading mishap

Today I fell through a door backwards.

Crashing into the ladies toilets, I landed on flat on my back and found myself staring at the ceiling.

And the reason for this unfortunately mishap?

I was lipreading the person who was behind me, so turned around to hear her and leant against the door of the toilets to open it, at the exact same time as someone was opening it from the other side.

Honestly, I think she was more surprised than I was. I mean it's not everyday you open a door to find someone propelling themselves backwards at you.

Luckily she stepped aside, as otherwise I would have most likely taken her with me into my heap on the tiled floor. But as I lay there for a moment, blinking at the bright lights and feeling slightly winded, I couldn't help but reflect on just how risky lipreading on the move is.

Take the time I was walking through a car park with a friend and flik-flakked over a low wall that I hadn't noticed because I'd been looking left at my friend instead of straight ahead.

Or the time I almost broke my nose on a lamp post that came out of nowhere and blocked my path mid gossip with a pal.

And then the other day I took out a small child with my handbag due to the fact I was looking sidewise instead of straight ahead and failed to notice him coming towards me. And anyone who's attempted to lift my handbag will know it's not exactly lightweight.

As I watched the poor kid rubbing his head and wondering whether my apology was genuine I toyed with the idea of trying to explain that I was deaf. But didn't know whether that would help him, or his slightly cross looking mum, understand just why I'd nearly knocked him out.

Honestly, I don't think it would have done.

You see, it's hard enough explaining deafness to someone without having to explain all the little things that go with it. Such as walking into things while lipreading.

One of my favourite things I say that confuses people is 'I can't hear you, it's too dark' and this is true. If it's too dark, I can't lipread, and therefore I can't hear but to someone not familiar with my needs it does sound very odd.

So next time I flik-flak over a wall, take out a small child or fall through the open door of the ladies loo backwards, and it's appropriate, I'm going to explain why.

And simply say: 'I'm sorry I just (insert calamity here) but I'm deaf and when lipreading means I cannot look where I am going.'

Well that's the plan, anyway. Whether I'll be able to from my winded place on the floor, remains to be seen.

Have a lovely day peeps

DG
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Deaf Girly and the phone call

Yesterday my phone rang. 

My phone almost never rings, and when it does, I rarely answer it.

But, now I'm a landlord and whatnot, I thought I'd better answer it as it was a London number.

At the other end of the phone was a man with an accent. I have no idea what kind of accent, I just know that none of the words he was saying made any sense at all.

I heard two things: policy and ignoring my calls.

Now being a landlord this worried me. I told him I couldn't hear him very well and he continued to say the same sentence over and over again.

Like it was scripted.

I then told him I was going to pass the phone over to someone who could hear and walked through to the kitchen where London Cousins 1 and 2 were chatting. Neither of them were particularly keen on talking to a strange person on the phone, so we stood there discussing it for a moment to work out who would take the call.

The caller hung up.

Confused about what was so urgent that he accused me of ignoring his calls but then hung up, I Googled the number. Turns out it was a known telepest. One that tells you your life insurance policy was expiring and you'd been ignoring their calls about it…

So I had heard two bits right. And I don't have a life insurance policy.

Thanks to iOs7 I have now blocked this number but what made me grin, just a little bit, was that he hung up on me. 

A known telepest found a phone call to me so annoying he had to hang up the phone.

Teehee!

Obviously I'm going back to not answering my phone for numbers I don't recognise but if I ever am dumb enough to pick up the phone again, I think I am going to try this tactic on purpose. Tell them I cannot hear them. Remind them that if I was known to them, they would know I was deaf, and then maybe go off on one about deaf awareness and…

Yes, I would hang up on me, too.

And this isn't just for those of us that can't hear. Hearing peeps why not go for it, too?

Or as one person helpfully suggested online yesterday as I was googling, to simply say to the person at the other end of the line, 'I've done what you asked, but there's blood everywhere.'

Obviously I'm not so keen on that option incase a SWAT team descend on my house via helicopter and cart me off somewhere, but whatever option I choose, the war on random phone calls to Deaf Girly starts here.

Happy Wednesday peeps.

DG

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Deafinitely Girly's new adventure

Today is the start of the crossover week between my old life and my new life.

I'm still going to work – for 5 more days – but I'm leaving early to get back to my new life.

This morning I woke at 4am. I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and eventually got up.

Leaving for work at 6.30am means I am here far too early. Even by crossover week standards.

As I travelled in on the bus this morning, I could feel myself gulping down a rising panic. It was there in the pit of my stomach. But it climbed up to my chest, into my throat and appeared in my eyes as fresh, hot tears.

This panic, as I look at the blue sky, speckled with clouds and promising a warm September day is completely unstoppable today.

