Deaf Girly's accessible NHS update

Howdee,

This is the first thankful Friday blog for a while, but it turns out I have a lot to be thankful for.

Firstly, there's news from the NHS accessibility campaign.

Parsons Green Walk-In Centre is going to be trialling two vibrating pagers that will notify people when their names are called! Whoop! It'll be like the food court at Westfield, except better because this is life-changing healthcare, not a bowl of noodles.

I never dared imagine when I started this, that I would get a result like this, but if the pager system is a success – please all get sick (not really) and go to Parsons Green to test it – then it should be rolled out in other walk-in centres, and if it works there, then what's to say it won't become standard practice in other areas of the NHS.

*dances around the room*

But that is not all. There will also be some more deaf (haha, ahem… I accidentally typed dead) awareness training and they've asked me for tips. 

Things that I think would help, make the whole experience better.

Now of course, I'm going to email back with my list. But I'd love to have your feedback on there, too.

I mean, here's your chance, OK only in London for now, to change what people are told about the needs of Deaf, deaf and hard-of-hearing people. And I'm pretty sure word gets around so even if you don't live in London, please let me know if you'd like me to include a tip.

It can be big things such as 'If someone says pardon more than twice, consider changing the way, tone, volume, etc of what you saying.'

To the little things like 'Don't look at the computer screen when talking' or that reception desks in front of windows make lipreading harder.

I need to know. I want to make a difference but it could be a much bigger difference with your help.

I'm going to ask older people too, plus those who've lost their hearing later in life, who don't necessarily have the automatic built-in coping mechanisms that I found I started to put in place probably from the moment I was born. So if you know any of these people, can you ask them what they'd like?

On this thankful Friday, I'm thankful for your feedback, guys. It's enlightening, encouraging and even the negative stuff helps because it can be easy to go after a goal but miss something really important.

I look forward to hearing (ha!) from you peeps. Have a fab weekend.

DG x

My first ever friend – before deafness

Ahhhhh, what an amazing weekend I had in Switzerland with First Ever Friend!

We went walking in the Alps, with the Eiger and crystal clear blue skies and sunshine as our backdrop. We ate cheese for every meal and drank tea by the gallon. We chatted until our faces hurt and ate breakfast on a brilliant train journey. We cooked, we danced to stupids songs that we both love and caught up on all the gossip we've missed since we last saw each other in February.

First Ever Friend really was my first ever friend you know. What's even more incredible is that she knew me before anyone knew I was deaf so she's one of the few people who just know me simply as who I was before.

I met First Ever Friend in the playground, aged 4. We were both hiding from the class bully, Lucy Jones, who at that age was already an unbelievable nasty piece of work.

From that moment, I wanted to be just like First Ever Friend. She was tall, with long legs and had the straightest thickest dark hair. I was short, with legs like tree trunks and had fine wispy white blonde hair... 

She also had the ability to be perfectly turned out all day every day, whereas I looked like Pigpen from the Snoopy cartoons often within 10 minutes of arriving at school.

Not much has changed since then. Obviously we're 28 years older and a bit taller, but she still has the longest legs ever and the straightest shiniest hair, and is always always neat! Always!

She's also a dab hand in the kitchen and has been my partner in crime – some worse than others – since as long as I can remember.

When we stopped living in the same country, we started writing. And even after a three-year break, at 15 when we met up again it was like we'd never been out of touch.

Right now, she's got a horrid thesis to write as part of her job. I wish I could do more to help her. I wish we lived in the same place so we could study together over tea and ginger nuts and reward ourselves with walks and chats and dancing around her flat like utter nutters.

But instead I'm going to be her cheerleader from afar.

First Ever Friend, you're gonna blitz this blasted thesis. And I know you'll be reading this, which means there's just one thing left to say that should hopefully make you burst out laughing...

MEATBALLS

DG x

Thankful Friday

Today is Thankful Friday and I've got quite a list week and here it is:

• I'm thankful that I got to see Caitlin Moran yesterday and that she was wonderfully entertaining and actually quite easy to lipread. It was only during the hysterical laughing moments that I had no clue what was going on.
• I'm thankful that the wedding last weekend was a complete success, that I got to see two of my favourite people get married, in bright sunny September weather.
• I'm thankful that the NHS campaign is going well. I've been getting amazing feedback, advice and encouragement and I'm hopeful that change will happen on top of the changes that have already happened.
• I'm thankful to MET man who drank cider with me last night aware that it's like a truth drug and sat there unflinchingly as I rambled on and on and on and on...
• I'm thankful that when I accidentally said I was getting married, so many of you came forward and offered to be a part of my big day. As yet, no groom has come forward, but it's early days, yah?

And lastly I'm thankful about the fact that for the first time in ages, Deafinitelygirly.com feels alive again – it feels blogged on, read and enjoyed. It has purpose and pinkness, although it could probably do with a bit of a redesign*.

Have a wonderful weekend peeps.

I'm off for a beer with Fab Friend and Flo. Can't think of anything I'd rather do.

