Reflection 43: Balloons

Balloons are for lively, happy times!

 

As I patronaged a big-chain grocery store the other day, I noticed in the flower and plant section, clusters of balloons all pumped full of air and bobbing around because of the warm air coming from a nearby ceiling duct. They were all so colourful, swaying this way and that in the air. Some spelled out Happy Birthday. Others showed Happy Faces. Each was interesting because of their movements. They were all shapes and sized and seemed full of life. Balloons are for happy times!

 

Unlike the balloons, some things move so slowly that it does not dawn on you that they are moving at all. Such usually happens in grade school during the latter days of June. I sense this is happening to me with hearing loss. It is a long-term battle. Still, losing one's hearing is like maple tree sap moves in February can be seen as a positive. Moving so slowly gives me the time needed to correctly understand that I was losing one of my senses and prepares me psychologically for the inevitable.

 

My loss has been happening for many years. I just haven't cared to admit it; not to myself or anyone else for that matter. I believe I first remember it while working at the University of Manitoba. I don't know when, but it was between 2004 and 2007. It is funny that I recall the exact location when it first dawned on me that my hearing has decreased. I remember it. Entering the trades door of the Physical Plant, I could not hear the springtime morning birds singing. Strange, I thought, why are there no birds about out and about?

 

That was my 'aha moment.' No singing birds. Of course, there were. Probably many of them, for it, was the mating season. But I just could not hear them.

 

Most recently in December, a friend of mine invited me to a Christmas concert in her apartment complex. They have a standard room where such events take place periodically. It is somewhat spartan, but it serves multi-purposes to the 55+ senior residents. This multi-purpose room has a stage up front. Festoons of balloons decorate the walls. They must have been strung quite a while ago, for some have lost their shape These were in a sorry state being half deflated. They were wrinkled and listless. They just hung there, hardly moving. All seven were not full of air, full of life.

 

There was a Christmas tree in the right-hand corner of the stage. An angel sits on the top. It appeared to be blue spruce. They usually are pine trees. My friend and I sat about six rows back from the stage, in approximately the centre.

 

On stage, there were two musicians, a man with a guitar and a drummer. Both seniors were about the same age as their audience. The lead was the guitarist. He would introduce the song. They would both play, and one or the other would have something to say afterwards. Sometimes there were hijinks.

 

I could not make out anything that they were saying! It was just muffled sound in high and low tones, and cadence. I could tell the different sounds of the guitar and the drums. But that is about all.

 

This realization is similar to not hearing the birds singing; it was a defining moment. I have known for years that I am slowly losing my hearing. I ignored it. Thinking back, I believe that my operation last June quickened that realization. But it was not until attending that Christmas concert that it sank in!

 

Between the "birds and concert" incidents, issues of hearing have dogged me. I am disappointed because I now understand that my body is changing. Driving home from the concert, I realized that this was my new normal, for now.

 

What will be, will be. That is not to say one must be complacent about the whole affair. Being proactive is the only way to go. Moping about it goes nowhere. Thinking about deafness helps in my understanding. The first step is realizing that it is happening. Verbalize this information. By talking about it helps. Other things come to mind as well.

 

Lip-reading is not a panacea. But it certainly helps. With practice, I am getting better at it. I make it a habit of telling people what I am doing and why I am doing it. That makes them more comfortable. Nobody likes someone staring at them during an entire conversation. I also carry a small notepad and pen. Many times, I write down what I am trying to communicate. This strategy works sometimes. You just don't think that not everyone in our society can read and write in English.

 

Sometimes I practice being completely deaf. I will enter a store and indicate through body language to the individual that I am deaf. I then proceed to purchase something. Communication is by gestures or a scribbled note. Once the transaction is complete, I tell the person what I am up too.

 

I am living with the thought losing what hearing that I still have and being proactive about not having this sense. That is my game plan.

 

***

 

I think that we have all seen television commercials where a customer walks into a store and balloons fall out of the ceiling because they just happen to be the one-millionth customer! All of the colourful balloons look healthy; all are full of air. They are in free-fall and seem to have a life of their own. It is an old commercial and reappears from time to time.

 

Such happened to me in early March. No, I was not in a commercial. No, I was not in a store. No, no balloons were raining down full of air and life. But I love the image, and there most certainly could have been. In fact, I was with my oncologist discussing the latest CT-SCAN. He concludes, "Congratulations, you are cancer free Sun Wukong!" He was beaming. I asked him to repeat what he just said. I needed to make sure I caught it accurately.

 

He did.

 

Yahoo! That is such good news. The pressure that has been present since June -- nine months ago, quickly dissipated. A sense of well-being immediate followed. Even before I left his office, euphoria engulfed my mind. He could not have given me better news.

 

I cannot recall our conversation following his announcement. It is a blur. I think he mentioned something about follow-up appointments. Soon after I left his office, I wanted to share this good news. I sent a cell phone text to my cancer buddy and others. It has been days now. I still get the feeling of wellness when I think about it.

What wonderful news!

 

Now, to get on with the new me!