By Chelle Wyatt
The term “hidden hearing loss” was coined in 2011. Sometime after that, someone on a SayWhatClub email list shared an article with that new term. (That’s the power of support groups. People share information when they find it.)
After reading the article, I felt a rush of feeling: “That was me! That was my life as a teenager!” It was a relief to see my prediagnosed life validated. After that, I could pinpoint specific situations of hidden hearing loss in my teens.
There was a lot of confusion in the mid-’80s between hearing and understanding. I was 14 years old so hearing loss was the furthest thing from my mind and nothing my parents thought of either. I could hear but I had trouble understanding what I heard.
Telling Anecdotes
During high school, I could hear in the classroom but the hallways between classes were a different matter. I remember a friend trying to get my attention and I was oblivious. She got louder and louder calling my name.
I finally heard my name but I could not locate where the voice was coming from or figure out who was calling my name. Looking around in all directions, I saw my friend starting to jump up and down to get her head above everyone else’s while waving her hand until I found her. She had to get my attention visually.
Another scene from about the same timeframe was a summer pool party. There were lots of kids in the pool, splashing and yelling. Several parents sat poolside with their own chatter, and music played in the background.
One of my parents’ friends asked me something while I was halfway down the pool and getting out. I said, “Huh” as I walked toward them. He turned to my parents and said, “Typical teenager saying ‘huh’ all the time.” It felt like he was saying I wasn’t paying attention which wasn’t true. Then, because everyone laughed, I felt ashamed.
During those same years, my best friend had a truck with a bench seat. In that truck I instinctively sat in the middle most of the time where I could participate in conversations.
A few years later, he got a truck with two seats up front and a backseat. Because it was often three of us, I had to take my turn in the backseat to be fair—but I couldn’t understand the conversation from there and felt left out. The only way for me to hear was to wedge my shoulders between the two seats so the conversation was inches away from both ears. (This was before seatbelt use went into law.)
Now, With Hindsight
Here’s another flashback my mom and I both remember vividly. My mom asked me a question from another room. I knew by her tone it was a question but I couldn’t understand what she wanted. I yelled out “what” from my bedroom, and she again repeated from the living room.
I still couldn’t understand so I walked out of my room to go see her. My mom was walking toward me and we were now a few feet away from each other. I asked “what” again. She wondered if I was being a defiant because it was something about chores. I began to feel defensive because she looked mad. She said, “For the third time…” I replied, “For the third time…” and answered the question. Maybe I was a bit of a smart aleck too. We both weighed the situation and decided to walk away from it. Even after that scene, we still didn’t suspect that I had a hearing loss.
About six months after that, tinnitus turned on for me one night. Alarmed by the invasive high pitched squeal, and a lack of sleep, I went to an ear, nose, and throat (ENT) doctor for help. His audiologist ran the pure-tone hearing test. The ENT delivered the results, declaring my hearing was fine and that there was nothing he could do about my tinnitus. “Learn to live with it,” he said and left the room.
This did not feel right. In subtle ways, by this time I knew my hearing was off. Do I not pay enough attention? Was it my imagination? During that doctor visit, I was not knowledgeable enough to evaluate why, or why not, I sometimes didn’t understand what was being said. I let those thoughts go and became angry. Learn to live with tinnitus how? I had no idea so I left that doctor’s office with a bitter attitude. My appointment had been for nothing—a waste of time, effort, and money.
Finally Getting Diagnosed
Over the next five years, my hearing loss became more obvious. Those in my life became less patient about needing to more frequently repeat what had just happened. This occurred in person and more often while on the phone. One day while my toddlers watched a movie on TV, I was on the phone with my mom who was on the opposite coast of the U.S. (Back then there was a reduction in clarity with long distance calls.)
The TV kept my kids entertained as I talked to my mom. At the same time, she had to repeat herself several times. She finally blurted out, “Go get some hearing aids!” And, for whatever reason I heard that loud and clear.
Having moved across the country, I made an appointment with a new ENT. Leading up to my appointment, I felt anxious. Would I have a hearing loss this time, or would it still be my imagination? If they didn’t detect hearing loss again, how would I react?
Fortunately, this doctor diagnosed me with a significant hearing loss and wanted to fit me with hearing aids. Instead of dread, I felt relief. It was an actual diagnosis this time and something to take back to family and friends. At 23 years old, I started wearing hearing aids.
Hearing loss is tricky in many ways and hidden hearing loss remains elusive all these years later. My experiences may have been painful and confusing at the time but I find it valuable now. With the amount of people I’m around who have hearing loss, I’ve been able to share information on hidden hearing loss when I suspect it.
Some people have gone through what I did and were grateful for the validation too. It again came up recently as I worked with someone new to hearing loss. However, this student already seemed to be using lipreading strategies and skills very well for someone new to hearing loss. I shared the HHF webpage What Is Hidden Hearing Loss? with this person, which also helped them.
So, what does hidden hearing loss feel like? For me, it felt like a lifetime of “huh?” and shame, of being called defiant when I was just desperate to understand. It took a name—”hidden hearing loss”—to finally validate those lonely years in crowded hallways and noisy trucks. Getting that official diagnosis and my first hearing aids at 23 was a relief, but it was that article years later that truly helped me make sense of my own past.
Now, I see the value in those painful experiences. They equipped me to spot the same confusion in others and to pass along the very information that once set me free. It’s a full circle moment every time I get to share that article and watch someone else feel that same wave of recognition, that same relief of knowing they aren’t making it up, and that they are not alone.
Chelle Wyatt lives in Salt Lake City. She supports hearing loss awareness through her business, Hearing Loss LIVE! and through volunteering with local and national hearing loss support groups.
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There was a lot of confusion in the mid-’80s between hearing and understanding. I was 14 years old so hearing loss was the furthest thing from my mind and nothing my parents thought of either. I could hear but I had trouble understanding what I heard.