DG

x

*all offers considered

The deaf/NHS campaign continues...

OK, so this week I've had some great reader feedback regarding my NHS campaign to make things more accessible to deaf and hard-of-hearing people.

Firstly from The Interpreter, who just so happens to interpret BSL.

In one of my last updates I reported back how someone had suggested that BSL be taught to medical professionals as part of their degree course.

The Interpreter quite rightly pointed out the following potential flaws to this plan:

'I'm slightly concerned at the mention of doctors learning BSL.' he wrote. 'I think there may be a danger a clinician could think, "I've got my level 1, I won't bother to book an interpreter."  It would be so easy for a Deaf person to disclose a symptom and for the doctor to miss it, or for him to think he's explained something clearly, but it hasn't been understood. Really dangerous, actually.'

And of course in many respects he's right. It could be potentially life threatening to have a GP or indeed any kind of doctor trying to replace the role of the BSL interpreter. But I guess I wasn't assuming that would happen. I kind of saw doctors and nurses having BSL as a back-up plan, for when interpreters weren't available to avoid a complete communication breakdown, or during stays in hospital when perhaps in the middle of the night, or even just as a reassurance to a deaf person that the doctor was deaf aware, in addition to having an interpreter there, .

I also think though that The Interpreter has flagged up something else I have discovered on my campaign journey – that a lot of hearing people don't think interpreters are necessary. In fact, just the other week someone asked me whether I thought they were still relevant in medical situations or whether they could be phased out.

Eek!

So perhaps what we really need is to ensure right from the start, all learner doctors are made as deaf aware as possible and taught about the importance of interpreters. If they are taught that, alongside basic BSL then hopefully they would never assume they could negate the need for an interpreter.

Which brings me on to my next bit of feedback, from the Learner Doctor. She's studying in Liverpool at the moment and just going into her 2nd year of medicine.

Turns out, this year, she has a deaf awareness module. Apparently, Liverpool is very aware that the services provided for deaf people are not adequate enough and so it feels that doctors should be educated while at med school to help improve it. As part of the module, there's a three-hour workshop on deaf awareness and how to communicate with deaf patients, plus seminars on deafness. I'm quite looking forward to hearing about how she found the module and whether she learnt anything new.

And I guess really that's my closing point, whether the training people get teaches them anything new.

What we have to ensure is that deaf awareness training comes with the input of deaf people. If I asked a hearing person to write down everything they knew about deaf awareness, it would look very different to a deaf person's list.

I hope that Liverpool Uni's module has input from deaf people and isn't just some clichéd checklist about looking at people when you talk, speaking clearly etc, because while all of this is important, there's actually loads of other things that can really make a difference.

Keep the feedback coming peeps.

DG
x

Deaf Girly's accidental wedding

I'm getting married...

To erm... I have no idea!

And here's how that happened:

So, yesterday evening I decided to take back the bridesmaid shoes that weren't worn at the weekend's wedding and get my money back. They were for the other bridesmaid, so when I took them back I said 'These were for the bridesmaid but she got her own instead.'

I then nodded and smiled as the shop assistant said stuff and then I heard her say, 'When's your wedding?' and realised, in horror, that I'd totally given her the wrong idea by vaguely nodding and smiling to her earlier questions that I hadn't really heard.

I stood there for a second, assessing the fork in the road I was at. I could either go, 'Oh no, it's not my wedding, it's for a wedding that happened two days ago. I'm not getting married. I'm not even CLOSE to getting married and I'm deaf, which is why for the last few minutes I have unwittingly implied to you by vaguely answering your questions that I am getting married,' and have her feel embarrassed and me feel even more so, or I could simply say 'It's in April' and wonder in amazement at what the hell just happened.

And the latter is exactly what I did.

'After all,' I reasoned as I tried to field her other questions and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible, 'I was never going to see her again.'

So what's a little fake wedding between strangers.

Leaving the shop, bright red and mortified, I turned to Twitter.

'Just returned some bridemaid shoes. Misheard the woman and she thought I was getting married... Whoops!' I wrote.

'Once I realised it seemed easier to answer her questions than tell her I was deaf so I'm getting married in April! And you're all invited,' I continued.

Before finally adding, 'It's going to be great! There'll be port by the wine glass and the wedding list is at Orla Kiely! And I'm making the cake!'

I then wondered, out loud on Twitter with the help of my fab followers, about my fictional April wedding. The service would be in St Brides, the reception in Skylon on the South Bank and all guests could have a free ride on the London Eye.

There'd be peanut butter canapés and gin cocktails with a special exemption menu for @grouchotendency, and we'd all party the night away before I went on my honeymoon to Venice.

The hen party, we decided, would be held in Umbria. We'd go on a cooking course, visit markets, come back with baskets laden with amazing fresh produce and eat fabulous meals on the terrace while sipping chilled champagne.

But my Twitter followers didn't stop there.

