The Last Straw

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last straw

The Last Straw (that broke the camel’s back): The final, additional, small burden that makes the entirety of one’s difficulties unbearable.

Isn’t it interesting that there are so many idioms and colloquial expressions that mean “I’m done”?

The straw that broke the camel’s back (1816)

The last feather breaks the horses back (1829)

The final straw

Hitting a brick wall

Hanging up one’s gloves

The final stroke

I’m sure there are others. I’ve had a heck of a month. No worries – I actually thrive under (some) pressure. However, once in a while each one of us is simply not going to be able to take ONE MORE THING. That ONE MORE THING is often inconsequential and “small” in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps that is why we are so frustrated for breaking under what seems like a “small” thing.

This morning I was stepping off the porch when a “throw your head back to sneeze” came out of nowhere. Just. Like. That. I was horizontal with a teeny, tiny bit of remaining tunnel vision. My ears were roaring. I was nauseous. I had two very concerned service dogs in my face.

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Do you know I sat there and CRIED? I use to cry over everything. I mean, every, little thing! Happy, sad, angry, or confused, I’d unload some stress by crying my eyes out. These days I rarely cry. If I’m crying now, something is seriously wrong, or I have no reserves left and I’m “just done“.

It only lasted a minute or two. With retired neighbors on both sides of me, I can’t sit on the ground wailing very long before I garner some unwanted attention. I chanted to myself, “Suck it up, buttercup!” and struggled back to my feet. I’m sporting a few new bruises, and my pride? Well heck. My pride wasn’t hurt at ALL. When you have Meniere’s disease, pride isn’t crushed in falling, for one falls a lot. Pride is when you KEEP yourself from falling <big grin>

I felt so much better and finished watering the hanging baskets and flowers before making my way back inside. I likely over-analyze things too much. When psychology is your main squeeze, you tend to analyze everything. I took a few minutes to think about why falling on my face and experiencing a short bout of vertigo set me off. I determined it was “the last straw“. Have you ever felt that way when burdened with one more “little” thing?

It is very normal to have days like that. We all have stress. Stress can be good – and bad. Do not confuse stress with burnout. How do you know if you are becoming burnt out? According to the Help Guide organization (2016),

You may be on the road to burnout if:

  • Every day is a bad day.
  • Caring about your work or home life seems like a total waste of energy.
  • You’re exhausted all the time.
  • The majority of your day is spent on tasks you find either mind-numbingly dull or overwhelming.
  • You feel like nothing you do makes a difference or is appreciated.

(para. 6).

I love this chart (for I am a “chart” kind of person). I think it does a terrific job explaining the difference between stress and burnout:

Stress vs. Burnout
Stress
Burnout
Characterized by overengagement Characterized by disengagement
Emotions are overreactive Emotions are blunted
Produces urgency and hyperactivity Produces helplessness and hopelessness
Loss of energy Loss of motivation, ideals, and hope
Leads to anxiety disorders Leads to detachment and depression
Primary damage is physical Primary damage is emotional
May kill you prematurely May make life seem not worth living
Source: Stress and Burnout in Ministry

As you can see, both stress and burnout can be dangerous. Short-term stress, and at times – chronic stress, are a normal part of life. The “last straw” can actually be a good thing if it means you do something to alleviate some stress.

I cried. I hugged my dogs. I over-analyzed to my heart’s content.

However, the “last straw” can also be a prerequisite to something far more dangerous.

So what do you do when you feel your knees buckle and your back breaking? Well the first step in successfully recovering from collapsed camel syndrome is recognition of the problem or problems. Take some time to evaluate where you are at in your life. Are you over-extended? If so, what can be cut out? Start working on de-stressing. What can you take off the back of your camel?

Are you getting enough rest and taking care of yourself by eating right, getting some fresh air and sunshine, and laughing out loud occasionally? If not, make it a priority to do those things. They can strengthen “your back“.

The Help Guide organization explains how we can unload some of the burden on our camel:

Burnout prevention tips

  • Start the day with a relaxing ritual. Rather than jumping out of bed as soon as you wake up, spend at least fifteen minutes meditating, writing in your journal, doing gentle stretches, or reading something that inspires you.
  • Adopt healthy eating, exercising, and sleeping habits. When you eat right, engage in regular physical activity, and get plenty of rest, you have the energy and resilience to deal with life’s hassles and demands.
  • Set boundaries. Don’t overextend yourself. Learn how to say “no” to requests on your time. If you find this difficult, remind yourself that saying “no” allows you to say “yes” to the things that you truly want to do.
  • Take a daily break from technology. Set a time each day when you completely disconnect. Put away your laptop, turn off your phone, and stop checking email.
  • Nourish your creative side. Creativity is a powerful antidote to burnout. Try something new, start a fun project, or resume a favorite hobby. Choose activities that have nothing to do with work.
  • Learn how to manage stress. When you’re on the road to burnout, you may feel helpless. But you have a lot more control over stress than you may think.

(Help Guide.Org, 2016, para. 23).

Finally, acknowledge how incredibly resilient camels are! In Arab cultures, the camel symbolizes patience, tolerance, and endurance. Yes, at times you will need to ask for (and hopefully receive) help. This is a terrific article on finding help: (Where to Begin: Finding Help During Chronic Illness).

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Denise Portis

© 2016 Personal Hearing Loss Journal

Help Guide.Org (2016). Preventing burnout: Signs, symptoms, causes, and coping strategies. Retrieved May 26, 2016, from http://www.helpguide.org/articles/stress/preventing-burnout.htm

When “LIFE” Happens and Your Glass is Half-Full

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One frustration that I often hear from Hearing Elmo readers is that living with a disABILITY or chronic illness is “manageable” if only LIFE itself were a little easier. However, the old adage is true… “Life is hard“. It just is.

I take an unconventional interpretation of the “Glass Half Full” expression. I realize the original meaning is — Are you an optimist or a pessimist? I look at this analogy in a similar way that the “The Spoon Theory” describes energy levels, daily quotas of tasks, etc. For some of us, our glass is never completely full. I wake up first thing in the morning after a good night’s rest, and my glass is half full. Don’t get me wrong… I’m in a good mood. As a matter of fact, I’m one of those annoying “morning people“. I grin ear-to-ear, greet the dogs and take them out, fix my coffee, and eagerly open my calendar to see what the day holds.

Because I have had a hearing loss and Meniere’s disease for over 25 years now, I have learned to manage my time very carefully. I work hard to not “bite off more than I can chew“. The great thing about being an adjunct professor at a community college, I can stretch my 3-4 classes a semester out over the day and week so that I have “down time” for office hours or simply chill time in between classes. I am involved in a number of community service and social justice issues, but I work hard to make sure monthly meetings do not interfere with my “regular scheduled programming” (a.k.a. my LIFE).

