Visual Learning, Visual Teaching

By Caleb De Vries

My hearing loss is moderate; I hear highs and lows well but it is the middle of the spectrum where most human voices fall where I have trouble. Conversations can be very difficult, especially in noisy environments.

I first received hearing aids when I was 15 but was teased for wearing them; I felt different and somehow less than my peers. As a result I didn’t wear them for many years and struggled to find ways to cope without them.

Caleb De Vries

This provided a challenge for me academically. I hid in the classroom, avoided answering questions, and as a defense mechanism I acted aloof. The gym was the one place where I really felt at home. I excelled in ice hockey, track, volleyball, and basketball. 

I spent hours by myself every day after school mastering ball handling and shooting skills for basketball, and stick handling, inline skating, and shooting skills for hockey. I was very passionate about learning new and creative ways to teach myself how to improve. This passion led me to coach a variety of sports and to pursue bachelor degrees in education and physical education.

I wore hearing aids during university classes but they did not help much, as they were not working well and were too old to fix. I couldn’t afford to buy new hearing aids because they are extremely expensive, but about two years ago my sister Nadine [who works for HHF] paid for my new hearing aids—and they have changed my life.  

Now when I teach and play sports it is very different; voices are much easier to hear and I do not have to spend as much energy trying to hear my teammates or students. When playing sports, I wear a headband to protect my hearing aids and to prevent them from falling out.

I am the program coordinator for Fit Kids Healthy Kids in Winnipeg, Canada. This is run by a nonprofit organization, Sport Manitoba, whose goal is to encourage as many kids to be active as we can. We aim to provide opportunities for children to develop the confidence and competence to participate in any activity and to ultimately become active for life.

Many of the families I work with are recent immigrants whose first language is not English. My hearing loss is beneficial in this situation because it has led me to be a very visual and physical teacher. As a child I had learned by watching my favorite athletes and studying their movements, not by hearing them explain how they execute a skill.

I do not know whether I excelled in sports because of—or despite—having a hearing loss. I had to try harder to hear my coaches and teammates but it also caused me to have a high level of attention to detail, helping me develop my teaching style. When teaching I take every opportunity to give visual cues and demonstrations. In some ways this type of instruction can level the playing field for those who have trouble understanding verbal communication, whether because of hearing loss or because it is a foreign language.

My perceived disability has given me the ability to become more empathetic toward the kids who struggle with poor self-esteem and a fear of failure. When I was young I believed that I wasn’t good at math or science. The truth is I never knew how good I could be at these subjects because I was too afraid to fail.

It is the same fear that I see in kids who believe they are not athletic. Most often they are just too afraid to try because trying presents the possibility of failure. Helping a child overcome this fear is the most rewarding part of my job; it is such an incredible sense of accomplishment to know that I play a small role in this crucial step toward their development.

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Playground Lessons

By Scott Swanson

It's 1982. I'm 4 years old, and the proud new owner of two behind-the-ear hearing aids. These things are monsters. Huge. A result of life-saving surgery I had two years earlier. My mother had to put them in for me every morning. At age 4, I had no clue that this stinks. 

In 1983 I started kindergarten. In the Pacific Northwest, where I live, rain is a way of life. You don't duck for cover just because there's precipitation in the air. This especially goes for recess. At my school, there was this woman we called "Grandma" whose job it was to oversee the playground. She was old, and she laid down the law. She also rewarded kids who picked up toys with sugar-free candies. Those things were the worst! But some of us enjoyed the nice gesture.  

One fine September day it was raining and as usual, we got sent to the playground. I was getting pretty deep into a game of Foursquare, or maybe it was Red Rover. Either way, I find myself being sent inside by Grandma. Back to my classroom I went. I'm pretty sure I thought I was in trouble. Was I hogging the ball? Being mean? I couldn't figure it out.

School ended later that day, and I walked home in the rain. I remember when I walked through the front door my mom and dad were chuckling. They asked me how my day was. I gave them a generic response: "Fine.” "How was recess?" "Dumb." "Why?" "Grandma sent me back to my classroom for no reason." More chuckles, and then my mom told me to have a seat.

She told me that the school called to say they very concerned for my safety. She explained to me that Grandma noticed my hearing aids. She also noticed the rain. She put two and two together. When water and electronics mix, people get electrocuted. Grandma must have thought she saved my life. My parents told the school that although they appreciated them erring on the side of caution, I was not in danger of being electrocuted. A little rain would at worst damage my hearing aids but definitely not cause me to lose my life. 

