School sucks

I am so done with school! So DONE! I have impeccable luck with interpreters and I give up. The University is not providing interpreters for University recognized co-curriculars or events which is frustrating beyond belief but I am now seeking legal action to remedy that.

Beyond that I was having issues with an interpreter and her approach (one of those “I only interpret for the professor, hyper-over professional, code of ethics, the University is my employer so I won’t accept feedback from the Deaf person, kind of interpreter). After telling the University about the issues, which I was assured by other Deaf people and interpreters were valid concerns, and nothing happened I got the interpreters and accessibility services together for a meeting. let’s just say that the meeting didn’t go to well.

The interpreter was defensive (obviously) and continuously tried to pin things on me. For example: classes start 10 minutes after the hour, but interpreters are booked and hired from the start of the hour. This interpreter didn’t feel a need to show up at the start of hour because the prof wasn’t presenting yet and when I mentioned that sometimes students or the prof or the TA want to talk to me before the class starts she had the nerve to tell me that she has been working a long time and knows that Deaf people know how to communicate with hearing people. That I live in a hearing world and go to a hearing school so I should be able to do it without an interpreter. I was shocked that she had the nerve to say that.

The meeting got nasty and when I got home I started trying to replace her and a few minutes later was told that she quit. I was not impressed with her at all.

Something goes wrong with interpreter every term. Sometimes part of it is me and I accept that 100%. Really- there have only been problems like this 2 times all together. The other times I have lost interpreters mid term were because 1 didn’t feel qualified (and she wasn’t) but we are still on good terms and I will work with her again. One wasn’t a good match for me, we both agreed, no hard feelings and all is still fine there. Then there was one who I had a conflict with. That was both of us and the boundaries were fuzzy there from the beginning so a bit different. Today it was this interpreter I had never worked with before this term and it just didn’t work for either of us. My expectations did not match her style.

Now I am down one interpreter for one class and while I would rather be down an interpreter than have to work with her again it is frustrating. Sometimes I wonder if I am made for this University thing. At least this hearing university thing. Gallaudet is looking better and better these days and I would so go there if I didn’t have to move to a new country….

I need to vent. Thanks for reading!

I was denied an interpreter at a hospital!

On May 18, 2009, around 12:00pm I went to a hospital because of a back injury. I was with a friend, who was there to wait with me and make sure that the incident that caused the injury was recounted properly since she was there when it happened.

We got there, filled out the initial patient information form and I handed it in and went to sit an wait. During this time my friend was calling the emergency after-hours interpreter number to get a terp for me. After several unsuccessful attempts to contact one, she finally got through to an operator. At the time she called there were no interpreters available. Shortly after that the triage nurse called my name. My friend and I were communicating in American Sign Language (ASL) and I was not aware of the nurse calling my name. Soon a nurse came and told me was her turn.

I entered the triage area and the nurse began speaking to me in English. I gestured to show that I am deaf and the nurse continued to speak. I then gestured that the nurse should write and she wrote “how old are you?” I responded in writing, and the nurse began to speak to me once again. I then firmly pointed to the pencil and paper to make sure the nurse understood that she must write. The nurse finished taking my history through writing notes back and forth and then told me to go to registration. I gave the person at the registration desk my health card and showed her a note that I had typed into my blackberry saying “I need an ASL interpreter”. The woman at registration smiled and gave me a “thumbs-up” and gestured for my friend and I to go sit down.


My friend and I sat in the waiting area for a few minutes and continued to communicate with each other through American Sign Language. When it was time for me to enter the patient care area the woman from registration called my name. My friend made me aware of this, but since I was the patient I expected direct communication unless there was already an ASL-English interpreter there. The woman from registration continued to call my name and then started to ring the bell at the desk to get my attention. She then proceeded to bang on the desk and slowly come around the desk, continuing to call my name and bang on things. Eventually she entered my peripheral vision and was able to get my attention and gesture it was time to enter the patient care area. I showed the woman the note saying “I need an ASL interpreter” once again before entering.

Me and my friend entered the patient care area and once again showed the woman from registration the note asking for an interpreter. The woman from registration then told two nurses at the nurses station that I needed an interpreter. The triage nurse then exclaimed that I did not need an interpreter because they had I could write and read and the entire history had been completed that way. I then showed the triage nurse the note requesting an interpreter and once again the nurse said no and refused to get one.

At this point the triage nurse walked away and began to discuss me and exclaim that I did not need an interpreter with another nurse in a public area, showing no respect for me. The triage nurse then came back and asked me for a urine sample through spoken English. When I did not respond the nurse then wrote a note explaining what that she needed a urine sample and how to do it. I showed the triage nurse the note asking for an interpreter one last time. The nurse then spoke to me once again exclaiming that I did not need an interpreter.

