Silence; that’s what I’ve heard most of my life. Nothing. All my life, I’ve been surrounded by machinery. All my life, I’ve had to sit at the front of the classroom. All my life, I’ve been teased and bullied. I often ask myself “Why me? What did I do to deserve this?” My name is Audra Paletta and I have a hearing disability. It’s my one everyday struggle I hate challenging.

It all started when I was three. Or, actually, no one knows. The doctors can’t pinpoint exactly when I started to lose my hearing. It was, well, weird. Progressive hearing loss is very rare in children and we don’t know how far back the hearing loss genetics go, and we also wonder how it is that, all of the sudden, it shows up on a random generation.

I guess I can give you some history, since it’s probably more explanatory. After my parents discovered that I was diagnosed with bilateral hearing loss, I started speech and hearing therapy. But, however, before my hearing loss was discovered, I had taught myself to read lips. I hear it’s a pretty useful skill, considering a lot of people can’t read lips because they’re “adjusted to using their ears”. So, with every school I went to, I had a hearing specialist. From preschool to elementary school, I would meet with my specialist at least once a week and work on hearing games. From middle school up to now, I meet with my specialist every once in a while to discuss how I’m doing in class and my IEP progress.

I fully lost my hearing when I was around eight. The doctors told my parents about a more technologically advanced hearing aid called a cochlear implant. But they told them I’d have to have surgery for it. So, the day I was to anticipate was June of 2006. So, that day, I was wheeled into the operation room on a stretcher and knocked out with anesthesia. When I awoke, I found myself in a hospital bed with a huge bandage wrapped around my head and covering my right ear. Three days later, I had the bandage taken off and the cochlear on. According to my mom, the first thing that I said after I could hear again was “I hear bells!” So, up until now, I’ve worn a cochlear implant. I spent the next few days happier than possible.  That August, I started 4th grade with my new hearing aid. I had gone from barely able to hear to being able to hear almost as well as an average human being.

Then in March 2012, I heard of a new hearing aid called the Neptune. My friends and I knew how big of a deal this was for me. Not only would I be able to hide my processor in my pocket or clip it in my hair, but I could wear it underwater if I switched wires. So, after a long conversation with my dad and 6 months of painful waiting through waivers, fees, contracts, way too many phone calls, insurance approval and insurance checks, I finally got my new processor. I learned how to use it and how to take care of it. Changing the wires, how to play music. I also learned how to take care of the batteries every night. Every night, I take the batteries out and put them into my “specialized” charger for it and plug it in overnight.  I was happy about my new device until a punk kid wilted my happiness.

I was just sitting in English class, and this kid is sitting behind me. I hear the usual “What’s that thing on your ear?” and having heard this many times, I respond with “A hearing aid. I’m hearing impaired.” Then he shoots back with the question “You’re deaf?” and I respond with “I can hear. Just not as well. I read lips, though.” That last statement was a big mistake. He started to mouth his words without actually saying them. I responded with “In case you didn’t hear me, I said I can read lips. I know you’re saying ‘Do you know what I’m saying.’” So he placed his folder on his lips and mouthed again, but additionally whispered very hoarsely, so it was impossible for one to hear “Can you hear me?” I didn’t reply. I froze. I wanted to curse him off so he could realize what he was doing. But I was in a classroom. So instead, I casually stood, walked to the teacher, pointed him out, and burst into tears. I was scared that after 15 years of constant torture and wanting things to change in high school, the bullying would start all over again. I had been through enough pain and sorrow over my disadvantage that I wanted to suppress all the bad memories I had.  After that unfortunate incident, however, nothing bad like that has happened.  

I’ll admit it; in my situation, I have it luckier than a lot of people. I can talk with intelligent vocabulary and clear speech and read lips, I’m very well-educated and I have no problem with using self-advocacy. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have my own confrontations. Often, people act…..well…..stupid around hearing impaired people. They enunciate, but they do it too much. Do you know how stupid I feel? People who do that tend to spit on me. Yeah, that’s repulsing. Not to mention getting picked on by people who are just idiots. Oh, and the deaf jokes? Real subtle! Ha-ha, very funny for you; not for me. It seriously hurts my feelings . And don’t get me started on hearing impairment myths! Like, hearing loss not being a big deal, hearing instruments being obvious and unattractive or the fact that if you’re hearing impaired, you’re dumb and insecure.

There are certain things you should and shouldn’t do around deaf people. Project, enunciate and be patient. It’s not fair for us if you can’t attempt to speak up, speak clearly and get frustrated whenever we can’t understand. It’s just as difficult for me as it is for you. Don’t go around making fun of us to other people. It’s cruel and heartless. Think before you speak. Something you say could hurt someone else. And don’t think you’ll get away with it, because you’d be surprised how aware we are of our surroundings. But this doesn’t apply to just deaf people….it applies to everyone with disabilities, illnesses and diseases.  Just because we’re different doesn’t mean we’re useless. So whenever you’re about to make fun of someone because they’re different, because they may struggle in a certain subject or topic or because they just might be plain abnormal, think hard about this question: “How would I feel if that were me?”