I still see Grandma from time to time in the grocery store. I think back to that day and I doubt she remembers. She was old to us then, let alone 25 years later. Most importantly, I know she had my safety on her mind, and for that I'm thankful. I'll always remember her as much as any teacher I had at that school. Gross sugar-free candies, and all!

Scott has moderate to severe hearing loss. At age two, while undergoing life-saving surgery, Scott was administered ototoxic antibiotics, which have a side effect of hearing loss. By the age of four Scott had enough hearing loss to require hearing aids. He initially wore behind-the-ear (BTE) hearing aids, but currently wears completely-in-canal (CIC) hearing aids. Scott is the only one in his family that lives with hearing loss.

Turning Tables for Hearing Health

By Chill Kechil

Chill Kechil is our latest Les Paul Ambassador, helping to educate musicians and others about the risks of noise-induced hearing loss and tinnitus. Here, the New Jersey-based DJ and composer describes how he has managed his hearing loss while building a career in the music industry.

I found out in high school through hearing tests that I had some high frequency hearing loss. This caused me to be very aware of protection at a relatively early age. I fortunately did not go to a lot of concerts and wore earplugs way before they became commonly used. 

As I began DJing and producing music, I became aware of many technology tools that help both protect and aid me in producing music. The most common technology app is the dB (Decibel) Meter that I have on my iPhone. I also had custom earplugs made that I use when the sound in a venue is loud. When DJing, I use headphones that are best at “isolating” the sound in the headphones and reducing the outside sounds. This not only protects my hearing but also allows me to mix the next song in my headphones before playing them over the sound system to the audience. When DJs wear headphones, this is what they are usually doing—mixing the next song into the current one that is playing. 

When composing and producing music, there are several applications that I’ve found helpful. The first is a volume limiter that I use on the output channel of the mix. This prevents the signal/sound from going too loud and becoming distorted, which could damage your hearing as well as the sound equipment. 

The second is the use of a visual EQ (equalizer) monitor which allows you to “see” the frequencies of the sound being played. This indicates whether there is too much or too little sound in low to high frequencies, allowing me to mix the music better for a better listening experience. In particular, since my focus is on the high frequency areas, I use the visual EQ to monitor too much signal in that range. (There are many types of EQ tools available but I think many producers use visual monitors in one way or another.)

I also learned that, although human hearing technically ranges from 20 to 20,000 hertz (Hz), most people don’t fully hear the entire range, and in the higher and lower frequencies they may only be able to sense that there is a sound being made. A common practice in producing is to use filters to cancel and smooth out sounds below the lower and higher ends of the frequency spectrum. This prevents signals in the lower frequencies from causing unnecessary vibrations or rumbles as well as preventing artificial, “fizzy” sounds at the high frequencies. The ear is most sensitive to sound from about 2,000 to 5,000 Hz, so this is where I try to focus on minimizing peaks in the sound levels. 

Chill Kechil is donating a portion of his music and apparel proceeds to Hearing Health Foundation. Support HHF and enjoy his music at chillkechil.com. Read more about Chill Kechil in the upcoming Spring issue of Hearing Health magazine, out in April.

'My Daddy Sleeps Loud!'

By Cory MacIver and Holly F. Pedersen, Ed.D.

My daughter Kaylyn enjoys weekend “campouts” in the living room. After one such event, my wife asked our daughter, “How was the campout with Daddy?” Kaylyn replied, “Good, but my daddy sure sleeps loud!”

When your child with a hearing loss can hear you snoring even without her amplification, there is no denying it. Kaylyn Rae entered the world 16 weeks ahead of schedule weighing 1 lb 9 oz. Our home-based early intervention services began when Kaylyn was released from the NICU at 6 months old. In addition to our audiological and medical appointments, specialists from the North Dakota Vision Services, North Dakota School for the Deaf, and Minot Infant Development made regular home visits. 

As a first-time father, the barrage of female providers into our home was intimidating to say the least. I found myself making excuses to be away during these visits, having my wife fill me in later. This was a frustrating time for everyone—I was not yet comfortable participating in the intervention visits and worried I was giving the impression I didn’t care enough to be involved. 