This realisation that I've made the leap. I'm giving up the job I loved for 10 years, to write. To see where writing takes me.

I've wanted to write since the age of 5. Since I plagiarised Topsy & Tim and The Munch Bunch. Ever since I could read, I've wanted to write. And, the idea of being able to give more time to Deafinitely Girly seems like the most exciting thing in the world.

So why am I afraid?

I'm afraid that maybe I'll be rubbish at writing. And I'm also afraid I'll feel alone. Which is silly really as I'm rather good at being alone.

Usually.

I guess in the last 2 years, in my amazing company, I've spent every day seeing friends. It's a bit like being at school. But without the bullies and the double maths.

And it's the fact it's like leaving school that I am trying to remind myself of as I feel the hot, fat tears gathering in my eyes and ruining the make-up I did at 5am this morning.

You see, in the summer after my GCSEs I went deafer than I'd ever been before. I didn't notice so much as I wasn't in an environment where listening was that important. I was having holidays. I was having fun.

Going back to school for A Levels, I noticed that I couldn't hear anything. I was falling asleep halfway through my 90 minute lessons. And doing four A Levels, meant I had a lot of lessons.

So it was decided, halfway through the September term, that I would do three A Levels in 2 years and one A Level in one. A third year of 6th form. Which actually was quite a good thing as I was a year ahead at school after a mix up in kindergarten so it meant I would be going to university at 18, not 17.

The summer after my A Levels, I was in denial about going back to school. About all my favourite people not being there. Being at uni or on gap years. But that first day back, it hit me like a big rising wall of panic.

It was horrific. I panicked when I woke up, I panicked as I drove to school and then I panicked as I walked into the 6th form common room knowing full well the fun of the last year was gone.

I remember thinking the panic was never going to go away. That I would never feel like this was the right thing again.

But it went away gradually, day by day as I found my feet, realised that not seeing my friends every day didn't make them any less of my friends. And I made new friends, too. What's more, a third year of A Levels got me the grades I wanted to go to the uni I wanted. To set me on the amazing path that has been non-stop work and play to this moment.

Today when I felt this rising panic, I had a moment of wondering if I had made a terrible mistake.

Choosing to leave my amazing friends at work. Leave the job I stayed at school an extra year for all those years ago.

But I have to believe that I've made the right decision. And when I feel the rising panic, remember that it's only a temporary feeling. A reaction to change. A reaction to fear of the unknown.

Because it is the unknown. It's days stretching out in front of me where I have to form my own structure. Face my fears. And find new words. Every day.

There will be lots of tears this week, I think. There will be moments where this rising panic probably threatens to cut off my air supply. And when I walk out my office on Friday for the last time, I think I'll probably bawl my eyes out.

But it's OK. I'm ready for it.

And this time next week, I'll be sat at my desk, cup of tea brewing laptop open and I'll be Deafinitely Girly, writer. Freelance. Available for cake baking. Available for dates. Available for columns. Available for general writing miscellany…

It's going to be good right?

It has to be.

Deafinitely Girly and the mega noise panic

Yesterday did not start well.

I woke up at 4am in the middle of a massive nightmare. A sweating, almost weeping, horrifically real-feeling nightmare.

After calming my heart rate and returning to sleep, my vibrating alarm clock decided to go rogue again, at 5.43am.

And then again at 5.53am.

All of this on a Sunday flipping morning.

I was not impressed.

All this lack of sleep, hideous dream palava left me feeling somewhat on edge yesterday.

I met the Singing Swede for tea and cake which helped and watched mindless rubbish on the TV.

But alone in my flat it felt as though all my senses were heightened.

I made dinner and to me, the oven sounded like a jumbo jet at take off. The people in the upstairs flat returned home and to me it sounded as if they were performing River Dance in the room above my head.

But perhaps the best one came when I heard a siren. I'm quite new to sirens, only really hearing them properly for the first time since I got my hearing aids. Before hearing aids, I could hear bits of sirens. And I could really only hear them when they were right beside me.

And when they were right beside me, the shock and vibration usually made me lose my balance and fall over. Yup, I actually used to do that in public.

But last night, I heard a siren. What I think was a fire engine. It started quietly. Then gradually it seemed to get louder and louder and louder and louder. So loud in fact that in my sleep deprived, slightly-paranoid-from-nightmare state, I decided that a siren that loud must be right outside. So to pre-empt the flames that by now I was convinced were licking at my front door I grabbed a jug of water.

And then I peeked out the window.

Nothing.

The siren was getting quieter. It's vehicle speeding off into the distance towards something that actually was on fire.

My heart was hammering.

I felt a fool.

I was stood in my living room holding a jug of water.

'Get a grip!' I chided myself. Then chided myself again for talking to myself.