You see @katiefforde offered to be maid of honour, @donnysandra wants to conduct the service with help from Trusty Camerawoman, @carolinesmith34 says she'll come if there is cheese, and @paulbelmontesli offered to sort the music and dancing. @grouchotendency wants to throw flash-bang grenades and @HannahHudson1 is going to make a Maltesers wedding cake. And it didn't stop there, @xraixrai is going to do the flowers and @jowo23x suggested a 50s-style wedding dress.

Marvellous huh?

And what about the groom?

Well, obviously there isn't one. But does that really matter?

Can I have an 'I'm not getting married party' instead with canapés and cake, and a gift list at Orla Kiely?

After all, promising to love, honour and cherish yourself is no bad thing.

So there you go peeps, a mishearing mishap means I'm getting married in April, and it will be fabulous! You're all invited.

And seeing as there will be no groom, make sure you bring your fabulous single guy mates, yah?

RSVP @deafgirly

Deaf girl bakes

Sorry for the radio silence everyone! I've been busy the last few weeks making a wedding cake and doing bridesmaid duties.

It was marvellous fun.

Here's the cake:

Now I'm just off to get some much needed sleep.

Back soon, I promise.

DG
x

Changes are deafinitely happening! (NHS)

When you ask for something repeatedly that you truly deserve, and still you don't get it, it's very easy to become completely discouraged. To lose faith that people really do have your best interests at heart.

Last night, Trusty Camerawoman put a tweet out about my blog and NHS campaign and another twitter follower questioned whether I was simply wasting my time.

They weren't being mean or horrible, they were just utterly jaded by their own experiences of not seeing deaf services improved.

As I'm learning at the moment, change takes time, but if the right people have a willingness to change or indeed the power to make that change, then you're halfway there.

One of the outcomes of my meeting with CLCH is that they recognise that Walk-in Centres need some sort of alert system, such as a vibrating pager for deaf and hard-of-hearing people so they know when their name is being called. This is a brilliant idea and, when it eventually happens, or something similar is installed, it will make things much easier.

In the meantime however, and as a result of my feedback, it has been arranged that signs will be put on the front desks of the Walk-in centres letting people know that if they require any assistance, it will be gladly given.

The example given in writing on the sign is that hard of hearing and deaf people will be personally alerted by the nurse, doctor or receptionist. Instead of having having your name called out, someone will come to the chair you are sitting in and let you know it's your turn. Further more, the CLCH are also looking at getting the booking-in form changed so you can put any assistance needs on here, too.

The CLCH recognises that this is not a permanent solution, and for some it might not even be an attractive solution in the interim. I personally think it's brilliant. It means that should I go to a Walk-in centre again, I will find the whole experience much less stressful. I will be able to read my book and play on my phone to pass the waiting time safe in the knowledge that when it's my turn, someone will let me know.

It's amazing to see that less than one week after my meeting, change is happening. Wheels are in motion for much bigger changes and over time I'm going to flipping well make sure they happen, too.

But like I said, my aim is not to create a DG-friendly NHS so all feedback is appreciated.

I've had some really interesting stuff so far such as BSL-trained doctors – wouldn't it be amazing if BSL 1 with extra medical signs was part of a medical or nursing degree? I've also had some feedback on the lack of availability of deaf/blind interpreters at a big London hospital.

Keep it coming peeps and if you see the Walk-in centre sign, let me know what you think, if it worked and whether it made things less stressful for you.

DG x

Taking on the NHS UPDATE

Well, this morning as my Twitter followers will know I had a meeting at the Central London Community Healthcare NHS Trust or the CLCH as it's more conveniently known as part of my campaign to get the NHS more accessible.

It follows some feedback I gave to PALS (Patient Advice and Liaison Service) when I had a bit of a bad experience at my local walk-in centre after the time I threw the boiling tea down myself...

I've been in touch with PALS before about the lack of accessible GP surgeries in my area, but after the whole not-knowing-when-my-name-was-being-called farce at the walk-in centre, I felt compelled to write again to see if I can help change things for people who don't hear.

And that's where the fab people at CLCH come in – they contacted me through PALS after my experience at the walk-in centre and wanted to hear my side of the story.

Fabulously, they are on my side and I really do believe that if the brilliant person I'm in contact with gets her way then things will change… for the better. But of course, it's not as simple as all that – there are departments, trusts, places where funding comes from, people to talk to and a whole host of rules and regulations to follow in our journey of making the NHS more accessible to deaf people.

But it wasn't just a one-sided conversation. She asked me some stuff, too.

She asked me whether I minded being singled out and helped in a public place such as a walk-in centre because of my deafness or whether I would find it embarrassing. My immediate response was 'No, of course I wouldn't mind. The pros of knowing what was going on and when my name was being called, would far outweight the cons.' But I wanted to know what you guys thought, too.

So tell me…

And then there's BSL... Signing is not my main form of communication but I need to know what it's like for those of you that really need interpreters in your appointments. How easy is it to get one? Do you pay? Does the NHS pay? Does it put you off making appointments? What are your bad and good experiences of this?