Our deaf education specialist, Holly Pedersen, and I began to communicate about this situation. We both realized that, while more and more fathers want and expect to be involved in their children’s lives, information about exactly how to do that when one’s child has a disability was lacking. This led to an ongoing partnership to investigate the experiences of fathers of children with hearing loss and how to engage them in the team when providing services.

One of our first projects involved a method called Photovoice, which involves using photographs to express one’s point of view. Dr. Pedersen identified relevant quotes from the available research on fathers and I selected personal family photographs that illustrated these concepts, and together we created a PowerPoint presentation using them.

Kaylyn is now 10 years old and attends fourth grade in her neighborhood school with an excellent support team. Kaylyn loves dance class, American Girl dolls, and being a big sister to our youngest daughter, Cady (age 2). My wife Kara and I enjoy the ups and downs of life with our family—it’s a wild ride, but we wouldn’t want it any other way.

Cory MacIver is an educator with Minot Public Schools. He and his wife, Kara, are parents to two beautiful daughters who both happen to have disabilities. Holly F. Pedersen, Ed.D., has worked with children and youths with hearing loss in early intervention, public, and residential settings for more than 20 years. Pedersen is an assistant professor of special education at Minot State University in Minot, North Dakota.

Read more about children and hearing loss in our Winter 2015 issue. 

Bumping Into People With Hearing Loss

By Kathi Mestayer

Recently I was backing out of my parking spot in the Barnes & Noble parking lot. I noticed another car in my rear-view mirror, backing up right behind me, approaching my bumper with apparent disregard, and so I finally beeped my horn. A couple of times. Loud. Well, that bumper kept coming, and then hit mine, not hard, but a definite impact. The car pulled out and drove away.

So, I do what anyone would do in that situation—I make a note of the licence plate, and followed it. After a couple of blocks, the car turns into another parking lot. I park behind it, knock on the window, and when it rolls down, said, "Did you know you just hit me in the Barnes & Noble parking lot?"

"No! Oh! I'm so sorry!" said the driver. She lifts up the back door of her SUV, showing me the cute little toys (including a tiny toy stroller) she had bought for her grandchildren. She thought the impact was one of them hitting the back window, or just falling over.

"Didn't you hear me blow my horn?"

"No! You blew your horn?"

"Are you hard of hearing?"

"Yes! I had my hearing tested and they told me I have a hearing loss, but to come back when I can't hear anymore."

"What?!"

What ensued was a few minutes of conversation in which I shared this information:

1) Go back now to get your hearing loss treated. If you didn't hear my horn when our cars were 12 inches to zero inches apart, that's not a good sign.

2) You can't locate sounds because you have a much worse loss in one ear. The driver acknowledged she was almost completely deaf in one ear.

3) Go to a good audiologist, not a testing closet in the back corner of your pharmacy (really!).

At the end, she said, "I just know there's a reason we were brought together! Give me a hug?"

We had a big, warm hug and went our separate ways.

When Everyday Noise Is Unbearable

By Pallavi Bharadwaj

Like many people, George Rue loved music. He played guitar in a band. He attended concerts often. In his late 20s, he started feeling a dull ache in his ears after musical events. After a blues concert almost nine years ago, “I left with terrible ear pain and ringing, and my life changed forever,” said Rue, 45, of Waterford, Connecticut. He perceived all but the mildest sounds as not just loud, but painful. It hurt to hear.

Mr. Rue was given a diagnosis of hyperacusis, a nonspecific term that has assorted definitions, including “sound sensitivity,” “decreased sound tolerance,” and “a loudness tolerance problem.”

Hyperacusis can be extremely debilitating, and at present, there is no cure. The researchers in The American Journal of Audiology study provided an overview of the field, and possible related areas, in the hope of facilitating future research. They reviewed and referenced literature on hyperacusis and related areas. This study has been funded by Hyperacusis Research and Hearing Health Foundation. 

Hyperacusis encompasses a wide range of reactions to sound, which can be grouped into the categories of excessive loudness, annoyance, fear, and pain. Many different causes have been proposed, and it will be important to appreciate and quantify different subgroups. Reasonable approaches to assessing the different forms of hyperacusis are emerging, including psychoacoustical measures, questionnaires, and brain imaging. Hyperacusis can make life difficult for many, forcing sufferers to dramatically alter their work and social habits.