My friend then recognized that the triage nurse was going to continue to ignore my request for an interpreter and then explained in spoken English (with my permission) explained that I needed an interpreter and that the hospital had a legal responsibility to provide one. The three nurses that were there continued to argue that this was not the case and they did not have to because I could write and read. My friend continued to explain that if I were to be a Chinese, Portuguese, or Italian patient the hospital would provide an interpreter and that this was the same situation. When the nurses continued to refuse to call an interpreter my friend then asked for a pen and wrote down the name and number for Ontario Interpreter Services which the nurses ignored.

A nurse then came around to the outside of the desk with a mask covering her mouth and nose asking who spoke and understood English. My friend said that she did and then nurse told her to “tell your friend to go sit down”. My friend refused and told the nurse to ask me herself and I gestured for communication to be direct and wrote a note on paper saying that my friend was not an interpreter.

Then nurse then turned to me, with the mask still covering her face, and began to ask me if I understood her. My friend then told the nurse that I could not lip read the nurse when the mask was covering her face. Once again the nurse told my friend to “tell your friend to go sit down”. My friend then asked the nurse what she would do if she were not there, to which the nurse responded that she did not like my friends attitude. A nurse also said that if my friend were not there that I would not be either. My friend continued to explain that I had a legal right to an interpreter and that the hospital was responsible to hire one. The nurses all said that they were not responsible to “hire” anyone because they were nurses.

At this point I decided that I should go to a different hospital and asked my friend to interpret a few things for me. I commented that I could not access medical services at the hospital without proper communication, and that English was not my first language. Then I said I was going to leave and go to another hospital. By this point the nurses had called security and they arrived as me and my friend were leaving. The nurses said that other hospitals would not serve me with the attitude that we had.

We then went to another hospital and along with the service of a professional ASL-English Interpreter I received medical care and treatment.

My Ears Hear Wrong

My ears hear wrong. It is a plain fact. There is no point in hiding it, trying to conceal it, or doing anything other than embrace it.

Really, ears do not hear at all, until chunks of plastic encase them and amplify sounds to a point where my eyes twitch and my head starts to throb. The sounds that assault my ears begin to take over my world and grasp me in a tight restraint. All of my senses succumb to my obscene auditory environment as I desperately try to distinguish the sounds I am hearing. The noise overwhelms me as I try to separate the overlapping sounds, to create something that my brain can process and identify.

Once I can establish one of the sounds from the group, I start to workout what it may be. The noises continue to smack me repetitively, threatening to rip the one sound I picked out away from me. I struggle to keep a grip on that one sound and figure out what it is. I begin to survey my visual environment - a difficult task given the constant attack on my auditory sense. I am not sure what this sound could be attached too. It is a constant sound with only slight intermittent pauses. It has a growling quality and I start searching for a cat, perhaps a dog. Then I remember that I am in a lecture hall and the probability of there being a cat or dog in a linguistics lecture is slim.

My eyes continue to dart around the room as I start to focus on my tactile sense. I am feeling lots of thing. The most obvious are the footsteps of the person walking in front of me. Through my notebook I can feel the vibrations of the voice of the man next to me. Neither of these match the sound.

Suddenly the sound disappears. As quickly as I was able to pick it out, it is gone. I try to dig it out of the mass of noise ambushing my cochlea. I cannot find it though. It is gone. I turn to my right and notice a student pick up her cell-phone a begin to speak. The sound was her phone ringing.

Deaf vs. deaf

The notion of the binary is something that is often challenged in the discussion of identity. Many binary scales are opposed in anti-oppression frameworks, perhaps the most famous and common being the gender binary of male and female followed by the race related binary of black and white. However, one binary that I rarely find challenged is that of Deaf and deaf.

I have a strong Deaf identity and I have valued roots in the Deaf community. At the same time, I have roots in the Hearing community as well, coming from a Hearing family in a Hearing community. My Deaf identity is not on a binary scale but rather a fluid forever changing entity that exists within me.

On a recent trip to my hometown of Kingston I began thinking more about my identity. To my friends and family in Kingston I am not Deaf. No matter how much I tell them about my Deaf community, my Deaf friends, and my beloved language - ASL - I will never be Deaf to them. They never get a glimpse into my Deaf life and subsequently into my prioritized identity. In Kingston, I am deaf. I am oral and ASL is simply a three letter phrase that holds little meaning. For my friends and family to even begin to conceptualize that I use a completely separate language 90% of the time is impossible.