Have you noticed, however, that just because you have a disABILITY or chronic illness, LIFE and its occasional sucker punches, still occur? We don’t get special treatment. Just because our glass starts out at the beginning of the day — HALF FULL — doesn’t mean that LIFE and the normal crap that happens within it, will not happen to us as well.

You are going to catch the flu.

You are going to have unexpected car expenses.

Someone is going to hurt your feelings.

You will be treated unfairly.

It is going to rain (and if you live where I do – it will rain a lot).

Your dog is going to be sneaky and eat grass and then surprise you with a present around 2 AM.

You may experience a divorce.

You may become estranged from an adult child or (once) close friend.

You will be accused of something you did not do.

You may be treated with disdain and anger as you navigate your “normal” in a world that does not view you as such.

A doctor is not going to listen to you.

A spouse or significant other is going to get frustrated with you – as if you can change your “normal”.

Your alarm is going to go off and you will want to hurl it through the window.

You will accidentally burn supper.

You are going to trip (and if you have Meniere’s – often!)

You will be misunderstood.

You will lose people you care about and will grieve.

Grief

Last week, my precious father-in-law passed away. My husband and children went to North Carolina and thankfully arrived before he was gone. I stayed home to take care of pets, cover classes for my husband, and “hold down the fort”. Can I just say I hate,  “holding down the fort”?

My family members are home now, and I am grateful I will have the opportunity to attend my father-in-law’s Celebration of Life later this summer.

I am running on EMPTY. This is final exam week and the extra stress that comes with grief and worry for my loved ones has taken a toll. You see… LIFE doesn’t pull any punches. Just because you have a disABILITY or chronic illness, you will still experience the normal things in LIFE that every person does. Losing people we care about is part of LIFE. It sucks. It hurts. It is hard. For those of us with a glass that starts “half full”, it may mean we need to take care to – TAKE CARE.

I normally go to bed between 9-10 PM. This past week I have made an effort to retire between 8-9 PM. We’ve had an excess of rainy weather which causes my balance to really be a trial for me. I am taking extra measures to make sure I change elevations carefully (stairs or bending) and am giving my service dog a serious work-out with various skilled tasks that I can do when my balance is not as wobbly. I’m trying to eat healthy, balanced meals.

Experiencing grief is a normal part of life. It cannot be avoided, and we cannot wish it away. If disABILITY or chronic illness is a new normal for you, I encourage you to prepare in advance for LIFE. We are not granted special privileges just because we have special challenges. So my advice is to do what you can to have a plan in place for when LIFE happens. The plan may include steps to take extra care of yourself. It may mean you make that phone call or send that email to someone you know you can dump on safely and wail or whine to your heart’s content. You may want to make an appointment with a counselor (so have one in advance on standby in the event you need an objective listening ear).

The Benefits

I learned something important over the last week. If I have prepared – as best I can – to absorb life’s normal sucker punches, and take steps to function in spite of a half-full glass, I can still BE THERE for those I care about.

I am not so energy-depleted that I fail to recognize the needs of others. I can support (as best I can) those who are grieving. Because I’m getting extra rest, I can think of small (seemingly) unimportant things that can make a difference in the life of my grieving husband. Like… making Cheeseburger Hamburger Helper for supper (something I cannot even eat but is his major comfort food). I can take on some extra chores around the house to give him the opportunity to have some extra time to grieve either openly or privately. I can be a listening ear (difficult but doable when you have a hearing loss). These simple things would be virtually impossible if I didn’t have a plan.

I am not so naive to believe that having a plan will mean you never have anything take you by surprise. LIFE is really good at surprises – some good and some bad. You cannot prepare and plan for every surprise. I hate to be a downer and fess up that at times I’m just DONE. For whatever reason, I allow hopelessness and despair to rule and reign in my heart and mind. For me, it helps to acknowledge that I’m at the end of myself and need help. It may mean seeking spiritual renewal. I may need to overhaul my schedule. I may need to just experience the YUCK. Sometimes all one can do is wade through and survive. The sun really DOES come out tomorrow. (… and thankfully? my weather forecast for tomorrow really does include SUN).

glass half full1

Denise Portis

© 2016 Personal Hearing Loss Journal

Mindfulness: And the Skies Opened Up

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I apologize for how long it has been since I have posted anything. I am one week from finishing all my coursework towards my Ph.D. and have been busy working, going to school, and finalizing my dissertation committee. To say I’m exhausted is an understatement. I try to be serious and mindful about how much rest I am getting. I was thinking last week when I turned the big 5-0, that I have now lived longer as a person with disABILITY and chronic illness than I lived without those challenges. It influences what I have chosen to study and what I am passionate about. When you are ABD (All But Dead — just kidding: all but dissertation), you tend to think about your dissertation each and every day. This means that everything I am reading and researching for the literature review of my own work is on my mind each and every day. I even dream about it! “Predictors of Posttraumatic Growth in Persons with Acquired Disability” takes up much of my brain power.

These past few days I have been “chasing a rabbit” (like my retired service dog, Chloe)  and reading published articles on mindfulness as it incorporates one of the major domains of posttraumatic growth. I suppose “mindfulness” started out as a Buddhist tradition; however, in the last 8-9 years, the field of psychology has come to recognize it as a means to treat numerous physical and psychological disorders. In my short personal history of 25+ years, I have learned that folks with acquired physical challenges–whether the result of illness, accident, or genes–also experience comorbid anxiety or mood disorders (Carson, Ringbauer, MacKenzie, Warlow, and Sharpe, 2000; Siegert & Abernathy, 2005; Weintraub, Moberg, Duda, Katz, and Stern, 2004). You do not have to convert to Buddhism to practice mindfulness. Kozlowski (2013), explains that mindfulness has been Westernized by psychology and “it is purposefully devoid of spiritual or religious connotations and focuses simply on the act of awareness. And if you want to take it to a level that we can all relate to and understand, at its core is stress reduction” (para. 5).

You’d think as someone who has worked so hard to hear again, I would rarely purposely “go deaf”. Yet, I have discovered that if I want to do some deep thinking, praying, and just spend some time being aware of all the “stuff” in my life, I have to reach up and click my cochlear implant off. I need the quiet to take the time to be mindful of what is currently stressing me (and how to de-stress), what my priorities are, and how I can make a difference TODAY in the life of someone – ANYONE. My bionic hearing is wonderful, but I cannot focus when my processor is busy – processing. So I “go deaf” – on purpose. I need to reduce distractions. For me that means being alone with my thoughts and perhaps a pad of paper nearby so I can jot things down as I think of them.