So tell me…

If you let me have this information, I can pass it on – I  can give it to the people who write the cheques, set the targets and make the changes. I can empower them with the knowledge of what would make life easier, healthier, more accessible, less stressful and just as good as we deserve.

You see, I can give my perspective, my thoughts, my ideas, but without your input, too, then I'll be creating a DG-tailored NHS, which while brilliant for me, might overlook a need that I don't have but you do.

So while I'm researching the various departments, trusts, and thingumbobs that make up the NHS, please have a think. Write with anything you think is important to deafinitelygirly@gmail.com and it'll help me build that picture.

Apparently deaf people fall into the 'Seldom Heard' category of people within the NHS, but I don't see why we can't change that. After all, the people we're dealing with can hear perfectly well. So let's go from Seldom Heard to Always Heard (with a little bit of nagging on the side) and get these changes made.

I'm excited peeps, and you should be, too.

DG
x

Thankful for my hearing

Today is Thankful Friday and it's pretty easy to work out what I'm going to be thankful for – getting most of what hearing I had left back…

After the shock of waking up on Wednesday and realising that the loudness of the Pavlov's Dog gig had brought on something a bit more long-lasting than just a few hours of tinny, muted hearing, I've never been more thankful than I am right now to have what seems like most of it back.

On Wednesday, I couldn't hear my television, I could barely hear the words my colleagues were saying and even using my lipreading skills I was struggling to work out what was going on.

It threw me in to quite a spin. It made me realise I've been taking my hearing for granted, focusing on my deafness instead. Now, I see what I do have in a completely new and appreciative light.

I have some hearing – this is wonderful. Sure, if a hearing person woke up and had what I had, they'd probably run around screaming in panic, but I like what I have. It's what I've always known give or take a dip or two in my teens.

This means I have mixed feelings about the fact I have an audiology appointment next week. After a four-year break from the whole thing, I recently decided that I should see what hearing aids are out there and if they can help me hear any better. 

It's not really about wanting to hear more, it's about wanting to get through meetings without feeling crashingly tired from having to rely on lipreading and it's actually a little bit about wanting people to know I can't hear rather than assuming I am being rude. After all, I'm proud of my deafness – I don't mind who knows I can't hear and I'd much rather they knew than thought I was simply ignoring them.

The thing is though, on Wednesday morning when I woke up extra deaf, the only thing I could compare it to was how I have felt in the past on taking my hearing aids out at night after a complete day of wearing them.

The last time I did this, I wept at the silence that met me… even though deep down I knew it was just because hearing aids had amplified everything more.

I guess I'm also proud of how well I do without hearing aids. Proud that I get by and the idea of relying on something that might break, get dropped down the toilet or lost (THIS IS ME WE ARE TALKING ABOUT AFTER ALL), scares the crap out of me. 

As I sit here typing this on the bus, I'm struggling to work out how to finish this blog – there doesn't seem to be a natural end to it, it's like a circle, which is quite appropriate really, because whether I get hearing aids, wear hearing aids and like hearing aids is also a bit of a circular journey with my existing hearing at the beginning and the end.

I feel incredibly lucky that I am relatively happy with the hearing that I have. Sure, I miss being able to hear things like violins, flutes, speech and alarms, but on a plus, this also means I cannot hear hungry cats and babies that are whining in the middle of the night and my neighbour when she goes into one of her high-pitched yelling moments…

If, four years on from the last time, there are better aids for me, then I shall definitely try them. Shall I definitely try them?

And there we go, I'm right back where I started.

Which isn't really a bad place to be.

Happy weekend peeps.

DG

The gig that made me deafer

This morning I have woken up deafer than ever before, and it's all my own fault.

I went to a Pavlov's Dog concert and didn't wear earplugs.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WAS THINKING… I mean I always take earplugs but on this occasion I was so excited I didn't think about it.

*sad face

Last night after the concert it took all my willpower not to panic as I stepped out of The Borderline and found I could barely hear the traffic noise, and I went to sleep last night telling myself it'd be OK in the morning. It wasn't. My hearing on waking was tinny, my voice sounded robotic and I couldn't hear my TV at the normal volume.

A lovely audiologist peep on Twitter told me I probably have Temporary Threshold Shift, which normally disappears in 16-48 hours but in some cases can be permanent. So I now have a bit of a wait. A bit of a wait to find out whether, after years of doing everything to protect my hearing, I've stuffed it up in one go by attending a 70s prog rock concert.

*weeps

The only small mercy is that Pavlov's Dog were amazing – apparently it was their first ever UK gig and they chatted and laughed with the audience in between songs. There was a hilarious mix of people there, too. From 50 year olds in suits who'd come straight from the office to hardcore ageing rockers with long hair, black T-shirts and faded blue jeans. There was also a man right at the front who was tearing his hair out with excitement at every song that began and headbanging the whole way through, which seemed a bit out of place, but I imagine out of the two of us, he may actually be the deafer of us this morning.

Anyway, on to other things – I have some more news in my quest to find out and solve the problems with accessibility in the NHS.