As I got onto the train this afternoon to return back to Toronto I automatically switched back to my culturally Deaf identity and away from my oral deaf identity. I turned off my voice and stopped lip-reading, communicating mainly through notes and gesture. Upon my arrival in Toronto I will reunite with my Deaf friends and community and for the first time in 5 days my hands will be back at home doing what they do best - communicating!

The difference with my Deaf identity in Toronto is that my community and the people I interact with, for the most part, can conceptualize and understand my counter identity. They can imagine me speaking and interacting with the hearing world using their language, because for most of them it is their lived reality too. I have some people in my life who may not be able to see the deaf side but I am sure most of them can.

Within myself I can see both sides at all times. I am constantly aware of the binary scale that I am supposed to adhere to at any given moment. The thought of me living in both realities at once terrifies me as I envision what my separate worlds would do as they collide. Would there be an explosion? A war? Or maybe they would shake hands and get to know one another? It is impossible to say what would happen as my two worlds collide in what would quite possibly be an epic moment which perhaps would create a new solar system for my identity to explore.

In May the true test will become a reality as my Deaf friends and I make a journey to Kingston for a three day get away from the city. My worlds will meet, mingle, and perhaps even mix and that will be the true test of the strength of my identities. Which one will prevail in such a volatile environment? Even I am not sure how to answer that question and we will have to wait and see.

Blinged out hearing aid!

Big City Accessibility

Hi everyone,

I recently returned to Toronto after spending a week in the small town where I am from. For that one week while I was there I was oral only. I normally live “voice off” but when I am in my home town that is pretty much impossible given the mentality there and people expecting me to speak.

Today was my second day back in Toronto and I was so pleased to spend all day “voice off”. I have come to value how accessible Toronto is to me and the rest of the Deaf community in general. Sure, there are many improvements to be made, but as a whole it is decently accessible.

When I go out for lunch, no one gets freaked out if I gesture and point to the menu items to order. The waiters are willing to write notes, sometimes even initiating it themselves. Then there are all the people that know a little ASL, and regardless of how minimal their ASL knowledge is I really appreciate the effort.

Today I ordered my tea in ASL at Starbucks. The person working was fluent in ASL and it was great to see that. Then I went to Indigo and at the cash the woman know some basic ASL. Enough to communicate with me in a basic sense.

Today just made me very happy and I wanted to share.

Jenny

University problems

Hi everyone,

Educational access is a struggle that I think any Deaf student in the mainstream will face. It was a huge fight for me in school, but when I started University I naively thought that everything would be okay.

One month ago I had a meeting with someone at my University. She oversees the Accessibility Services office, and I met with her to discuss the many access concerns I have faced. Those concerns included interpreters, professors, lack of awareness, and the incredibly limited number of TTY’s on campus. After our meeting she promised to follow up with me within the week.

A week came and went, and then two weeks - so I emailed her and told her what steps I had taken since the meeting. Another week went by without a response so I emailed her again let her know what steps I had taken in that week and to encourage her to fill me in on what she had done. Another week passed and today I sent her a forward email expressing my concern. I would like to share it! I am nervous that I may have been a little too forward. Let me know what you think!


Dear Ms. ______,

I am very disappointed that you have not followed up with me yet. I strongly value commitment. I do not take commitments lightly and I have strong respect for those who honour their commitments. In our meeting on January 23rd, you said that you would follow-up with me within the week and to see that this has not yet happened a month later is incredibly disappointing to me.

I have been putting an enormous amount of my time and energy into making sure that the environment at the University of Toronto is made as equitable and accessible for its Deaf students. I feel that it is unfortunate that the University places little value on our culture, our language, our rights, and our education.

I want to be at the University of Toronto and I plan to stay here for the remainder of my undergraduate degree, and possibly to pursue graduate work. I have the same right to be here as any other student and the way I have been treated by people in this institution is disgusting. I haven?t been in a more audist environment in a very long time - if ever.

I want to work with the University to see change. I am not interested in escalating any of this, but with the blatant disrespect and lack of commitment I have seen to this point I am starting to feel that may be my only option.

I am willing to educate, advocate, provide feedback, ideas, and support establishing change anyway I can. I genuinely want to see the University work with me on this and I do not want to feel like I am constantly fighting for recognition of the unique issues I face as a Deaf student.
_________has been an amazing support for me this past year. She is one of the few people in the University who has shown genuine concern for the inequities that myself and other Deaf students are facing. I am so appreciative that I have this support and that _____ is willing to learn from me and work with me to make sure the University is accessible to me as possible.

Even with ____ doing all she can, it is not enough. There are policies and procedures that Accessibility Services are to follow that are simply not up-to-date. There are fundamental issues that go beyond Accessibility Services and beyond _____'s control. For those, I need your help. If this is not something you are interested in helping me with please let me know and direct me to someone who you feel would be better suited to helping me address these issues.