I calmly (hands shaking water dangerously close to my TV) watered the yukka plant as if that was what I had intended to do all along with the full jug of water I'd sloshed around my flat in the panic of hearing a siren so loud and clear.

It's the first time I'd watered it in months so it was probably a good thing.

But what it got me thinking about as I climbed into bed later - sans hearing aids, sans the sounds of the planes, which last night sounded like roaring dinosaurs and sans the sound of the pissed people staggering back from the pub, pink and burnt from the five seconds of sun we'd had yesterday - was how if I'm honest, I'm not always a mad fan of this sound lark.

I mean I thought I was a complete convert to it, and don't get me wrong, I do love being able to hear more. But last night, everything was horribly loud. Horribly intrusive. And horribly scary at times.

So for the minute I think I'm going to try something new. When I get in each night, I'm going to take my hearing aids out at the door.

I'm going to make my flat, and my evenings, quiet zones. I'm going to back to watching my TV on low with subtitles. And I'm going to stay reassured in the knowledge that if my flat does set itself on fire, I will be alerted by the visual disco of lights and thumping vibrations all courtesy of the London Fire Brigade long before they arrived in their siren-blaring fire engine.

That's my world. And right now I miss it. At home, any way. Aren't I lucky I can get it back?

Have a lovely week peeps.

DG x

A very Thankful deaf Friday

Today is thankful Friday. It's been a while since I've done one of these blogs. Or indeed blogged at all.

I've not been on top DG form if I'm honest.

But that's life isn't it. And that doesn't mean there's nothing to be thankful for.

So today I'm thankful that despite getting soaked on my morning commute today, the sun has now come out. Albeit with a few menacing clouds in the sky threatening to turn my hair into a frizzy mess once again.

Today I'm having a quiet day. My hearing aids are in a box in my handbag as I haven't got any meetings and the office is empty for a variety of reasons. I'm loving it. If I sit very still, I can hear the faint low hum of the air conditioning – usually a massive sound with hearing aids – and apart from that, just the door shutting as people go up and down the corridor. 

I can't hear voices at all. There are no voices. Although perhaps it's because it's lunchtime and everyone is outside lapping up what vitamin D they can get.

I know that my keyboard is probably making a terrible tapping sound but I can't hear it. I know that all around me there is quite possibly a gaggle of phones all ringing to be answered. But I can't hear them. I know that outside my office there is likely to be a blue-lighted vehicle with its siren blaring passing by every few minutes, but I can't hear them either.

It's wonderfully quiet.

Some days I need that quiet. I need it because I'm still not used to having all this sound in my life. I still find it overwhelming. I still find it exciting. But often I find it utterly exhausting.

How do hearing people cope with all this noise day in day out?

Is it exhausting for them?

And what is it about sound that I find so utterly overwhelming?

As a child, I hated fireworks. They hurt my ears. The bangs were so loud they made me cry.

Crying as a result of loud noises was a natural reflex for me. When people shouted down my ears, I cried. When anything loud happened, I cried. It was as though my body didn't know how else to process this massive sound overload.

But thankfully I grew out of that.

However, recently I've felt a lot like crying. The noise on the bus. The noise on the tube. The noise in the tourist-tastic areas of central London. The general hustle and bustle of the city. The shouting from the downstairs flat, the clamour of the TV, the radio, the sirens, the motorbikes. It's all just got too much.

So on this Thankful Friday, I'm thankful that I've got the option to make it go away. I can take my hearing aids out. I can put them in a box. I can put those thoughts and feelings in a box too and I can get back to the important things in life. In my life.

Wishing you a wonderful Thankful Friday peeps.

DG

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Deaf Girly and her hearing aids

This weekend has been amazing. I've had Miss K staying don't you know as it was her hen do.

I was half in charge of organising this, along with the Mountain Climber and luckily, it was a complete success.

Aside from that though, for me it was a little bit bittersweet, as I realised just how deaf the non hearing-aid wearing me was... and the fact that I actively decided not to be that person anymore still breaks a little bit of my heart.

Which is of course ridiculous, but then this is me we are talking about. So let's start at the beginning shall we...

On Saturday, we went to a spa for the day. There were six of us and we all went to have a treatment before enjoying the sauna, hot tub and pool.

Given the fact that I am insanely accident prone, I decided to take out my hearing aids from the start while still in the changing room, to make sure there was no way they'd end up floating in the jacuzzi or dying of stream inhalation.

Immediately, I lost all idea of what was going on. Who was talking to who. Where sounds were coming from.

'I don't remember it being this bad,' I found myself thinking.

We went in the jacuzzi. Over the sound of the jets, I couldn't hear anything. I didn't know a lot of the people there either so they didn't lipread easily.

'I don't remember this so much either,' I thought.

I went for my massage and they turned down the lights and I realised I couldn't follow anything.