As you know, last week I went to see my GP to get a referral to my audiology department because I had dropped off their records, and he gave me a print out with details of how I could book my appointment online for this.

I almost passed out with shock!

Called Choose and Book, all you have to do is go to chooseandbook.nhs.uk and type in your booking reference number, date of birth and provided password and you get given access to the available appointments. No more getting a letter with a 1.30pm appointment and having to change it because that means missing a whole heap of the working day. I could pick and choose and get a 9.30am appointment at a time convenient to both me and my work.

Isn't that brilliant?

It's things like this that I want to know about. Things like this that need to be shouted about so that people know that the services to make things easier are there.

My first experience of Choose and Book appears to be a complete success – and perfectly timed, too seeing as I've just given my hearing a thorough beating up.

And really there's just one thing left to say:

WEAR EARPLUGS PEOPLE! WEAR EARPLUGS!

Hearing back from the Royal Free London

Despite my silence on here, I can tell you that I've been beavering away trying my hardest to see if I can help change the challenges facing deaf and hard of hearing people in the NHS. What I discovered though in my rants is that lots of you do have accessible GP surgeries and hospitals. One of these is the Royal Free Hospital in London and I was notified that it had a vibrating pager system by one of my fabulous Twitter followers.What's even better is that when I tweeted the Royal Free London, they got back to me and before I knew it, I was able to ask Jasmin Sirius of the Royal Free London NHS Foundation Trust a whole load of questions about what services they offer and why and here's what she said:

Could you tell me what service you use?

The Royal Free uses a vibrating pager system.

What inspired you to get it? Was it patient feedback or forward thinking?

We introduced this initiative in our audiology department. We previously used a number system where numbers were called out and patients would come forward when they were called. This wasn't suitable for our deaf or hard of hearing patients who would miss their turn. Also patients would stand up at the same time as sometimes they didn’t know which number was being called.

Could you give me a rough figure of how much it would cost?
We'll need to check on this for you.

How successful it has been?
Overall the service has been really successful. The system also means that if necessary patients could leave the waiting area for a while and come back when the pager vibrated. 

Do you have any other deaf friendly services?

Yes we have: 

• Information screens – these electronic plasma screens are placed around the hospital and display information.

• Main reception service – our main entrance desk function provides a 'front of house' facility to assist patients and visitors to their destination. The main entrance desk and telephones are fitted with induction loop technology. We also have a number of volunteers’ staff help desks at key locations to help patients find their way around the hospital. They are based in the main out-patient department and by the main lifts.

• Interpreting services – the trust provides interpreting services in order to respond to the needs of individual patients more effectively. During 2010/11, we provided interpreters for many appointments. This included face-to-face interpreting and other communication support. Telephone interpreting was also provided for appointments.

• Training – during 2010/11, we delivered 90-minute micro learning training for reception and other frontline staff to expand their understanding of physical and sensory disabilities. The training provided practical skills and knowledge on how to identify and meet access needs, customer care, etiquette and language. We are particularly pleased that almost all delegates stated the course was informative. To ensure our training fully addressed the needs of disabled patients, we invited patients with sensory impairments to participate in the training and provide feedback.

• Partnership working with seldom heard communities – the Royal Free is committed to working in partnership with patients and communities who experience health inequalities to help reduce inequalities and promote environments that are fair and free of discrimination. The trust set up its Equal Access Group in 2004. The terms of reference have since been refreshed and engagement with patients and local community and voluntary organisations from protected groups increased. The purpose of the group is to ensure strategies and practices are in place to meet the diverse health needs of protected groups who experience the greatest inequalities. An appreciative inquiry approach has been adopted providing an opportunity for members to share their successes while proposing innovative ideas about care delivery.

So you see, if one hospital can do it, then surely others can too. In fact, @cath_small a marvellous twitter peep told me that her GP surgery in London offers an online booking system and a snazzy scrolling text information board so you know when your name is called – how fantastic is that?

Feeling quite jealous, I went to see my own GP to get a referral to my audiology clinic, needed because I hadn't been for a such a long time. I got a friend to call and make the appointment – we used google chat to confer about what time was best for me – and then when I arrived, I let the receptionist know I couldn't hear. But by the time it was my turn, another receptionist was on the desk so I didn't hear my name called.

However, once I eventually got inside my GP's office, he was marvellous. I explained how difficult it was for me to get appointments and he assured me that my surgery is in line to get an online booking system but to get it involves upgrading the entire computer system that is in place, which in turn takes time. I also gave him some food for thought about how they could make it easier to know when your name was being called – so hopefully something will be done about that, too.

But what was most reassuring was that he actually listened to me. He didn't think that what I wanted was unreasonable – in the same way some cinemas still seem to think offering more than one subtitled movie a year is – and he was confident that things are going to change.

I too am confident that things are going to change, and I intend to play a part in this, so keep the information coming peeps – let me know if your GP or hospital offers accessible services and if they don't.