Mindfullness & Preparation

Learning to be mindful, meant that I learned to change how I view disABILITY and illness. I learned not just to experience my “new normal”, but to own it. With that acceptance came the understanding that I am able to make a difference in such a way that I would not have been able to had my “normal” not changed. I likely wouldn’t know the people I know. I would not have been drawn to studies about posttraumatic growth. I wouldn’t have chosen to invest my time in student populations of individuals with visible and invisible conditions. My life – that I embrace and love – would not be what it is today.

Learning to be mindful also taught me to prepare. I knew before this ten-day deluge of rain that I was going to have a much tougher time with my balance. I deliberately scheduled an additional hour of sleep each night, made sure I had my cane and service dog equipment ready to go each morning, placed my umbrella and rain boots by the back door, planned where to park to eliminate having to by-pass major puddles of standing water, deliberately stayed where I could see outside to determine when the rain had let up enough to take the service dog out or to make a quick trip to the campus testing center or copy center, and made sure that I allowed extra time to get to where I needed to go each day because I knew my mobility issues would require I traverse slowly and methodically. Even though the sun sets much later now that it is the month of May, I made sure that I had someone to drive me for evening obligations as I knew my vertigo would be worse by day’s end. Being mindful about the forecast and likely changes in my symptoms, meant that I could “hope for the best and prepare for the worst“. A nice little “perk” of Meniere’s disease is that if you learn to recognize the changes, you discover that you are a living, breathing, and walking barometer. (I’m likely more exact that local forecasters).

So… when the skies opened up, and delivered mist & sprinkles, steady, significant amounts of rain, and at times-torrential downpours, I was as ready as I could be! I suppose some folks might think that being so mindful and preparing for worsening symptoms, is the equivalent of being self-centered. I have learned the hard way, however, that if I do not take care of myself, it is impossible for me to take care of anyone else. I MUST take deliberate steps to insure I am prepared for long periods of rain, for example. If I do not, I will be nearly useless to anyone else. I’m not trying to avoid or escape the worsening symptoms I know are to come with a long bout of rainy weather. It is a type of cognitive-restructuring (from the psychologist’s point of view). As a person of faith, I work at being “mindful” of His promises. It helps me to remember He is mindful of me (Psalm 8:4, Psalm 111:5, Psalm 115:12, Romans 8:5-7, Romans 12:2, 1 Corinthians 2: 9-12, 16, Colossians 3:1, and 2 Peter 3:2).

A Long-Term Benefit of Being Mindful

In closing out this post (and greeting a day where the sun has finally breached the dark clouds), I want to share something I’ve learned simply because I really HAVE been at “this” a long time now. When you are mindful, purposefully focus your thoughts, prepare, and live deliberately, you will find that some good habits develop. On about “Day 6” of our recent monsoon-like weather, I came into my 8 AM class and… honestly? I wanted to go sit down and cry. I was tired of the vertigo, tired of the nausea, tired of the wobbling, and tired of the balance corrections. My head hurt and I was cranky. Darn — if it wasn’t only 8 in the morning! After booting up the computer, turning on the projector, and fishing out my lesson plans, I looked up to greet the class a few minutes before “launch”. I always try to ask students by name how things are going for them. I try to really get to know them and let them know I care. I noticed on changing my visual perspective an empty chair of a student who just buried her father. I caught in my peripheral, the quiet entrance of a young man making his usual unobtrusive way to his seat in the back. This young man just found out his cancer has returned for the fourth time. I saw the sleepy, single mamas and the students who took two early morning classes (including mine) before going to work for eight hours. I saw and waved to the student who attends classes, works four hours, and then goes to sit with her husband in a hospice center before staggering to bed each night. All the very temporary “woe is me” disappeared,

Just.

Like.

That.

Mindfulness doesn’t mean I do not have “bad days”. Being mindful, doesn’t mean I will always be in a super, good mood. However, being mindful gives me a better perspective and deeper appreciation for what really matters. I can more quickly rebound from self-pity and look for opportunities to make a difference – even in a sometimes “broken” body and weary mind. Being mindful allows me to wake up to a Milo-bear (service dog) alarm-clock with an attitude of “BRING IT ON“. For me… it makes a difference.

L. Denise Portis

© 2016 Personal Hearing Loss Journal

Carson, A. J., Ringbauer, B., MacKenzie, L., Warlow, C., Sharpe, M. (2000). Neurological disease, emotional disorder, and disability: They are related: A study of 300 consecutive new referrals to a neurology outpatient department. J. Neural Neurosurg Psychiatry, 68:201-206.

Kozlowski, E. (2013). Can Christians Practice Mindfulness? Huffpost Healthy Living. Retrieved May 6, 2016, from http://www.huffingtonpost.com/eden-kozlowski/mindfulness-and-religion_b_3224505.html

Siegert, R. J., Abernethy, D. A. (2005). Depression in multiple sclerosis: A review. J. Neural Neurosurg Psychiatry 76:469-475.

Weintraub, D., Moberg, P., Duda, J., Katz, I., & Stern, M. (2004). Effect of psychiatric and other nonmotor symptoms on disability in Parkinson’s disease. Journal Of The American Geriatrics Society52(5), 784-788 5p. doi:10.1111/j.1532-5415.2004.52219.x

 

Rejoicing

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— It’s such a treat to have guest writers here at “Hearing Elmo”. I welcome any and all, for we all have a story to tell, a life to share, and a voice. I am glad to offer “Hearing Elmo” as a platform for those voices. I have known Ruth for a little over 14 years. I met her at a national Hearing Loss Association convention, and then continued to touch base with her in various ways. Now we mostly connect through FaceBook and I am always tickled to see her recent photos. Ruth loves nature and has that special talent the really good photographers have–seeing things through their lens that are often overlooked by those of us who don’t stop to LOOK. When my balance issues become my “main issues”, Ruth reached out to encourage me again and again. (I have often wondered if I have been accurately diagnosed as many of my symptoms are atypical of Meniere’s). Ruth is a blessing – and lucky for you and I – a writer. I share a recent piece with you today! —

The abilities of people with chronic health problems are continuously redefined by fluctuations in whatever challenges they have:  weakness, stiffness, pain, sensory disturbances, fatigue, endurance, or mental/emotional processing.   Loss happens frequently.

Grief is commonly seen as the way to heal loss.   In the case of continuous repetitive losses, a person can get caught up in a perpetual circle of grief. Instead of experiencing healing, the overload of negative emotions such as sadness and anger can cause increased physical problems.   To maximize health, positive emotions are needed to restore balance.

How does one get from grief to happiness, when experiencing continuous losses?  They do so by making a conscious choice to response positively vs negatively to challenges.