Sincerely,

Jenny

So, I want feedback! What do you think???

Jenny

Social Effects of Hearing Loss

Hey everyone,

Today I want to talk about the social effects of hearing loss. This is a topic I have seen pop up on message boards a lot recently and it also comes up a lot from medical professionals when they are trying to convince me about the cochlear implant thing.

When I think of my social experience in context of being Deaf, there are 3 common scenes that come to mind.

Scene number 1:

I walk into the large lecture hall about 15 minutes before the start of my class. It is relatively empty which gives me the chance to get the best seat possible to allow me to access as much of the visual information as I can. As the class fills up, the seats around me remain empty. Soon I glance around to notice the room is almost filled to capacity, yet I still have a bubble of space around me. No one ever approaches me, looks at me, or tries to communicate with me in anyway. As far as they are concerned I am contagious. They isolate me.

Scene number 2:

I walk into the large lecture hall about 15 minutes before the start of my class. It is relatively empty which gives me the chance to get the best seat possible to allow me to access as much of the visual information as I can. As the class fills up, someone sits in the seat next to me. She pulls out a blank piece of paper and writes “Hi, how are you today? Are you worried about the quiz next week?”. From there we start a written conversation about our class, our quiz, our professor, and before we know it the lecture is starting and our conversation must end. During the brief breaks we take the opportunity to chat some more, just like the rest of the students.

Scene number 3:

I walk into the large lecture hall about 15 minutes before the start of my class. It is relatively empty which gives me the chance to get the best seat possible to allow me to access as much of the visual information as I can. As the class fills up, someone sits in the seat next to me. We strike up a conversation, recapping the weekend that had just concluded. Our hands are moving extra fast as we try to use every valuable second of social time we have. As the class starts we find ourselves still drawn into our conversation. Slowly we relinquish the hope of continuing for an hour and pay attention to the class. Every time there is as much as a brief pause, we catch the opportunity to chat.

For me, these three scenarios come up often. My preference is number 3. The third scene is played out when I am around people who use my language to communicate. For me the social effects of hearing loss are the same as the social effects of being dropped into a new country where you can’t speak the language. When I am surrounded by people who don’t know ASL, I do my best to communicate and often they do the same, but I am - and always will be - most comfortable around Deaf people and using ASL. To me, saying that I am “suffering the social effects of hearing loss” is the same as saying that someone is “suffering the social effects of being French”.

Jenny

Cochlear Implants

Hi everyone,

Cochlear implants - it’s a topic I have avoided like the plague. I will touch on it briefly and then run screaming in the opposite direction. The only person who has been subject to multiple serious conversations about CI’s with me is my audiologist and I am pretty sure that at this point, she groans at the very mention of the device when I am involved.

My audiologist and I have been through it all. Every pro and every con. We have had lengthy in person discussions on a near bi-monthly basis and the occasional email that could be published as a short novel. It has almost been one year since the discussion started and I honestly cannot say I am any closer to making a decision.

Right now I have my audiogram in front of me. It looks something like this…

Freq. R L
250Hz 105 100
500Hz 110 105
750Hz 115 105
1000Hz 120 115
1500Hz NR NR
2000Hz NR NR
4000Hz NR NR
6000Hz NR NR
8000Hz NR NR

SRT: DNT
Speech Discrimination: CNT

Basically I am Deaf, both audiologically and culturally.

With that audiogram you would think it would be an easy choice for me. I love music, I have a Hearing family, I’m young, and I have a ton of potential. At the same time, I understand music through vibrations and enjoy listening to it with my hearing aids, I don’t spend a lot of time with my family and they live several hours away, I’m young, and I have a ton of potential.

Recently, in an email to my audiologist, I laid everything out on the table. I said exactly how I felt about everything in that exact moment. I would like to quote some of that now…

“I realized how much I have changed as a person in the last year. I am not sure I can pin point how I have changed exactly but my personality, my views, and my opinions have all evolved a considerable amount. I know part of it has to do with me living on my own in a new city, part of it has to do with growing up and maturing, and part of it definitely has to do with my hearing loss. I feel like the idea of getting a CI is more connected to who I used to be than who I am now. I do not feel like I fit best with Hearing culture anymore, I definitely feel like I fit better with Deaf culture.”

“I believe strongly that things happen for a reason. I have been through a lot in my life and I have had many profound experiences that have influenced me in ways I don't even know yet. I have already seen how my hearing loss has affected others in positive ways and ways in which I have been able to use it in positive ways. When I go to work and I see my kids that have a hearing loss and the way they react to be because I am the same as them…it's really interesting. I can't explain how it is impacting this decision for me but it is.”