And when the day comes that visiting the GP or hospital is only as stressful as it is for hearing peeps, I'm throwing a party to celebrate – and you're all invited!

DG

x

MIssing Mabel, the marvellous cat

This is Mabel. She was one of my parents' beloved cats.

She died on Saturday morning after being hit by a car on the country lane in the idyllic English village my parents live in. The lane idiot people, despite the speed restrictions, still speed through.

Mabel was a pretty awesome cat. She was a rescue pedigree reject. She didn't make the elite cut so my parents collected her, her sister, and two others – one Christmas and brought them all home. It was the best Christmas ever.

From the start, they all had their roles. One was neurotic, The littlest was my Ma's lap dog, Mabel's sister was the typical cat and Mabel was in charge, quietly and confidentially. 

There was another thing, too. Mabel only had eyes for my Pa. Sure, she was happy with an ear tickle from us, a head scritch or a warm lap, but with my Pa, she loved him completely. She had her routine. She liked to sit on his feet. She liked to lie on his chest as he woke in the morning and when he whistled, she would drop whatever wildlife she was terrorising and come running in response.

I loved Mabel too. I loved that when I visited she would be the first on my bed when I opened my bedroom door. And when I came to leave, she'd take up residence in my suitcase lid in protest. 

So when a text came through on my phone on Saturday morning as I was driving to Cheltenham to see Jenny M, I was gutted to see the preview panel from its place on my dashboard telling me Mabel was dead.

It was from my very sad Pa. He had no other words.

On my stereo at the time was a song by Brandi Carlisle called Hiding My Heart, which is about meeting someone amazing but knowing they're going to disappear one day so you hide your heart so it doesn't get hurt. 

As wept quietly at the news, I remembered not only the words of the song but a conversation I'd had with MET man earlier in the week.

We were chatting about stuff and I mentioned that one of the reasons I was putting off getting a cat, or indeed any other pet, was because I was terrified of loving it and then it dying. Indeed, I once fostered out my goldfish Charlie to my Ma for this same reason.

But what I forgot here, was that I did already have a cat I loved more than anything, I had Mabel.

And, while the realisation that the bundle of white fur would never be around to disturb a FaceTime conversation with my Ma again was horrible, I also realised that I wouldn't have changed those moments for anything. Not knowing Mabel would have been a far bigger loss.

I know I'm slow in rejoining this party after quite a time away, but I can't be afraid of loving stuff just because I'm afraid of losing it. 

So through the sadness of Mabel dying also comes a clarity. It is time for me to stop hiding my heart.

It is time for me to get a cat*.

But she will never replace Mabel, for she was one of a kind.

*metaphorical or real

Accessible Olympics and the time the bus driver asked me out

Ok, so I've said what I love about the Olympics, but what about what I'm struggling with.

Honestly, and unsurprisingly, it's the accessibility. From the venue to the TV coverage it's really hard to follow what's going on. Subtitles are either slow or non existent and well that's it really.

Take the hockey last weekend. At the beginning the rules are explained on the big screen. A screen definitely big enough for subtitles and as the same thing is played at the start of each session, it's not like they needed a live subtitler. I'm largely resigned to commentary not being subtitled at a match because of the unpredictability of it, but on TV? Well it should be possible to make them better than they are. And the bbc website catch up facility has NONE. And seeing as I have a day job and can't watch it on TV when it's shown, this means watching it without subtitles online is the best it gets for me.

Why is that?*

*Ahem, BBC!!!!!

Anyway last night the loveliest thing happened to me. I worked late because I was meeting MET Man.

My Mac was playing up, I was stressed, I was cross, everything was taking longer than it should, but when I walked out of the office, I stopped and took a deep breath and reminded myself about something Fab Friend once told me. She said, lucky people aren't really lucky, they're just open to new things, meeting new people and they don't walk around with their heads down feeling sorry for themselves.

So, I got rid of the grump, smiled and walked down the road to meet MET Man.

'Beep'

I stopped, looked around and walked on.

'Be-beep'

'What is that noise?' I thought.

'Be-be-beeeeep'

At this point, amazed that I was hearing something above the drone of the traffic, I looked right and there was a bus driver waving at me.

I smiled at him, as he was very cute, and he yelled, 'Give me your number?' or at least I presume he yelled it as I was lip reading him at this point.

He then started to clutch his hands to his heart and blow me kisses while driving at the exact same speed I was walking.

It made me grin like a nutter – a man was declaring his love to me in the street… well kind of! 

I mean, if I'd come out of work tired and stressed and not resolved to just be happy, I doubt he would have even noticed me trudging along the pavement.

He tried to invite me onto his bus. It was going to Golders Green. MET Man was not in Golders Green. He was in Piccadilly Circus at an unknown location, but that's a whole other story.

I politely declined but was still grinning like an idiot. He continued to drive down the road looking at me, signing the word for phone and mobile in the hope I'd crack and hand him my number. And while I had no intention of doing this, it was rather lovely to think that someone thought I was worth almost crashing a bus over.

