By Pat Dobbs
Pickleball is great. I’ve been playing for three years with a group of people and we have all become friends. When we started playing, we could hardly hit the ball back and forth. Today, not only can we hit the ball back but have developed strategy, spins and powerful serves.
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Why, then, do I often come home feeling crappy?
Well, there’s one part of pickleball that I’ve failed to mention. It is the friendly banter among the four players—actually, the friendly banter among three players. Yes, I’m one of the four players but I can’t join in the conversation as I can’t hear a word of it. This is not surprising as it’s an indoor court with high ceilings and of course no carpeting to absorb the sound, plus the sound of the pickleball play itself (the source of some contention in neighborhoods with courts).
The players all know I have a hearing loss and can’t hear them, so they don’t include me in their friendly banter. Although it would be fun to join in, I know the only way I could hear it is if we all stopped playing and moved up to the net every time someone has something to say. That would never work and I wouldn’t expect them to do that. I’m not thrilled that I can’t join in, but from a practical point of view, I know it is one of those situations where I have to accept that I wouldn’t be able to hear.
The one accommodation they do make for me is if I ask them the score, they don’t yell it to me but rather indicate the score with their hands and fingers.
Often when the game is over, as we change into our street shoes, the talking continues. Because of the acoustics, even though we’re sitting relatively close to one another, I still miss a lot of what they’re saying—especially if I can’t see the person who is talking because they’re looking away from me. It’s times like this that I go home feeling crappy as I want to be included.
One day recently I happened to speak to my friend Peter when I got home and told him about it. He said, “Hey, why don’t you ask them to face you when they talk so you can hear them better? You can do it in a light and easy manner like, ‘Hey I’m the deaf one here—can you face me when you talk?’ as opposed to ‘hey, what's wrong with you. Why are you being so unkind and not looking at me when you talk.’”
I laughed when Peter made this suggestion because that’s exactly what I would have self-righteously told someone if they were in this situation of not being able to hear. But I admit that sometimes I forgot to advocate for myself. I’m certainly a way better advocate than I used to be. But there's still room for improvement! Life is an ongoing learning situation.
Hearing Health magazine staff writer Pat Dobbs has an adult-onset hearing loss and wears bilateral cochlear implants. The past president of Say What Club, an international online hearing loss support group, she is a resident of Deer Isle, Maine, where she formed the DownEast Chapter of the Hearing Loss Association of America.
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I know the only way I could hear it is if we all stopped playing and moved up to the net every time someone has something to say.