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DEAF Again Fifth Edition Mark Droisbaugh Deaf Again Copyright © 2019 by Mark Drolsbaugh Previous editions copyrighted in 1997, 2000, 2005, and 2008 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher. In the interest of privacy, some names in this book have been changed. Published by: Handwave Publications 1121 Bethlehem Pike # 60-134 Springhouse, PA 19477 Website: www.handwavepublications.com Cover design and layout courtesy of Yvonne Vermillion, Magic Graphix ISBN: 978-1-7326094-0-2 Library of Congress Control Number: 2018908713 Dedication In loving memory of Linda Baine, Martin J. Bronenberg, Rose Bronenberg, Donald Drolsbaugh, and Dr. Francine White. Acknowledgments S. To my parents and grandparents, for all the love and support. To my wife Melanie, for putting up with everything that went on in this book. To Darren, Brandon, and Lacey, love and laughter personified. To our family andf riends in Canada. To Teresa Coates, Marvin Miller Damara Goff Paris, Lisa Bain, f Sam Scott, Michael P Ralph, Patty Saar McFadden, Lisa Santomen Hellberg, Stephanie Smith Albert, Dolly Schulman, and Trudy Suggs. All ofy ou, in your own unique way, helped make this book happen. To Yvonne Vermillion at Magic Graphixf or her creative and technical expertise in layout, cover and website design. To Chuck Vermillion at HelpPublish.com for his keen insight and editorial assistance. To the Gallaudet University Department of Counseling, Graduate School and Professional Programs: The best educational journey in the world. To the original Founders of Deaf Wales: Jaime Eustace-Tecklin, Colby Tecklin, Sarah McDevitt, Neil McDevitt, Katie Sikorski, and Joe Sikorski. To Patty and Chaz McFadden for often making the long (but worth it) trek to Deaf Wales. To Jeff Jones, Vijay Advani, Derek Gambrell and Jason McKinnie: As always, We're The Family. Introduction S. The hardestf ight a man has to fight is to live in a world where every single day someone is trying to make you someone you do not want to be - E.E. Cummings 0 ne of the hardest fights a Deaf man has to fight is to live in a world where every single day someone is trying to make him hear. When your audiogram is free- falling towards the depths of severe-to-profound hearing loss, it can turn your world upside down. There are people who express disdain for the term "hearing loss" because it has a negative connotation. They prefer to emphasize a very real phenomenon known as "Deaf gain." To a degree, so do I. But when you are born hearing and later go Deaf you actually do lose something. You get lost for a while and you have to reinvent yourself. In this case, it can take a while tof ind your Deaf identity. Some people never find it at all. As a hearing youngster who eventually transformed into a Deaf adult, I struggled all the way through my high school years. I did everything I could to hang on to my hearing persona. What makes this odd is the fact that the whole time this charade went on, the Deaf community was always there for me, right under my nose. My parents are Deaf. I could have easily joined their rich world of Deaf family, Deaf friends, Deaf clubs, and Deaf events. vii But as quickly as I was born into the fascinating world of Deaf culture, I was taken away from it. When my hearing loss was initially diagnosed, medical professionals took an entirely pathological approach. They emphasized hearing aids and speech therapy. They frowned upon the use of sign language. They preached a skewed version of the old it's a hearing world philosophy and somehow convinced not only my hearing relatives, but also my Deaf parents that sign language should not be used in my presence. It was a vain attempt to hold on to the limited amount of residual hearing I had left. This experience left me with the impression that I had a horrendous condition that needed to be fixed. Consequently, I felt obligated to spend several years of my life trying to pass myself off as a hearing person. I spent those years living my life as someone I thought I should be, instead of who I really was. Inevitably, I would wake up. A series of fateful events turned my life around to the point where I realized that it was okay to be Deaf. It took twenty-three years to come to this realization, twenty-three years of struggling with my identity. Instead of trying to deny or fix who I was, I found that I could be Deaf again, and I grew tremendously from this experience. As opposed to overcoming hearing loss, this book expresses the joys of welcoming a Deaf identity. In its own wonderful way, being Deaf is a spiritual blessing. It can be a struggle at times, I don't deny that. But it's also a struggle that allows one to search for meaning in life from a unique perspective. An old Zen saying