In the end however, I had to cross the road and of course his bus was right there at the red light. I waved to him and he blew me kiss after kiss, beeping his horn until I went out of view.

I really believe that it's the little things that can brighten your day. While I don't give money to beggars, I always smile at them because it must be horrible to be ignored day in, day out. If an old lady is walking up my street, I say good morning. There's one lady I see most days and the first time I said hello, she jumped as though I might mug her, but now she's the first to greet me.

That bus driver wasn't to know I was having a crap day but he definitely knew he'd brightened it. 

Smiling costs nothing and it might actually make a difference to how someone's feeling. 

So, while I'm not suggestion asking out random people in the street from buses, let's all do the smiling part, eh?

DG

Deafinitely Girly at the Olympic Games

As a Londoner, I'm not really meant to be a fan of the Olympic Games. In the seven years since we won the bid, it's been drummed into me just how much it's costing me, what chaos my life will be thrown into, and how we couldn't possibly get it right and make it a success.

I remained detached from the hype. I didn't apply for tickets and the most excited I got was buying a Paralympic scarf from Next, but that was more because I thought it looked pretty.

I was indifferent.

Until last Thursday that is, when a colleague suggested we go and see the torch pass through Trafalgar Square.

The Writer was beyond excited about this suggestion. She was close to combustion as we made our way up to Trafalgar Square and then, as the police bikes went past, the official buses, the people, the cyclists and the the torch, I finally got it. This was bloody amazing and it was happening on my doorstep.

I didn't even get to see the torch that night, it veered off to the right just ahead of where we were standing. But as I joined friends for a drink afterwards and we stood in the heaving streets soaking up the atmosphere, I realised what I actually had was a free ticket to what could be an awesome party... a party that some people had travelled halfway around the world for and I really should be grateful for that.

Friday saw the Olympic Opening Ceremony. The Singing Swede and GBman threw a party. We ate Olympic coloured cupcakes (sorry LOCOG) and clapped and cheered as the TV screen was filled with once-in-a-lifetime images before hanging out the window to see the real-life smoke of the Red Arrows as they did a u-turn over west London.

Ok, the subtitles on the TV weren't great and I had a nap from G-S as the countries were parading out, but it was still pretty awesome, and as I finally got to bed at gone 2am, I had to pinch myself when I remembered I had tickets to the Games for Sunday.

You see, some of my friends caught the Olympic bug ages ago. They're faster learners than me, and so Penfold and Dangermouse had four tickets for the hockey. So they, along with me and Fab Friend headed over bright and early to the Riverbank Arena spectate. Ready for transport chaos, braced for queues. 

There were neither.

Instead there was a quick, crowd-free tube across the whole of London, a saunter up to Victoria Gate where extremely smiley security people met us and X-rayed our bags.

All day this happiness continued. When the rain came down in bucket loads, we donned bright orange recycling bags as skirts, which drew envied looks from wet-bottomed people and witty announcements on megaphones from games stewards. We were part of the party, and it felt great.

And the park? Well, lunch cost what it would in any London sandwich bar and there was no queue. There are tons of toilets and there was no queue. There are two big gift shops, with slight crowd control to get in, but so many tills and people organising you, that there was no queue.

Even getting into the hockey venue, there was no queue. Getting out again, there was no queue.

You're getting the gist of things here right?

And what about the match? Well we watched China vs South Korea – won by China, and then Argentina vs South Africa – won by Argentina, and both games were brilliant.

The rain bucketed it down during the warm up and stopped as play began on both occasions, and apart from a brief shower in the closing play of the final match, it was mostly sunny until we were walking back to the tube, but by that point we didn't care.

It's fair to say that I loved my Olympic experience. I went there, I did that, and I got a rather lovely T-shirt.

And truth be told, I feel a bit guilty about my 7-year Olympic grump. But then, to get it finally, in the awesome summer sunshine of central London last Thursday, well, I wouldn't swap that euphoria for anything.

Goooooooooo-oooooo team!

Before I knew I was deaf…

Last night, while marvelling at how the heat in my bedroom was preventing sleep, I whacked my iPod on shuffle and attached it to the speaker that sits by my bed.

The shuffle selected Starship's 1987 album No Protection and suddenly I was catapulted backwards to memories of my 9-year-old self, dancing around the living room to Beat Patrol, the opening track.

I don't often reminisce that far back and the strange thing about doing this is that it was a time when no one knew I was deaf. Not even me.

Back then I was a 'hearing' kid. I played violin and wanted to be a professional violinist, I danced and wanted to be in the Royal Variety Performance. Hell, if Britain's Got Talent had existed in 1989, I'd have done everything I could to get on that show. One time at a pantomime when Lionel Blair asked for children up on stage, I clambered over seats to get up there… such was my enthusiasm.

Whenever I got the chance, I would book the living room, kick everyone out, move the furniture and dance to my Pa's CDs – Jefferson Airplane, Starship, and the Pet Shop Boys. I loved them all and listened to tracks on repeat. But my 9-year-old self didn't realise that there were actual words being said, so to this day, I don't know the words to a single track by any of those bands.