For the first fifty plus years of my life, I allowed myself to get caught in the perceptual circle of grief. I reacted to my losses with anger and sadness.  I blamed others, from my parents to God, for my life’s challenges.  My poor choices nearly destroyed my life.

Most of my challenges came from a genetic disorder called mitochondrial myopathy, a rare form of muscular dystrophy.  The core of this disorder is the failure of powerhouses found in each body cell, to produce enough energy to sustain the health of that cell. Where ever these defective cells reside, the reduced energy results in inadequate organ function or even organ failure.

From my toddler years onward, the cells in my inner ears progressively deteriorated and died.  By the time I was in my early 20’s, I had a profound loss of hearing.   I was a survivor in the sense that I persisted in education until I got to the right career match for a deaf person.   However, I failed to maintain a healthy emotional balance and consequently experienced years of profound depression.  I was stuck in a perpetual cycle of grief.

As a young adult I began to experience progressive mobility challenges, and the grief cycle intensified.  I didn’t take care of myself, physically nor emotionally, and consequently more medical problems surfaced.  Finally, in my late 50’s, I slowly learned to focus on the good things that are a part my disability experience: my growing faith in God’s goodness, the love and understanding of my remarkable husband, incredible friendships; the cochlear implant enriching my life with sounds I had never heard; the freedom to participate in life provided by disability accommodations, including the use of my wheelchair.   I have learned to see and remember the blessings of good days.

I recently experienced a 6-month miracle in which my mobility limitations almost disappeared.  This miracle, which felt like it was here to stay, came to an end.  I grieved its loss and the opportunities that ended with it.  But now I can look back and smile warmly at the memories, much in the same way a wonderful vacation is remembered.  I truly believe that staying positive and the prayers of many people energized my body enough to stop the physical backslide, maintaining about half of the gains I experienced.  Though I continue to walk for exercise, it takes twice as long and multiple rests are necessary along the way.  My freedom to participate is again dependent on my walker or wheel chair depending on the endurance each situation requires.  But, I have learned, in spite of chronic disability and the doors it closes, to rejoice.

Ruth Ilean Fox

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Use Your Words

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use your words

Not too long ago, I stood in the kitchen with a piece of my kitchen cookware, and dramatically wiggled the (seemingly constant) loose handle.

“Hey, honey,” addressing my husband, “hand me the thingie-majig out of the… (I gestured wildly towards the drawer)… the… the… THINGIE!”

My husband turned to face me and raised his left eyebrow. It was only the left one. You know… the one he raises when I’ve said something truly ridiculous and he’s trying to make a point?

… with an eyebrow? Yeah. That one.

I continued to gesture holding the slightly, heavy pan and sputtered and fumed, not daring to repeat my request, only adding a bit of a head flick towards the… the… THINGIE.

At this point my husband’s raised eyebrow lowered. Instead both eyes grew wide with alarm. Both eyes. You know… the ones he widens in horror when he realizes I truly expect him to read my mind and decipher both thingie-majig and thingie?

“Denise.” (When he pauses like that not only do I know I’m in for a mini-lecture, but it also means it may be deserved).

“You canNOT expect me to actually know what you mean. We’ve been married a long time, but I know thingie-majig, thingie, whatcha-ma-callit, and doo-hickey are interchangeable, obscure references to whatever happens to be going through your brain at the time!”

Do you know I tried to argue with him?

“Terry.” (Cuz, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander).

“I’m holding a pan. I’m jiggling the loose handle. I need to use this pan. The handle is loose. I need a screwdriver. The “thingie-majig” is a screwdriver, of COURSE” (I sighed super loud for a little dramatic effect and continued). “I gestured towards the junk drawer with my eyes, head, and elbow. The drawer is the “thingie”. Now who wouldn’t KNOW THAT?”

His eyes lost their incredulous look.  It was like watching a slideshow of emotions flick over his face.

First anger. (“Is she SERIOUS?”)

Next came a sad effort at stifling his laughter.

Then that lightbulb look. I love this look. It’s a slow-simmer realization that darn it. “Darn it, she’s right! That kinda made SENSE!”

He scratched his head and bent to collect the screwdriver from the bottom junk drawer. “It sucks that what you said made sense”.

I demurely accepted the screwdriver and sweetly…

Kept.

My.

Mouth.

Shut.

… because it didn’t make sense. I didn’t use words! Well, I did… but they weren’t real words. How can I call that communicating effectively?

When We Don’t Use Our Words

When you’ve lived with a chronic illness or disability long enough, the vocabulary associated with it becomes second nature to you. However, it doesn’t become second nature to others. You know all the medical terms and acronyms associated with your “new normal”. You shorten things and abbreviate information with people who really do not completely understand what you are trying to convey.

So… use your words.

  1. Use specifics.

Don’t say, “I can’t hear well”. Instead be specific and offer an alternative that may help.

“I can’t hear well in this cavernous room with so much background noise. Can we step out into the hallway to finish this conversation?”

2. Don’t leave out details that actually assist in expressing your need.

Don’t say, “Will you watch the dogs for me while I talk to mom?” Instead provide some more detail so that your request isn’t unreasonable.

“The dogs are wound up and my mom is trying to FaceTime me. Can you take them outside while I talk to her for a few minutes? I will be able to concentrate and hear her better.”

Don’t say, “Oh my gosh I need to leave right now!” Instead provide the details for your hasty departure so that whomever is accompanying you can make polite excuses and follow you in a more polite way.

“Oh my gosh. The ceiling fans in here are low and are moving in the opposite direction of my inner ‘SPIN’. I need to step out right away”. 

3. Avoid acronyms unless they are truly universal.

A.S.A.P.  – – – Yeah. We all know what this means.

BPPV – – – To most with a balance disorder or Meniere’s disease, we understand this to stand for benign paroxysmal positional vertigo. Few others will know what this is. I have even discovered that within disability groups (types), members will often use acronyms that they think are universal to “us” and they are not. For example in a Meniere’s support group I belong to, the members constantly refer to Meniere’s disease as MD. As a volunteer and participant of a service dog organization that includes a number of mobility challenges, MD stands for Muscular Dystrophy for both myself and many others.

I have been surprised how understood and universal the acronym MS is. Many, many people seem to understand it stands for Multiple Sclerosis. Why is that I wonder? (I’m asking for real responses and not rhetorically!)

4. Don’t use cues unless you have practiced them and both you and your “helper” understand the cue. 

If someone has facial hair or talks behind their hand, I’m likely not comfortable stepping into their personal space to hear them better. I will turn to my husband and touch the corner of my mouth. This means, “What’d he say? Repeat for me please?” We’ve used this FOREVER and it works without any hitches for us now.