Loud noises, even when they aren’t painful, can damage both the sensory cells and sensory nerve fibers of the inner ear over time, causing hearing impairment, said M. Charles Liberman, a professor of otology at Harvard Medical School, who heads a hearing research lab at the Massachusetts Eye and Ear Infirmary. And for some people who are susceptible, possibly because of some combination of genes that gives them “tender” ears, noise sets in motion “an anomalous response,” he said.

This article has been adapted from a post on The New York Times’s Wellness blog. To read the original article, please click here.

For information about tinnitus (ringing in the ears), please see these resources on the HHF website.

Read the story on Hyperacusis on HHF’s website.

What Is That Noise? My Take on Living with Tinnitus

By Shari Eberts

I have a 40-50% hearing loss in both of my ears, but only mild tinnitus.  I am grateful for that.  Sometimes I feel that the tinnitus is worse than the hearing loss!  Unexplained sounds buzzing and whistling in your head can make you question your sanity.  And give you the worst headache known to man.  The lack of sound seems almost a relief in retrospect.

Thus far, I have experienced two types of tinnitus. The first has been occurring on and off for several years and is not that troublesome.  I am not sure what the trigger is, or even if there is a trigger, but all of a sudden, I will hear a sound like a fluorescent light was just turned on, followed by a high-pitched beeeeeeeep that lasts for 30-60 seconds.  It will often start softly; build to a crescendo, and then taper off, like someone has turned the fluorescent light back off.  It happens in noise and in silence.  It comes and it goes, maybe once or twice a week.  Strange, but not bad.

But recently, a new type of tinnitus has started, and this one is more debilitating. Again, I’m not sure if there is a specific trigger, but it seems to happen more often after I am exposed to rhythmic loud noises (like a bathroom fan) or to bright lights.  It starts suddenly, is much louder than my friend the fluorescent light, and can continue for an hour or more.  It is exhausting.  I cannot think.  I can’t hear what people are saying to me over the ringing. I want to lie down, but sometimes that is not possible.  I work to focus on the real sounds around me and carry on. 

To read more, please click here. 

Shari Eberts is Board Chair, HHF. She regularly writes on her blog and tweets at @sharieberts. 

Constant Companion

By Bill Meehan

I am a rock drummer. As a teen and young adult, we played very loud and for hours at a stretch. I sensed nothing bad happening at the time besides some bothersome post-concert ringing in my ears. I was in my 20s and invincible. 

In my early 30s I noticed a slight ringing in my ears for the first time—without a loud event as the cause. It was troublesome enough that I went to the doctor. After a thorough examination I heard that word for the first time: “tinnitus.” Okay, great, there is a name for this. “What pill do I take?” I asked the doctor. “There is no treatment currently,” he said with a knowing smile and walked out the door. Seriously, he walked out the door and didn’t even give me a chance to ask another question. I sat there for a moment in the empty examination room and listened to the ringing in my ears for a few minutes in disbelief. Will I never be able to sit in a quiet room again?

I lived with this for years and it was only troubling in very quiet surroundings. A fan blowing or a TV playing in the background was usually enough to drown out the faint, high-pitch ringing.

Then one day it all changed. I was watching TV and noticed a loud sound of crickets. I thought it must be the TV. I turned off the TV and still heard the clear and very loud sound of crickets mixed with a high-pitched tone. I was convinced the TV must be about to explode. I ran over and pulled out the plug. The sound was still there. I covered my ears and was horrified to realize the sound was in my own head. It was well over 100 decibels. I felt sick as the hours passed painfully and slowly. I didn’t sleep.

The next morning I went to the only doctor in all of San Francisco who could see me that day. After the exact same examinations I received years earlier, he told me that same thing, “Sorry, there is nothing I can do.”  

After a couple of weeks I was suicidal. Every day was torture. My only relief was to re-create the sound and pitch on my keyboard and play it at maximum volume. When I stopped playing the loud tone I had 10 seconds of relative peace and then the tinnitus came back. I did this over and over again.

Six weeks had gone by and I noticed a slight reduction in the volume. It was something to hold out onto—a little bit of hope. Could it actually be decreasing even though several doctors told me there was no hope? Little by little, day by day, I found moments of peace and an overall easing of the torment. Finally it was bearable most of the time.

A few years later I had another acute attack, but this time I knew there was hope and light on the other side. I went to an upscale doctor who specialized in tinnitus. He had awards all over his wall. He must be good, right? I told my tale. I told him about the acute attack that lasted for weeks, that it was much worse after waking from a nap, and that the ambient noise level had no impact on severity. He was a much-lauded doctor who specializes in tinnitus and I thought he would understand. “That’s not how it works,” he said, as he walked out of the room.