“I'm not torn between hearing more and hearing what I can now. Honestly, I am quite comfortable with what I can hear now. I am torn because it is choosing between cultures and languages. It goes beyond all of the audiological stuff and becomes an argument of which world I feel best suits me. In the end though, if I were to get a CI, I wouldn't really fit in either world. I wouldn't be Hearing and I wouldn't be Deaf. I remember being in that spot before. I can remember the concentration it took for me to be in school and how much I missed. I don't want that again.”

Even with all of that I found myself pulling out my Cochlear and my Advanced Bionics information packages and flipping through them for the millionth time in the last year. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to hear a little bit more but at the same time I am terrified to find out.

Every time I meet a new audiologist and the discussion about cochlear implants comes up I get apprehensive and set up a barrier. Often the audiologist is completely disrespectful of my Deaf culture and ASL which is also a massive turn off for me. Right now, I have an amazing audiologist who respects every choice I have made so far. I am confident that if she truly believed I was making the wrong choice, she would fight me on it but up to now she has been 100% supportive.

In the fall we met with a cochlear implant audiologist together. I would never have done it if my audiologist wasn’t there with me. I left that meeting completely turned off the idea and was adamantly against it for a month or two before returning to it once again. This is the trend for me. I get curious and look into it again and then run in the opposite direction. I don’t know if I am running out of fear or of genuine disinterest and until I can figure that out, I can’t make a decision.

That’s all for tonight!

Jenny

Hearing For A Day

Hi everyone,

I have been a little absent from blogging for a few weeks. Classes just started up again and I have been preoccupied with fighting for equal access for d/Deaf students at my university.
Today I want to talk about what I would do if I were to be hearing for a day. If I had 24 hours with perfect hearing, what would I do with it?

Someone asked me that question recently and I was not sure how to respond. The concept of having perfect hearing is foreign to me. I have no idea what perfect hearing is - what it sounds like. People have tried to describe it for me. I have been told what I hear, with hearing aids, is muffled. Perfect hearing sounds crisp, fresh, and rich. Without being able to contrast the two myself I cannot comment on what I hear in comparison to what a hearing person would.

I think people would expect to answer the question with some romantic, dream like response. I would want to hear the voices of the people that I love, I would want to hear the music that I love to feel, I would want to hear the sound of the ocean and birds flying through the sky. I don’t think I would. I think if I could be hearing for one day I would want to hear my voice and I would want to hear someone say words that I struggle to pronounce.

I don’t care about the birds, the ocean, and my friends and family’s voices. I have never heard them the “right” way before so why would I want to hear them now. I have no idea what I have apparently been missing and I am not really interested in finding out. What little sounds I do hear with my hearing aids scare me enough.

Sometimes I do want to hear. I do want to hear words and the way they are pronounced but when I do suddenly hear a new sound or experience more sound that normal I get scared. I feel nervous and I don’t understand this strange new expansion of my auditory world. It is culture shock for me when I hear that new sound. Some people adjust to those situations better than others, and I do not adjust at all. I recoil and take my hearing aids off - preferring my silent world over the strange, bizarre sounds that make my eyes twitch and my head ache.

So if I could be hearing for day, if I could survive the day without plugging my ears, I would want to hear my own voice and try to learn how to pronounce a few words. Beyond that I have little interest in my auditory environment, that vast scary world that encompasses most of the people I spend my days with.

That is enough for tonight!

Jenny

Short Story

Hi All,

I was looking through old files and I found this story I had written about my first day of high
school. I wanted to share!


As I walked up to the cold metal doors for the first time I was immediately appalled by the awkward green paint that had been slapped on them. The doors were a hard shapeless mass of heavy steel. They seemed to be an impenetrable barrier between myself and my secondary school education - and I was fine with that. I took a slow, deep breathe and apprehensively opened the vast metal expanse to peer inside. What lay beyond those doors was a sea of youth. A melting pot of emotions and sexual tension. It was at that moment that I knew that the next four years of my life were going to be hell.

I slowly made my way through the cinder block maze to room 108. The door was open and as I looked inside it seemed like a serene haven compared to the unorganized chaos of the hallways. I stepped inside with a sense of urgency. I examined the room; every corner, every wall, every window, every door and every person. It was a strange shade of steel blue and the walls were adorned with posters filled with witty, dull comments about education. I sat down in the desk in the back left hand corner of the room. I pulled my purple notebook out, turned to a fresh page, and began to write. The only other people in the room were all sitting together. They sat in a little clump in the front two rows in the right hand corner. They seemed as though they had known one another for a while.