I have trouble in places that have huge, open areas, or extremely, high ceilings. I may “look” fine. But if I pick up the vest handle on Milo’s equipment and quietly ask for my husband’s arm, he knows I’m about to do a face plant. If my husband isn’t around, I take Milo’s vest handle and head for the nearest wall so that I may continue with whatever I was doing safely, or talking to whomever I was trying to talk to before my “Woah!” I have never had someone argue with me about moving towards a wall. (I’m pretty sure people would rather move than pick me up off the floor).

5. Complete your thought. Use real words.

Just because you know what you are talking about, doesn’t mean you can voice a sentence fragment.

“Put it over…” 

Put it over where? If the other person wasn’t watching, they do not know where you mean for them to put it.

Recently I got up on a step stool (never a good idea) to dust the ceiling fan blades in the dining room. The fan was OFF, so “color me SURPRISED” when I was hit with a sudden bout of vertigo and actually felt my vision tunnel as I struggled to stay conscious.

“Please! Right now!”, I screeched.

Manners didn’t matter. Specifics about the timeframe were irrelevant. I fell. My husband did hear the fall. Well… he HEARD the screech too, but he simply didn’t know what it meant. It was vague. It could have been meant for the dog who just stole my sock for the fourth time and I was demanding it back. (Hey. It’s happened).

He was horrified he didn’t interpret my call for help for him to actually get his butt there immediately. I hit the carpet and the dogs scattered safely out of the way. Since I didn’t injure anything (dogs included) I could laugh as soon as I made it vertical again. “Well geesh. It’s not like I called your name or explained why I needed you! I should have said, ‘Terry! Come quick!’, right?”

As fond as I am of “thingie-majig”, “thingie”, “doo-hickey”, and “whatcha-ma-callit”, they aren’t words. They stand for whatever word is missing from our immediate working vocabulary. They are stand-ins, and we simply cannot expect someone to make sense of them. When it comes to our challenges and self-advocacy, it makes sense to —

Make Sense.

Use your words.

Be specific.

Use necessary details.

One final word of advice though. Sometimes we work SO hard to be good communicators, we may offer a little too much information. If I throw the acronym at ya, of T.M.I., — does that make sense to you?

Too Much Information. We can blow people away with unnecessary details and specifics.

Several weeks ago I ran into one of my students in the hallway and we were headed in the same direction. He opened the door to the stairwell and I leaned over to hit the elevator call button. He said, “Oh here, let me carry that” and reached for my bag assuming I would be able to take the stairs if someone carried my bag.

I said, “Oh no. I can’t take the stairs. Even though I have Milo it will take me ten minutes to make it up one flight of stairs. I’ll be late for class. I just can’t traverse the stairs safely at top speed. I need to wait for the elevator. I don’t always wobble, or have bad balance days, but I never climb or descend stairs safely”. By the time I finished with my over-zealous answer, he was practically cross-eyed.

“TMI?” I sheepishly asked.

“A little… but we’re cool!” he cheerfully responded. He ended up taking the elevator with Milo and I because we were headed to the same class and were discussing something he was passionate about – projective tests (ugh. Hate them!).

So just be careful about being specific and detailed, without killing someone with unnecessary information.

Denise Portis

© 2016 Personal Hearing Loss Journal

 

 

 

Misinterpreting

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Misinterpreting

I haven’t had a chance to talk about Chloe, my retired service dog, much lately. The sweet ol’ lady has been retired full-time since May 2015. Chloe has not had a good year. Being together 9 1/2 years, means she was pretty set in her ways as to being with Denise 24/7. So if you take a loyal, hard-working hound dog who has done the same thing for almost a decade, retire her, bring a new dog into the pack who is now Denise’s partner, move to a new house, and have only a few things to do around the house for hearing alerts, a dog can just go a little nuts… which is what Chloe has done. Chloe is on arthritis medicine, which helps her arthritis a great deal. Being able to get around more comfortably means she is looking for stuff to do around the house. Chloe has developed an anxiety disorder, which could be the result of a number of things including age. She obsesses over things she decides is her job and continues until collapse.

We moved into a wonderful, older home, with NO STEPS! I fall once a week now instead of 2-3 times a day. Even for our two older dogs, Chloe and family dog, Tyco, the fact that we have no stairs is a plus as well! Our older home makes noises that our other home did not. We have an older HVAC system, gas heat and stove, a wood-pellet stove, and older wood floors. Chloe, retired hearing dog, believes every new sound she hears now is her JOB. So she will stand over heating vents and guard because there are strange noises coming from them. (We have checked for critter invasion, had the home inspected, etc., and this is truly just mechanical noises. The other dogs ignore the sounds completely). Chloe will stand “working” until her legs shake and she collapses. We were having trouble getting her to eat. A major vet appointment that included blood-work, scans, and over-all senior check-up, revealed nothing that would make us worry that this is anything other than an anxiety disorder. Chloe is OCD. She misinterprets what she is hearing and together with her other keen senses (like smell), seeks out the origin of the strange sound and does a perfect hunting dog “point”,  standing guard until she collapses.

Chloe is on meds and is doing better. She still guards shadows and obsesses over household noises. We are making it a priority for her to get out of the house more and “do things for mom and dad”. My husband and I discuss hound dog a great deal. She really means a lot to both of us. We know and understand the difficult changes she has had to shoulder, but also understand that she is hearing things well (she is a DOG and was trained as a hearing assistance dog)… only Chloe is misinterpreting what she hears.

The sounds are not important – but Chloe is escalating the sounds as a priority.

The sounds are harmless – but Chloe considers some of them a threat.

The sounds are minor “blips on the radar” – but Chloe equates them with cardiac arrest.

Misinterpreting

Have you ever completely misunderstood what someone said or misunderstood the behavior of someone?

WHAT? You mean you always assume correctly? Ok. Well you can quit reading. The rest of you feel free to continue…

As a person with hearing loss, I often misunderstand what people say. I work hard to consider the context, facial expression, and body language of someone speaking and I still BLOW IT sometimes.

Someone can yawn and cover their mouth and I will completely lose track of what they were saying.

My cochlear implant can pick up some random, ambient noise and I will miss what someone said.

I’ve even stood in the sunshine with someone while they squinted and wrinkled their eyebrows at the bright light, and missed that they were being sarcastic about something because their face looked MEAN.

I use email a great deal. If I have my phone out, it is to TEXT, not to talk earlobe to earlobe with someone. Because I do a great deal of writing, when I am misunderstood or misinterpreted in an email, it really hurts. I work hard at making what I write sound like what I SAY. That’s why y’all have to muddle through my exclamations and grammatical errors that emphasize how I would SPEAK something. (So thanks for that – <wink>).

Basically in misinterpreting… there are two scenarios. Either WE are being misinterpreted, or we are the one over-reacting and obsessing over unimportant cues. So what’s a person to do?