I now have a hearing aid I wear (I have mild-moderate hearing loss) that gives me some relief during the worst bouts. I wear it in my left ear. I also have an app on my phone that can help soothe me to sleep using white noise. I still play the drums, but they are electronic and I can control the volume. I can live a full and rewarding life, but my tinnitus is always there—my constant companion.

One Day in 1967

By Michele Ahlman

Growing up, I remember thinking how cool it was that I had a German birth certificate: a hand-typed, raggedy piece of paper identifying, in German, my birth in a U.S. Army hospital in Heidelberg.

In the late ’60s my dad, Richard Uzuanis, was a 23-year old tank commander for the 3rd Battalion 68th Armor stationed in Mannheim. I’ve always known my dad lost a lot of his hearing while serving in the military. But we never talked about it or the impact it had, until recently. Apparently, during a live fire tank gunnery exercise in 1967, one of the tanks misfired. And at the time, hearing protection was not standard-issue equipment.

It was Dad’s responsibility to remove the misfire. “I got into the tank and opened the breach to remove the misfired round,” he says. “But the round was swollen due to overheating. I couldn’t get it out or close the breach. As I moved quickly to evacuate through the tank hatch, the round exploded, sending me 20 feet in the air.”

To read the full article, please visit the Fall 2015 Issue of Hearing Health Magazine.

If you are a veteran, current service member, or have family or friends who have bravely served our country, review these resources about hearing loss and tinnitus.

Show support for our veterans via one of these ways:

• Sharing your hearing loss or tinnitus story

• Donating at the workplace

• Donating via HHF’s website

• Reading and sharing the veterans’ special issue of Hearing Health magazine

A Musician Tunes Into Positive Thoughts

By Tara Guastella

Lynn Crisci and her boyfriend, Doug Julian, attended the Boston Marathon on April 15, 2013, sitting on the edge of a sidewalk café, about 30 feet from the first bombing that occurred that fateful day.

When the explosions occurred, Lynn watched the smoke, debris, and shrapnel travel upward. But what she later learned is that pressure cooker bombs are designed to explode horizontally, rather than vertically. This fact appears to be part of the reason why Lynn incurred a frontal lobe brain injury, hearing loss in her right ear (which was facing the explosion), and constant tinnitus. Other people she knew who were closer to the explosion—but standing up instead of sitting down—did not suffer the same type of injuries.

Though Lynn had her hearing tested after the explosion, and has documented hearing loss, the doctors did not recommend a hearing aid. This makes it very challenging for Lynn in situations where background noise is present, such as in a busy restaurant or bar.  The hearing loss plus her brain injury makes it often impossible for Lynn to hear, and then mentally process, what someone in a noisy setting is saying to her. Lynn feels her hearing problems put a strain on her relationships, embarrassing herself and others and drawing negative attention.

Tinnitus impacts Lynn to the point where she has much difficulty falling asleep and usually gets three hours of sleep nightly. Her tinnitus is further aggravated by stress and loud noises, which makes the tinnitus worse.

Lynn also suffers from severe post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), putting another strain on her long-term relationship with Doug. “I feel that he often ends up taking care of me, more like a dependent than an equal partner,” says Lynn. “I feel like a burden to him which leaves us both frustrated, stressed, and unable to focus on my strengths.”

One positive is that Lynn knows she has survived a traumatic event before. A professional musician who started performing at age 5, Lynn had a workplace accident in 2006 that left her in a wheelchair for several years and needing a cane to walk for several years after that.

Not only is Lynn walking today, but she also completed the 2014 Boston Marathon. “I did it to take back my neighborhood,” she says. Living blocks from the marathon finish line, she was sick and tired of feeling afraid every time she went outside. With the goal of facing her fears in mind, she trained for five months—often daily and often in pain—in order to finish the Boston Marathon. She had never been a runner before, much less race a marathon.

Lynn’s hearing loss affects her everyday life as well as her career. Music does not sound the same to her anymore. She’s far from giving up, however. “You don’t know what you can do until you want it badly enough,” she says. Lynn is hopeful that our Hearing Restoration Project (HRP) will restore her hearing one day so she can reclaim her artistic calling.