I watched the group and tried to make some observations. There were five of them in total. Four girls and one boy. That is what they looked like too, girls and boys. Not young adults. All of them looked as though they had been dressed by their parents. All of the girls were wearing conservatively long skirts. Their shirts were basic plain coloured tee's and all but one of the girls had a knit sweater over top. They all had long hair, in varying shades of sandy brown, that reached well past their shoulders. The one boy was wearing painfully short jeans and a sweater that was clearly knit by his great grandmother. He had bright red socks that protruded from his unfortunately large shoes. His hair was a mousy brown bowl that balanced precariously on his head. I started to watch their lips so I could see what they were saying. One of the girls was talking about her church. Or maybe their church. She glanced up and noticed me staring so I quickly looked away.

Soon other students started to flood into the room in little packs. I watched them all as I furiously scribbled notes about each and every one of them into my purple notebook. 'Girl who looks like a mouse: seems to be timid and afraid to breathe...maybe she will suffocate, Boy who looks like the stock surfer character in a bad shark attack film: Judging from what he is saying about his tractor he is just trying to look like a surfer...I doubt he has ever seen an ocean, Church girl: keeps eyeing me in funny ways, make sure to avoid her' Those were my first impressions of my new classmates. Girl who looks like mouse, stock surfer boy, and church girl.

The chatter was overwhelming. Everyone seemed to know one another. They were all talking their summers and their plans for the new year. Timetables were being compared, teachers were being discussed and I could see the cliques forming at that very moment. I tried to take in the whole room at once. I tried to see the class as one. It couldn't be done we were all too different. As I was surveying my new classmates someone appeared beside me. I could feel her gaze piercing through me. I glanced up to see Leah smiling nervously. Her bright red hair was shorter than the last time I had seen her. It fell just below her chin, framing her freckle-filled face perfectly. She had gotten new glasses which she seemed to hide her bright green eyes behind. She had grown quite a bit and her tall slender frame towered above me. Her outfit was well planned. She had on jeans and a deep turquoise knit top that fit her perfectly. They hugged what few curves she had, accentuating her female attributes. Leah was no longer a lanky, awkward kid. Leah was beautiful.

A moment after I realised who she was she sat down in the desk next to me and started regaling me with details of the past two years. We were deeply engaged in conversation when we noticed that the room had fallen silent. We looked around to notice everyone watching us. They were fascinated and seemed to be studying every movement we made. Neither of us knew anyone else in the class and no one else knew us. Some of the kids started whispering to each other and quickly conversations broke out across the room. Leah and I started up our conversation once again. We were in the midst of comparing timetables when the teacher walked into the room. He walked straight to the white board and scrawled "Mr. Addison - Grade 9 Geography" across it in the most horrific cursive writing I had ever been forced to read.

Mr. Addison was a tall, slender, nerdy looking man. He had an awkward, distinct gate and he seemed to trip over his feet with every step he took. He was wearing a plaid dress shirt and khaki coloured dress pants. His shoes were polished and produced a blinding glare when the light hit them just right. He plunked his bag down on his desk and started sorting through a folder of papers.

I looked back over at Leah who was now searching through her mauve backpack. She pulled out a black case and walked toward the front of the room. She approached Mr. Addison and handed him the small black transmitter. I could not see what they were saying but I know she was explaining the FM system to him. A short while later she returned to her desk. She asked me if I was going to give him my transmitter. Then she glanced up at my ears to see that they were empty. Her face held a look of concern. "Are they broken?" she asked me. They weren't broken. I didn't have any.

Mr. Addison flicked the lights a few time to signal that class was about to begin. I turned my attention to the front of the room and quickly found myself lost. The expressionless drone about our high school careers was not particularly engaging and I soon found myself drifting into a dream land. Before I knew it the bell rang. It was loud! The desks shook with it and all of the students jumped. Everyone except for Leah and I. I waited for Leah while she collected the FM transmitter from Mr. Addison and then we ventured out into the sea of youth that was pouring through the halls. We jumped into the current and let it carry us to room 106.