Remembering back to those days when I simply didn't know I was deaf gives me a bit of a clue about what I might have been like if I wasn't deaf – a chatterbox who quite happily waded into anything and didn't have once ounce of self doubt.

But then isn't that just part of being 9 years old? And I guess I'm also forgetting the downsides of being deaf but no one knowing. The teacher who gave me detention almost every day for a term as I was always the last one to stop talking when she said sshhhhh, the French listening exams I failed at every single time, the dictation in English where I thought half the challenge was to guess the storyline, and the whispered chat that girls of 9 love to have that I simply couldn't follow.

I also was rubbish on the hockey pitch as I couldn't hear the whistle, a disaster at netball for the same reason and never heard the rules of either as they were shouted across the pitch or court and I couldn't follow them.

Ignorance was not bliss.

Then when people found out I was deaf, I kind of felt like I'd failed something.

I got these HUGE hearing aids, which I wore in my pocket.

I had a hideous teacher who used to make me face the wall so I couldn't lipread her to make sure I was wearing them. I wasn't.

I liked my world exactly how it was. But in some ways, now everyone knew, it was better, because as at least now my French teacher understood why I was so rubbish at French listening and my violin teacher could work on different ways to keep me in tune.

I think though discovering my deafness meant I had to let go of a few dreams. The concert violinist one was first to go. but hey, letting go of your childhood dreams happens to pretty much everyone.

Last night, listening to Starship, remembering my 9 year old self, I actually felt pretty happy.

I mean I got the best of both worlds. I had 9 years of thinking I was perfect and the rest discovering that no one is.

Sounds like an idyllic childhood to me.

Changing the little deaf things

Phew, after a quiet few weeks, I think it's time for an update on everything DG.

I'm not quite sure why I don't blog anymore. Perhaps it's because I'm so happy and supported in my day job that I don't need to rant about my deafness in the way that I used to.

Indeed, my current company has done everything in its power to make my job feel as thought it was always meant to be done by a deaf person, and this is something I absolutely do not take for granted.

But it also means that days of weeping as I psyched myself up to make those compulsory phone calls have gone.

The conflict I encountered in other places I worked regarding my deafness has gone.

Therefore too, in a way, has my blog fodder.

Sure, there are still hilarious mishearing moments, and right now I'm trying to learn Spanish, but I guess this gets posted on Twitter in bite-sized pieces and where most of you guys follow me anyway.

However, with my life so sorted deafness wise – I'm nicely equipped with all manner of flashing and vibrating things and my iPhone is groaning under the gigabyte weight of all the useful apps – I'm looking at what I can do that will not only help me, but also other peeps, too.

And this is where my NHS campaign comes in. While the name of it is still in progress, it's actually ticking over nicely. Emails are being sent and responses from people are largely positive. I have a long-term plan, too, but for now, I'm just trying to plant the seed of thought about how bizarre it is that it's so difficult for deaf and hard-of-hearing people to easily access NHS services.

Indeed SuperCathyFragileMystic, an amazing GP friend of mine, has been job interviewing these last few months and one of her big questions at the end is 'How do deaf people make an appointment at your surgery?' and she gets met with mouths opening and closing as they struggle to think why they don't know the answer to this.

But really, I thought last week, while trudging through the rain under the umbrella I ran the length of Oxford Street for, why should I stop at striving to make essential services accessible?

What about seeing if I can make those non-essential but very enjoyable services accessible? What about video content online? What about augmented reality, QR code links and live streaming? I mean, I only notice how inaccessible it all is because I can't access it, but to the more-than-likely hearing people that have created these amazing things, they already offer them exactly what they need. These peeps don't realise that actually they could be reaching way more people if they just captioned the videos, or maybe even had a sign language option.

Wouldn't that be amazing? You hold your phone over an augmented reality page of a magazine and choose between a voice over, captions or signing.

And while sorting the sign language would probably cost money, there's no reason why the captions should. These are free and easy to embed on YouTube videos (tutorial to come) and look quite frankly bloody brilliant in action.

So you see this is my plan. I'm not going to scream and shout and point out the unfairness of it all. That would be like having an argument in a dream with someone then yelling at them about it in real life the next day. They'd be utterly clueless to what the hell you were going on about and then rather put out by the whole thing.

These companies don't necessarily know how inaccessible all these amazing new technology developments are, so it's not really fair to shout at them.

Instead, I'm going to just ask questions, Super-Cathy-Fragile-Mystic-style. I'm going to ask them how deaf people access their content and point out how easy it is to caption things.

Because you see, if you don't ask, you don't get. People don't sit around wondering about your specific needs, but if you point them out, they're more than happy to think about them. And if you point them out politely, they're even more happy.

No guns blazing, no tantrums. Just 'I love this idea but I can't enjoy it because…' and 'Could you please fix this by...'

With the big things in my life changed so much for the better, it's time to focus on the little things.

I'll keep you posted peeps

DG x