applies here: Empty your cup so that it may be filled. Losing my hearing emptied my cup. The void in one area of my life allowed me to have enriching experiences in others. Deaf Again is thus a deeply introspective account of the challenges faced in the search for a healthy Deaf identity. viii As you will see in the upcoming chapters, there's no one-size-fits-all Path to a Healthy Deaf Identity. There's so much diversity amongst Deaf people that you simply can't go with a cookie-cutter approach. There are Deaf people who consider themselves culturally Deaf, embracing American Sign Language as their own language (or, from an international standpoint, whichever sign language they use in their home country). There are Deaf people who prefer speech over sign language, some of whom rarely interact with other Deaf people ( either because they don't feel the need to, or because they were told not to). There are those who are somewhat in between, using whatever combination of speech and sign language they are comfortable with. Some may have hearing aids or cochlear implants, while others go entirely without the use of assistive technology. There are Deaf people who go to residential schools or day schools for the Deaf. There are Deaf people who go to mainstream schools with specialized programs for Deaf students. There are Deaf people who go to mainstream schools that don't have other Deaf students or Deaf-friendly programming. There are Deaf people who are prelingually Deaf, hard of hearing, or late-deafened. Their family backgrounds offer yet another dimension. There are Deaf people with hearing parents, and Deaf people with Deaf parents (and Deaf/hearing siblings as well). Ask all these people what it means to be Deaf, and each one may give you a different answer. You may even find Deaf people arguing amongst each other as they search for the best way to define themselves. Incidentally, there's an ongoing argument that you should always capitalize the "D" in "Deaf" There's another argument that you should only capitalize the "D" if you're referring specifically to the culturally Deaf There are people from all walks of life making a good case for both arguments. This is an editor's nightmare. ix I've decided to go with "Deaf" in an all-encompassing way that includes everyone. To me, it doesn't matter if you're culturally Deaf or not. It doesn't matter if you use sign language or not. It doesn't matter if you use hearing aids and cochlear implants or not. We're all wonderful people on a wonderful journey no matter if our paths and destinations are different. So "Deaf" is who we are, no matter how we go about it. And an audiogram alone doesn't define who we are, so I'm giving all of us a capitalized "Deaf." What makes Deaf Again unique is its frame of reference. Over the span of two decades, I went through a slow metamorphosis from hearing toddler to culturally Deaf adult. This includes, as you will see in upcoming chapters, a hard of hearing netherworld where I was not quite hearing and not quite Deaf. Throughout all of this, I saw firsthand the philosophical war of culture versus pathology. This book is intended to give you an inside look at each viewpoint, as seen through the eyes of someone who has been on both sides of the fence. Empty your cup, and enjoy the journey. x Prologue I t was another dreary Saturday morning, and once again I was stocking the shelves in the supermarket where I worked part-time. I hated the Saturday morning shift because it often meant getting up at five-thirty a.m. with a throbbing hangover. It was the same predicament almost every weekend: My college friends would stop by on Friday night, raving about a great party I couldn't afford to miss. I'd politely decline, citing my responsibilities at work the next day. They, in turn, would cite my responsibilities as an alcohol-fueled party animal. Somehow, what they said made sense. I'd cave in and go along with them. Then they would proceed to have a great time—and I would pretend to. It was hard to keep up. Sure, with my residual hearing and respectable speech ability, I managed to pull off a few one-on-one conversations. Unfortunately, group discussions were an exercise in futility. It wouldn't be long before I became bored out of my mind. Out of this boredom I almost always wound up drinking more than anyone else. By midnight, I would have a hell of a buzz. By three a.m., I would be flat-out drunk. By four a.m., I would be crawling into bed (if I made it that far). By six-thirty, I would be cursing under my breath as I punched in for work. This particular Saturday was no different. Saturday was diaper day, when a whole truckload of diapers got dropped off at the store in the wee hours of the morning. These diapers were waiting for me when I trudged in with 1