We entered room 106 to find an average looking, young man. He had sandy blond hair and an awkwardly large nose. His arms seemed to dangle and move about in a spaghetti like fashion and he over enunciated every word. Leah and I took the two front and centre desks and started to chat again. We were in the midst of a heated debate about the students who were in our Kindergarten class when the average looking man interrupted us. He said "You must be Jenny and Leah, I am Mr. Wilson!". Leah and I identified which one of us were which and soon found ourselves engaged in conversation with Mr. Wilson. He had so many questions for us! He was quite young and it was only his second year of teaching. Not only had he never taught a hard of hearing student before, but he was also new to teaching in general. He wanted to know where to stand when he taught, if the desks were set up well for us, and how the lighting effected our ability to speech read. He was curious about the FM system and most of all why I didn't use one. I was dreading that question. I hated having to explain to people why I chose not to use hearing aids or any other sort of amplification. It is hard to explain to someone that I was sick of the doctors and all of the tests. I was happy with my quiet world. I could get enough sound to have speech reading support, to use a phone - provided it was loud, and to function in school. I did not need any other sound. I was comfortable with what I had. People did not understand that. They could not understand that. Mr. Wilson seemed confused by my explanation but dropped the subject. I am sure he could tell by my body language that it was not something I was interested in discussing.

I had been so involved in our conversation that I had neglected to notice the small groups of students filtering into the room. As I surveyed the room I noticed a few other students that I knew. I had gone to elementary school with them. I excused myself from the conversation and left Leah and Mr. Wilson to talk. I walked over to Lauren and sat down on her desk. Lauren and I had known each other since third grade. We had kept in contact throughout middle school at dance and the barn. Just as I started to ask her what her other classes were the bell shook the school again. This was the signal for class to start. I scurried back to my seat and prepared to be bored to death with more meaningless chatter about highschool and how it will be different from middle school.

I was wrong. Mr. Wilson did not lecture us on highschool. He wrote a formula on the board and started teaching math right away. I did not even attempt to pay attention. Once there were letters and numbers being used consecutively I was lost. There was no point in me even trying to follow along. I let my mind wander and thought of the days spent at my middle school. I missed the friends that I made there. I missed dancing every day and being surrounded by artistic, crazy, fun people. I missed everything about it. I could have continued on in the program for high school but for some reason I felt a real pull to be at Ernestown Secondary School. I was not sure what had brought me there or why the pull was so strong. Maybe I would never know. As I contemplated the reasons I glanced up at the clock to see it was 11:51am. A moment later the bell shook the school once again.

All of my classmates leaped up and ran into the hall. For many of them this was their first day of having a cafeteria at school and they were excited to buy their lunches for the first time. Mr. Wilson intercepted Leah and I on our way out the door to question us on his lesson. He wanted to make sure he had done everything correctly. Leah handled his questions with an amazing sense of ease and provided criticism in the most tactful manner. She really had developed into a young woman since our last meeting. I hadn't though. I was still the awkward, flat chested, lanky, linear kid I had always been. My conservative black metal glasses still held coke-bottle lenses that distorted my eyes, the large gap between my front teeth still made it look like I was missing a tooth, and my long hair still hung lifelessly on either side of my face. I looked like an overgrown 8 year old. I acted like one too.

Leah and I made our way to the cafeteria without saying a word. We clutched our lunch bags and apprehensively made our way through the halls. We sat down in a corner of the cafeteria and didn't even try to find a table. The floor was fine and we could hide there. I opened my lunch bag and pulled out my salad. Leah had a sandwich of sorts and we began to eat. We chatted a little bit as we ate but we were both too nervous to have too much of a conversation. We didn't want to call attention to ourselves. We ate quickly and set out to find our next class after only 15 minutes in the cafeteria. It was easier to talk when we weren't so exposed to the whole school. At least we could hide in a classroom.

Our next class was English with Mrs. Wyatt. It was on the second floor, a place where we had not yet ventured. We found a stairwell outside the cafeteria and as we started to head up it we were met with a stampede of children. They were running past us and around us. We stood there stunned and waited for it to pass. What seemed like several minutes later the rush subsided and became a slow trickle of stragglers. It was only later that we found out half of the second floor housed a middle school. The stampede that nearly killed us was a group of 7th graders heading out for recess.

Once at the top of the stairs we made our way down the short hallway to room 207. Just inside the door was a large desk with a petite woman sitting cross legged on top of it. She was going through a pile of papers and jumped when she saw us entre the room. She held our her hand and introduced herself as Mrs. Wyatt. I was a little shocked that this was our teacher. She had a curly blonde mop of hair that somewhat resembled a poorly groomed poodle, her glasses looked like they were designed in the 80's and her outfit was appallingly bright. I could not tell if she was wearing a long shirt or a dress with pants underneath but either way it looked like a rainbow had thrown up on her.

Leah and I introduced ourselves in a very timid manner. We were not sure if this woman would bite. "Leah and Jenny! You're the new deaf girls!" she exclaimed. She quickly switched from Spoken English to Signed English and continued her welcome. Her signing was rough and quite hard to follow but she was making and effort. Leah stopped her after a few minutes to inform her that we were hard of hearing, not deaf, and we could both read lips. Mrs. Wyatt switched back to Spoken English seamlessly and continued her ramble. Just as she was telling us about a monkey that she once used American Sign Language with another student showed up. Mrs. Wyatt was quickly distracted and Leah and I darted for the nearest desks.

