7 minute read
READER’S STORY
By Valerie Merwood
It is the sound of my voice, the voice of a friend; it is the voice of Loucas, her Audika audiometrist. We know this, because, recently, we saw something special take place. It had the eyes, the smile, the tears of Mereaira – it is her miracle and Loucas and I shared it.
Advertisement
He had slipped a gadget into each of her ears – what do we older women know about the names of modern technology? They were a gadget.
Loucas had started this appointment with checking Mereaira’s hearing aids, replacing parts, testing volumes. He rustled some plastic. “Do you hear that?” he asked.
The miracle began to unfold.
He took her phone, saying he could set it up for her to use in changing volume on her aids – easier for her not-so-dexterous fingers he suggested. And doing that, he reckoned, could help her cope with “other” noises. Really?
When I speak of Mereaira’s hearing aids I am speaking of the large heavy plastic pieces that flow over her ears. She is used to them. She has worn them for as long as she can remember.
There is no sound for her at all without them, not even noise. She doesn’t like them but says they are a lot better than the awful cords she wore as a child. They hung from her ears, attached to the gadgetry that swung from her little chest and brought her so much teasing, name-calling.
Mereaira recalls that they didn’t help much but they were all that was available decades ago. And she had to wear them.
She was a chronically deaf child, but her mum and dad ensured she was not mute. Oh yes, how she remembers her teachers. She wasn’t allowed to sign until years later – her hands were tied behind her back. She must lip read, she must speak.
She is, according to those who understand the yardstick of the deaf world, one of the best-ever users of that singular skill to grace NZ and Australia, her two homelands.
Until she fails to respond to a voice out Valerie gives Mereaira a hug.
of sight, or where multiple sounds and lips invade her range and send her back into the safety of aloneness, it is likely that people don’t realise she is deaf.
She could always hear some noises, but never make sense of them. She loved music – she could feel its beat, the vibrations.
At school she didn’t take to the 3-Rs but loved sport where her hearing did not matter so much. Later, she found work as a machinist where her hearing did not matter so much.
Mereaira has lived in her deaf world and made her way as best she could – she has made her way to where she now stands on the brink of new technology.
Recently her audiometrist nudged open a door, and the view was exciting.
At 68, could Mereaira be a candidate for surgery? Perhaps an implant?
She attended her tests, waited. But the door closed. There would be no surgery because there was some noise getting through – noise but not hearing.
She was advised to return to her audio specialist so here we are in his rooms and he is talking about new phone technology.
“She is struggling with the disappointment of the ‘no surgery’,” I told him. “Can these hefty aids be lightened up? Replaced? What’s around these days?”
He smiled, “let’s try these”, and slipped a gadget into each ear. I had my phone with me, so Loucas suggested she call me. We had always used FaceTime to chat so she could read my lips. When I wanted to start a link with her, I sent her a text.
I am talking to her now but reckon she is “reading” me. She denies it, so I go outside the room. I turn off the camera.
We carry on talking. I return to my friend who is crying, and Loucas whose smile is 10 miles wide.
“You have a nice voice,” she says. I stand behind her and say “hello Mereaira.”
“Hello Val” she says. “Are you having a nice day?” She giggles. Tears and giggles sit well together.
“What colour is the blouse you are wearing, my friend?”.
“It is pink,” she replies.
I am crying. The miracle is in full flight.
She sends me out of the room to speak to her. Loucas laughs and says that no one can hear through that door, but I know what she means. I knock, open the door a sliver and say her name.
“Come in!” she cries with her back to the door. We hold each other tight, almost unable to comprehend. She is hearing.
This talking we were doing together was simply ordinary – normal speech between ordinary people. Can we call such ordinary-ness a miracle? Of course we can!
Back to earth, with the wonder still upon us, I knew that I must ask two questions: “Is this just about technology? Is it that simple?” Yes. This is just technology. It is what we can do now.
“How much?” I say to my friend. We must find a balance between the wonder and the dollars.
I am humbled. We all know that some good folk, selves included, can find that money with their next breath. Mereaira and I know that she cannot.
She will need many deep breaths before, “yes please” can be spoken. We agree that we have work to do, and she feints a refusal to let him take the precious gadgets from her ears.
“You will have to fight her to get those back,” I tell him. And we all laugh while the old hearing aids flow over her ears again and she returns to hearing loss.
I move back into her sight range as Loucas tells us his next steps towards her acquiring these new whizz-bang superduper thank-you-very-much hearing aids that will have her watching – and hearing her television, listening to music, making phone calls, calling “come-in”.
We head off for a coffee – and start thinking about the not-small matter of money. We agree that we will keep her money worries within the positive flow of her miracle. We plan for first steps.
Can Mereaira’s dream come true? It will not be easy, but it must happen.
A few weeks go by. What has happened? Everything … a sequence of steps to Mereaira’s miracle. I had told my friends and they had told their friends. The word was: “this lady must have her new hearing aids” and the money came in.
Assured that we were safely underwritten, we made our way back to Loucas who filled Mereaira’s ears with wax and made his fittings. Then my husband and I were driving our friend to Audika. The car radio is playing Neil Diamond singing It’s a Beautiful Noise. What timing.
I speak the lyrics towards her so she can read my lips: “What a beautiful noise, comin’ up from the street, got a beautiful sound, it’s got a beautiful beat.”
She says “I want to hear that song” – and by the end of the day she does.
The aids went into place. Mereaira could hear – those cars, that bird, the wind coming around the corner.
A group of well-wishing donors from our community at The Avenue in Maroochydore, gathered to greet Mereaira. With her smile reaching past her ears she handed around thank-you cards with a crepe paper flower she had crafted for each one. Gratitude exuded from her soul. After that? We found Neil Diamond and danced, pretend microphones sending out the noise: “And it makes me feel good … Yes it does, Yes it does”. Every day.
- Judy, daughter of Bribie Cove resident. - Judy, daughter of Bribie Cove resident. All the staff have
They make each resident feel worthy Our Local Aged Care Residences:
Bribie Cove | Bongaree 199–213 Goodwin Drive Glasshouse Views | Beerwah Our Victorian Residences:96–104 Peachester Road Buderim Views | Buderim 383 Mooloolaba Road
441 Waterfall Gully Road, RosebudThe Ormsby | Buderim 33 Newmans Road, Templestowe 112 Burnett Street 1 Innisfallen Avenue, Templestowe CapellaBay | Capalaba 260 Old Cleveland Rd East Seaton Place | Cleveland 111 Smith Street Seabrook | Deception Bay 15 - 29 Bonton Ave