  1. You are being misinterpreted.

If you are being constantly misinterpreted, is it your problem or their problem? Really the responsibility goes both ways. If you are constantly being misunderstood, however, take a good hard look at the who, what, when and where.

Who: Do the same people always misunderstand? Maybe they are extra sensitive. Maybe they haven’t learned to see past the obvious to what you really meant. Are you sarcastic? Do you know some people just don’t GET sarcasm? They don’t appreciate it, don’t use it, and are constantly hurt by it.

My husband, son, and daughter speak fluent sarcasm. As a person with hearing loss, I had come to count on what I SAW when communicating. I finally had to explain, “Look y’all! Give me a smirk, eye roll, or something! If you don’t, you are gonna get smacked up ‘side the head!” I just don’t connect with sarcasm.

What is being misunderstood? Is it a subject others are passionate about? Is it a subject that is highly debated? (Is it an election year? <groan>) Are you being clear?

When are you being misunderstood? Is everyone tired? Are you being misinterpreted when everyone is rushed? Late?

Where are you being misunderstood? A friend told me once that she has learned not to talk about serious things during happy hour at a local bar. <grin>

Figuring these things out can be helpful and allow you to determine how you can be misinterpreted LESS.

2. You misinterpret others.

Especially because one of my “differently-abled” quirks is hearing loss, if I misunderstand someone I become rude. Not rude-rude, but interrupting rude. I stop whomever is speaking and ask for clarification. I may say:

A) I’m sorry, could you repeat that?

B) Excuse me… I thought I heard you say…     …  could you repeat that part?

These “rude” but necessary interruptions help me misunderstand and misinterpret LESS. If I wait to ask for clarification I may forget (but stay mad), or the person themselves may forget what they said.

What about if you are angered or hurt by something that someone WROTE? I still ask for clarification. Maybe even though I am searching the context or doing my best to “read between the lines”, I’m still missing something. There is nothing wrong with responding (better done in a private manner and not in a public venue) and asking for clarification. I don’t know about you, but I’ve written things before that were taken wrong and it wasn’t until someone asked for clarification that I realized how harsh something I wrote seemed to the people who were reading it.

texting

Sometimes? Sometimes people are just going to try really hard to misunderstand what you wrote too. It happens. I’ve learned to pick my battles. You cannot always expect someone to look for the best in you. Some folks look for the bad. Just drop it and go on.

being misunderstood

Change really isn’t hard

One of my offspring is a debater. The kid can argue the paint off a wall. It use to really bother me, but I never wanted to say “shut up, already”! I never wanted to act as if their opinion held no merit. I had to learn to LISTEN. Do you know my kid actually has a lot of really wonderful ideas, points, and opinions about the world? I drove him to lunch the other day and because we were each other’s “captive audience”, I got him all to myself for 20 minutes. My kid is more informed about politics than I am. If I LISTEN I have discovered he has a lot to say.

I use to misinterpret what he said all the time. I had to change. I couldn’t take sound bite snippets and judge him for being a ninny-hammer based on one comment. I had to learn to listen “in context” and wait until he had finished speaking before agreeing, or agreeing to disagree.

Some of you may be thinking… “why should *I* have to change the way I communicate?” Communication is the glue that holds all relationships together. No one communicates perfectly. We can all brush up on better communication skills.

Last week I was asking some questions about a video we watched and trying to get the students to “think like a scientist”. I saw a student grimace and shake their head. I stopped and said, “It’s fine if you don’t agree! I welcome everyone’s opinion and think it is important to express various views! Do you have another opinion about what we saw?”

They looked startled for a minute and sheepishly admitted, “No. I was making a face because someone farted”.

Oh.

You aren’t always going to understand perfectly. You are going to misunderstand facial expressions and other nonverbal cues. You, yourself, are going to contradict what you are saying by how you look or how you are saying it once in awhile.

My encouragement to all of us is simply to work harder. We can all learn to communicate clearly, hopefully creating less chance of being misunderstood. Communication matters because people matter. If you are a person with a disability or chronic illness, work hard at communicating your needs – and what you don’t need. It is much easier to “do your part” and then walk away in the face of persistent misunderstanding, than it is to share the blame for not having tried at all.

Denise Portis

© 2016 Personal Hearing Loss Journal

 

See — Look — Watch

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here's looking at you

Last week I was in a different building with Milo, my new service dog. Early on, he was not a big fan of elevators. When you are a service dog trained to help mitigate mobility and balance issues, this is a serious thing. His trainer worked very hard with him to get him over his fear of “the moving box”. He now enters elevators with a tail wag and is confident and alert. Unless…

… he enters a new elevator. I forget to take things a little slower when we get into a brand new elevator. To Milo, “different” is not good, and should be approached with extreme caution. I suppose that is why when I entered the library elevator on campus, and Milo immediately dropped to the floor trembling, I was taken by surprise. I spoke to him with confidence and calm tones, and he was eventually standing by the time we reached the correct floor. Some students on the elevator with me said, “You are doing such a good job training him! I could never do that though… train a dog only to have to give it up after training”.

The elevator door was opening and everyone was filing out. I didn’t take the time to set the students straight because it wasn’t really important. However, as I walked around trying to find the study room my students were meeting in, I was thinking, “Didn’t they see my cane? Can my bling be any more noticeable? There isn’t any way I can make my invisible conditions any more visible. AAARGH!”

… and yeah. I think in pirate-speak at times.

I have to remind myself that we are all guilty of only SEEING sometimes. We forget to LOOK instead. Worse, we often do not take the time to WATCH.

See — Look — Watch

see-look-watch

So often we go throughout our day only SEEING. I’m guilty of this. I believe SEEING people is the equivalent of saying, “How are you today?” with the expectation of hearing the response, “I’m fine, how are you?” SEEING is going through the motions with our eyes. SEEING is inactive. We SEE, but we are not doing so with deliberation. We are not concentrating. The students in the elevator were seeing me, but they were not looking. Well… that isn’t altogether fair as they were likely LOOKING at Milo, but only seeing me.

LOOKING means you deliberately concentrate… you notice. LOOKING is active. I suppose it is a little bit like being in “search mode”. When we are LOOKING, we ignore distractions, and recognize more than the superficial “window dressing”. My friends Deb and Ruth are photographers. I’m trying to learn to LOOK when taking pictures and not just seeing something pretty.

I love teaching. However, everything I really love about teaching has little to do with the subject I teach. I love teaching because I really feel like I’m making a difference. Somewhere along the line I learned to LOOK at my students instead of SEEING my students. Perhaps I had good role models. Perhaps it is because I have felt invisible myself. Do you know in my head I say, “Here’s LOOKING at you, kid”… with my best Bogart impression? I don’t just SEE you. I’m LOOKING at you.