Mrs. Wyatt only remained occupied for a few short minutes. Just as Leah and I were settling into our desks she came bouncing over to us. Before we knew it she was rambling on about her time spent in Lima, Peru. On occasion I would glace over a Leah and see her watching intently. She was absorbed in Mrs. Wyatts every word. She nodded in all of the right places and said only the right things. I, on the other hand, was a timid and fearful creature. I was very unsure of this whole situation. Why had I gone back to this group, back to Odessa? I was content in Kingston with all of the city kids. They were more like me. We were all different but in the same way. Here I was just different - and afraid of all of the other different people. Especially Mrs. Wyatt.


The day was flying past and I seemed to be missing most of it. I been stuck in a dreamland ever since Leah had shown up. Her charisma and intelligence had scared me away and I had retreated inwards. As I was deciding to engage in the conversation taking place before me the bell shook the school. A herd of students began to flow into the classroom and occupy the desks around me. Mrs. Wyatt redirected her attention to all off the new bodies in the room and left Leah and I alone. I noticed church girl come in. It was the first time I had seen her since Mr. Addison's class. She looked at me and I quickly changed my gaze to the student behind her. It was the boy with the red socks. They took the desks next to Leah and I. The bell shook the school once more to signal the start of class.

Mrs. Wyatt leaped to the front of the room and began what has come to be the most animated English lesson I have ever witnessed. She read us poetry for the entire class. She never introduced herself, she never spoke of class expectations, she never did any of the things one would expect during the first class. She just read. Her reading was amazing. She used her whole body to convey even the most simplistic of words. She danced and twirled around the room. Her movements and words enthralled the class. For some, I am sure it was the first time they had ever truly listened to poetry. There was something very special about this teacher - as scary as she may be. With all of her movement it was hard for Leah and I to follow her words, yet because of her movement we understood every word. It was a strange experience, one that is hard to describe. I knew right then that this woman would be someone who would understand me. She would get who I was. As we sat there mesmerised by her darting about the school shook with the ringing of the bell once again. We all waited for her to finish the poem she was reading before quickly escaping the room. Although it was one of the most interesting lessons I had ever experienced, it was a bit of a sensory overload and I needed a break.

Leah and I found ourselves fighting against the current to get to our next class. We pushed our way down the hall, down the stairs, and through a remarkably crowded cafeteria to room 119. In room 119 we found a multi-levelled floor covered in a hideous grey stained carpet. The chairs were set up in four rows and curved around the room. Amongst the chairs darted a tall slender man. His hair was purple and blue with spots of grey. His was wearing acid wash jeans and a bright blue concert shirt that said "Blue Skies" across the back. He had on rainbow coloured glasses that were far to large for his face. He seemed oblivious to our presence until he almost ran us over. He stopped the instant that he noticed us and took off his glasses. He inserted the arm of the glasses into his mouth and began to speak. Leah quickly stopped him to inform him that we were hard of hearing and needed to be able to see his lips as he spoke. He hooked the glasses onto the collar of his shirt and began speaking once again. "I'm Mr. Rush! Welcome to grade 9 music!" he said with a goofy smile "Sit anywhere for now and we will divide into sections once we do instrument selection!". Then he ran off.

Leah and I took the seats near the piano and watched the other kids filter in. Once again church girl, red sock boy and the rest of their friends entered the room. This was my third class with them now. I did not know why they fascinated me, but for some reason I was intrigued by them. My gaze was interrupted by the bell shaking the school. Mr. Rush continued to dart around for a few minutes before starting the class. We began music theory right off the bat. I almost fell asleep. It was hideously boring. F-A-C-E, A-C-E-G, E-G-B-D-F, G-B-D-F-A, sharps, flats, the repetition was mind numbing. Leah was feeling the same way and we found ourselves signing behind the stands. We discussed our fellow students throughout the entire class. Eventually the bell shook the school for the final time that day. Everyone jumped up and ran to their lockers. They was a fury of activity throughout the halls as students collected their belongings and ran for the buses. I didn't have a bus to catch since my mother had the day off. I observed the activity much like I had that morning. I watched from a different perspective this time though. I was no longer on the outside looking in. I was on the inside now. I still thought that my time spent there would be hell. One thing that I knew at that time, that I had not known that morning, was that the time I spent there would prove to be life changing. I still did not know how it would change me, but I knew that I would never leave that place the same person I was when I entered. Now it was time to sit back, ride through my adolescence and watch how I would develop and how this mysterious place would change me.