'Was it always like this?' I wondered.

I mean sure, I remember the frustrations of being really deaf. Heck, this very blog is evidence of that. And even with my hearing aids, it's not like I can hear everything. It's not like everything's perfect.

But I yesterday I realised what was making me feel sad was that I missed the old feeling feeling not knowing what I was missing.

I always used to laugh at people who asked me what I could and couldn't hear, because honestly, if you can't hear something, you're not going to be able to tell someone about it as you won't know it exists.

Yesterday however, I was acutely aware of what I couldn't hear. You see, I forget that I used to not even bother to try and follow conversations and just go into my own world in group situations. I never realised that I could be included. But with my hearing aids, I am included. I follow group conversations more, I expect to know what's going on, so when I am without them and I don't, it's a shock.

Tonight, I walked into my bedroom, took off my make-up and took out my hearing aids. The sound of the water running in the bathroom vanished. The hum of the traffic outside vanished. The audible light in my world vanished. And rather than running around my room in a panic like a headless chicken - as I once did after taking my hearing aids out - I just felt sad.

I felt sad that the original Deafinitely Girly wasn't enough for me. That I'd spent 32 years of my life coming to terms with being that person and then suddenly changed her.

I don't like my world without my hearing aids now. A world I once proudly defended to all audiologists who tried to change that.

I accept that my world with hearing aids is better. Things happen that I know wouldn't have otherwise.

So why do I feel so sad?

I know I've got to make peace with my old world, and the old Deafinitely Girly, and accept that this is my world now. A world that's noisy by day and quiet by night. As one of my mates said recently, 'Some people would pay good money for a world like that!'

And she was right, they would.

I'll find my way. I'll work out how to let go of the past. And I'll just have to get less clumsy so that on the next spa day I come on, the hearing aids can come, too.

Happy Monday peeps (or Sunday if you're reading it as soon as it goes up)

DG
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Deaf Girly's hearing aid update

So, I have been a hearing aid wearer for almost two whole weeks.

After the euphoria of being able to hear iPhone ringtones died down, it was time to get down to the bare-boned reality of life with my new ears and of course, with the smooth, there has been some rough.

Not least, because I managed to catch the worst cold I've had in quite some time. The kind of cold where your voice drops two octaves and takes on that husky tone that sounds like you've had a 40-a-day fag habit since birth. 

My sinuses were filled to the brim, my eyeballs felt like they were popping out and I had a cough that sounded as though Stomp the musical was being premiered in my lungs.

I wanted a new head. And instead, I had hearing aids that amplified my every single sound. Last Tuesday I could take it no more and yanked those darn things out of ears and onto the desk. Yes, it was quieter, but I no longer sounded like Darth Vader's wife or felt as though I was claustrophobic inside my own head.

You see, the problem with being claustrophobic inside your own head is that there's no escape. You can't step into a bigger head with more space. You're stuck. But taking the hearing aids off did give me some much-needed breathing space.

But don't think I gave up there. No, no, no – I persevered through the headcold hell. Every morning last week, I got up and put my hearing aids on. I travelled to work – sucking on sweets and sipping water to keep my dreadful hacking at bay – and kept them in for as long as I could possibly bear. 

I did well.

By Friday, when I flew to Amsterdam to see Big Bro, I was more snot filled than ever. I got on the plane and informed the cabin staff of my deafness, asking them to let me know about any announcements – even the 'WE'RE GOING TO CRASH' ones and sat down. 

The engines fired up and I ducked as though we were under attack. The lady next to me jumped in panic and so to avoid a mid-air riot of jumpy passengers, I took my hearing aids out. 

It. Was. Bliss.

And what I've realised over the last few weeks is that these aids aren't like my old aids. They don't give me so much amplification that everything sounds horribly quiet when I take them out. They just amplify the right bits. So when those bits get too overwhelming or noisy, I can whip out my aids in record time.

The only downside to this is I am getting through rather a lot of batteries. You see I haven't quite coordinated the turning off thing alongside the taking out thing yet, which is done by opening the battery case.

I should probably do this once they're out and safely in my hand, but by the time I get the urge to take them out, I'm usually in such a flap that I turn them off first, at speed, opening the battery casing and sending the small silver battery flying in whatever direction I propel it in.

Heathrow Terminal 4 has two such batteries in its check-in area now, and the London-Amsterdam flight has one, too – I think that latter actually travelled the length of the cabin all the way to first class.

But on the whole, the hearing aid adventure is going well. They helped me understand my little nephews better and follow Big Bro and his family's conversation – well the English bits anyway – as they chatted around the kitchen table.

And as I'm only a quarter of the way through the getting-used-to-my-new-hearing-aids period, hopefully there'll be better things to come.

Will keep you posted peeps.

DG

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