I remember reading Blume’s book, “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret” as a kid. I can’t tell you the number of times I have asked God this same thing… only I insert Denise. There have been times I have been angry and added some things like, “Do You even CARE? Do you really see me?” I don’t always deal with my “new normal” in a positive way. I struggle with depression. I get angry–even at God. I need constant reminders that He looks at me. He is watching me; that He does care.

My husband hasn’t been looking at me lately. I don’t mean this as a slam, and I’m not telling you something that I haven’t shared with him. He signed me up to go to a banquet/game night/workshop for Valentine’s day at our church. Many couples and singles will be there. I don’t go to things like this… at least not with people who do not understand disabilities. Three weeks ago I told him I wasn’t going… that he shouldn’t have signed me up. He asked me (nicely) to go… “I rarely ask you step outside your comfort zone“. We argued. I pleaded. Two weeks ago we repeated the conversation. One week ago we practiced redundancy. Yesterday, I said I would go, but I told him, “You aren’t looking at me. You see me, but you aren’t looking at me. If you were, you’d know that I’m suffering from panic attacks. If you were, you’d recognize the sleep walking I’ve been doing as anxiety“. Sometimes we see right through the people we love the most. We aren’t looking at them. (Because I recognize that being a chicken can isolate me from others, I’m trying to find my courage…)

Please know that I understand we cannot have our LOOKING eyes on all the time. That level of concentration is impossible to do during every waking hour. However, I do believe that we can do more LOOKING than SEEING.

Yes. It takes a little more time and perhaps more effort.

No. We don’t burn calories for our trouble (darn it!)

Do you ever WATCH others? It goes beyond looking and does take the sacrifice of time. In a world of “time is money”, few people perceive that they can afford to take the time to WATCH. I believe we cannot afford not to take the time to do some WATCHING. Our very soul depends on it.

WATCHING changes you. WATCHING often changes the world. It is only that level of concentration and taking precious, valuable moments to study what your eyes see, that any connection is made to your heart–where all change is born.

See — Look — Watch

Be deliberate in how you exercise your eye muscles.

Denise Portis

© 2016 Personal Hearing Loss Journal

Cowlicks and Compromise

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cowlick

Cowlicks and Compromise

I have a cowlick. I remember the first time I noticed the little tuft of hair—likely no more than 20 hairs total, in my bangs. I was at my grandmother’s house who lived on the farm 1.5 miles west of our own farm. I was washing my hands at the sink, and could just barely see my face and head in the mirror above the sink.

<SIGH> “Lookit this hair! It won’t lay down! It points the wrong direction”.

My grandmother informed me that it was a cowlick. Astonished and more than a little bit worried, I gnawed on my lower lip as I contemplated this new information. Demanding to know the “when and where”, Grandma calmly informed that it happened when I was a baby. I remember thinking, “Who would let a cow lick their baby’s head?” Either Grandma was tired of my questions, or she could see that this greatly concerned me. “It’s like a blessing. Even the cows knew you had great potential. You can do ANYTHING!”

I know she thought she was encouraging me, and later it actually WAS the source of encouragement when I recalled her words. However, she likely would have cracked up if she’d known how often I struggled to wash the cow saliva off my head after that.

Dreams, Goals, and Aspirations

I was a lucky little kid. I grew up in a small town, surrounded by really good people and warm, supportive family members. I was always told that I was really going to be something one day… I was going to make a difference. Whether it was the school counselor assisting me with college applications, or individuals in my church, each time it was said I thought, “This cowlick is coming in handy!”

Obviously, I grew to realize the cowlick had nothing to do with my “can do” attitude, but that seed planted as a youngster, certainly added to my determination. I already had a hearing loss in my left ear as I headed off to college. I would have one more surgery during Christmas break of my Freshman year. I never considered my hearing loss an issue as I had perfect hearing in my right ear.

Compromise

I know that I am a little bit stubborn. It’s not just because I’ve been told that I am, I recognize that it is hard for me to compromise. I’ve learned to compromise, which has only helped my relationships and even my marriage. I think in the beginning I saw compromise as “caving”. Because I was raised to be a strong, independent woman, I didn’t see how compromise could be a valued characteristic. I think compromise is actually misunderstood a great deal; perhaps even, considered a weakness.

My favorite definition of compromise (because there are a lot of them out there depending on the context in which the word is used), is from Chen (2004), when “a person has to give up something less feasible and achievable in order to accomplish career goals and projects that are more practical and obtainable” (p. 17).

After losing the rest of my hearing (ages 25-30), and discovering that what I thought was a natural “clumsiness”, earning the nickname of “Accident Prone Portis”, was actually Meniere’s disease, I learned to compromise simply because I was forced to do so. I learned to use adaptive devices, technology, and even learned to ask for help. I learned that to be realistic, I needed to cross some things off my my “to do” list. There are some things I just cannot do. That’s ok. It doesn’t mean I’m giving up or “settling”. I do get tickled at folks sometimes when they email me to say, “You are so inspirational!”

I’m not.

Huffingpost Post did a terrific piece on this topic. “When we think about inspiration, what inspires us most are ordinary people who have done extraordinary things. We appreciate when someone has the ability and willingness to be selfless, creative, innovative, or just dares to be different” (Green, 2013, para. 1). I’m not this person. I have no more talent, will power—or even COWLICK POWER—than anyone else. I have really good days. I have really bad days. Just this last week I found myself doing a little “soul cleansing” in the shower (the only safe place to bawl my eyes when you have service dogs in the house who cue off your mood).

I was crying because I was mad. Mad, that I’m forced to change the way I do my make-up. (I know… right?). I’ve always thought my best “feature” was my big, brown eyes and dark eye lashes. When my Daddy finally allowed me to wear make-up I learned early on how to highlight what I thought was one of my best features. My husband told me when we were dating that he just loved my eyes and wrote poetry about my peepers.

With progressive illnesses, one discovers that it is just that.

Progressive.

It sucks. Between my poor balance, shaky hands, and neuropathy in my fingers, it is impossible for me to use eye make-up now. I’ve had to change—to compromise HOW to wear and apply make-up of any kind. This… THIS is what reduced me to tears for a solid week! Some of the folks who write me and tell me that I’m “inspirational” also say, “I find that I spend too much time feeling sorry for myself!” Y’all? I’m crying in the shower because I can’t wear eye make-up!

I’m not very hospitable, but one of the great parties I know how to give is a PITY PARTY. I think most people who live with special challenges and illnesses find that they spend an inordinate amount of time feeling sorry for themselves. One quickly learns not to whine out loud because others frown on that. Both God and my husband know that I’m a whiney-baby. Trust me – I get feeling sorry for yourself. If your “differently-abledness” has you feeling sorry for yourself, you aren’t alone.

Weiner, Graham, and Chandler (1982) did some fascinating research on pity, anger, and guilt. Anger and guilt are associated causes perceived as controllable, while uncontrollable causes of negative events trigger self-pity (Weiner, Graham, & Chandler, 1982). I didn’t choose any of the challenges I deal with on a daily basis. You likely didn’t “sign up for” the challenges you face as well! When things happen outside of our control, it is natural to have feelings of self-pity. Charmaz (1983) explains that the medical field tends to “… minimize the broader significance of the suffering experienced by debilitated, chronically ill adults. A fundamental form of that suffering is the loss of self in chronically ill persons who observe their former self-images crumbling away without the simultaneous development of equally valued new ones” (p. 168).

All of us grew up with dreams and aspirations. Some of us read books about having one year goals, five year goals, and ten year goals… working hard to lay the groundwork to make sure the goals were attainable. Instead, life happens. You may feel as if your life has been de-railed as you struggle to stay on track on a journey you had all mapped out.

The key is to compromise – but not give up. You may have to change the way you do things. I threw away all my eye shadow and purchased a magnified mirror and set up a means to steady my hand so that I can at least wear mascara. Other compromises are more worthy of being called “growth”.

Finishing school through distance education instead of doing so through a brick-and-mortar institution.

Using a cane and service dog to avoid running into quite so many walls each and every day.

Asking a student to follow-up with an email because I cannot hear them over the “buzz of sound” after class, and the acknowledgment that if they speak loud enough for me to hear them, everyone will hear.

Letting someone with normal hearing take the minutes of a committee meeting, even though my desire is to take notes.

Sitting on my caboose during the music in church because I cannot stand when the words are on a screen with lights, movement, and flashes. (Remember the good ol’ days when we used hymnals?)

 

Asking a family member to chauffer me around if I have to be out after dark (oncoming headlights trigger vertigo).

Using a cutting board ALWAYS, since not being able to feel your fingertips is dangerous when wielding a sharp knife.

Asking my service dog to fetch clothes out of the dryer so that I can fold them, even though I occasionally have to wipe doggie drool off of clean, dry clothing.

The KICKER compromise that many of us have to learn as a result of our new normal?

Asking for help to do something when we once did it all by ourselves.

When Do You Choose Not to Compromise?

A tough lesson in living a differently-abled life, is learning how to compromise by your own volition and to accept your own reality, and learning when NOT to compromise for others. Having a long-term blog on disability issues, invisible illness and chronic conditions, I have received one type of letter more than any other.

“My _______ (family, spouse, friends, co-workers) want me to stop using ________ (a cane, walker, service dog, assistive listening devices, medication) because it _________ (embarrasses them, makes them uncomfortable, makes me look bad).”

I wish I could reach out and SMACK UP ‘SIDE the HEAD, the folks who are saying this to you. They don’t realize all the compromises you’ve already made in order to successfully navigate your life and accommodate your new normal. (That’s right… you’ve resorted to mascara ONLY).

My friends? Don’t ever compromise… on chosen means of compensating just to make someone else feel better about your challenges. That isn’t compromise. That’s caving to a bully. Compromising by doing something differently in order to continue DOING means you are in control. Buckling to the pressure of someone who doesn’t live what you are living, will only yield bitterness, brokenness, and an unhealthy dependence. Do we need to ask for help sometimes?

Yes.

However, having a means of independence and being asked to give it up to help someone else deal with your issues is detrimental to your mental health and relationships. There are plenty of people who care about me that I have learned to not “talk out loud” around. They misunderstand the reason I’m belly-aching and offer selfish advice.

“You get so mad when people interact with your service dog. Why don’t you stop using one and find some other means to cope with your disabilities?”

This from a peripheral family member who:

  1. Is never around for me to ask THEM for help because they are in absentia nor have any meaningful intersection in my life.
  2. Is able-bodied (though mean spirited)
  3. Hates dogs

If using a service dog has enabled you to be more independent, then:

  1. Be more careful of whom you belly-ache too. Contact a fellow SD partner or a trainer.
  2. Find a way for the “drive by petting” interactions to become a positive advocacy channel.
  3. Join some face-to-face or virtual support groups with individuals who mitigate their disabilities with the partnership of a service dog.

I was recently contacted by the wife of a guy I graduated high school with in 1984. He’s coming up on the BIG 5-0, and she was looking for pictures “from way back” that we had so that she could use them at his birthday party and celebration. I took out some old yearbooks and began flipping through them. My senior yearbook had some great pictures of “all those from the class of ‘84”. In one section, the class voted on and selected one male and one female for specific “categories”. I was selected as “friendliest” and also “most likely to succeed”. (Don’t get any grand ideas… my graduating class boasted of 22 students). I sat there a couple of minutes wondering…

“Am I successful?”

“Did I waste my cowlick?”  

What I find valuable is making a difference, even if in only in one person. I have good days and bad days, but ALL days are lived where I look for and try to make a difference in at least one. It’s an adopted attitude that has really helped me adjust to being a person with invisible disabilities.

never-worry-about-numbers-help-one-person-at-a-time-2

Denise Portis

2016 Personal Hearing Loss Journal

Charmaz, K. (1983). Loss of self: a fundamental form of suffering in the chronically ill. Sociology Of Health & Illness, 5(2), 168-195. doi:10.1111/1467-9566.ep10491512

Chen, C. P. (2004). Positive compromise: A new perspective for Career Psychology. Australian Journal of Career Development. 13(2), 17-28.

Greene, R. K. (2013). What is the true meaning of inspiration? Retrieved February 1, 2016, from http://www.huffingtonpost.com/r-kay-green/giving-back_b_3298691.html

Weiner, B., Graham, S., & Chandler, C. (1982). Pity, anger, and guilt: An attributional analysis. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin.  8(2), 226-232.

Hearing Loss Valentines

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hloss valentines

I’m reaching out on behalf of Cochlear Americas. We created Valentine’s Day cards for those in the hearing loss community to share with whomever they HEARt this Valentine’s Day. If you think the Hearing Elmo community would be interested in these cards, please feel free to share them!
How to access the Valentine cards: 
  • We have four Valentine’s Day cards that you can download, print, cut out and distribute directly from our Hearing Connections blog.
  • We will also be sharing the cards on our FacebookTwitter and LinkedIn channels. Keep an eye out for them to appear and share them digitally if you’d like.
Ways your community can use the Valentine cards: 
  • Print and distribute them in person or by mail with friends, family or colleagues.
  • Share them on your social channels.
  • If you have children, print for your child to distribute during their school Valentine’s Day party.

Denise Portis

Hearing Elmo

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