Tag Archives: cochlear implant

Relating to Deaf culture as a queer man

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Remember that post about an identity schism that I just put up? Well, more identity stuff happened today. I am just going to quickly type up this blog post to get it off of my mind, then head out to the barcade and shoot baddies.

Today I gave a presentation to a bunch of Hearing students in an ASL class with an older Deaf instructor. It went really well. After the presentation, the instructor and I chatted for a bit in the lunch room.

She said that cochlear implants are against God’s will – I have a cochlear implant and she knew that. It was quite upsetting because, as a queer man, I have had “it’s against God’s will” used against me. Like, people have sat in front of me with the Bible open on their laps while they quote Bible verses at me for hours (and several tissue boxes, all of which they ignored) to explain exactly why I am such a horrible person for exactly these reasons as stated in God’s book. It’s against God’s will to like people of the same sex, it’s against God’s will to have a gender expression contrary to what God “intended,” all that crap. I don’t want to have it used against me from the Deaf community, too.

I also don’t think that “it’s against God’s will” is the most logical and airtight argument in the world. I’m such an atheist that the notion of creating an ethical code based upon this imaginary person’s desires is just so foreign to me.

Another thing that bothers me about it is that religious notions in Deaf individuals just seems so foreign to me. Religion is something that Hearing people forced upon us. They didn’t – and often, still don’t – care about us until we said, “Okay, we will listen to your teachings of Jesus Christ just so that you can give us food/money/whatever.” So to hear a Deaf person, who probably would not have been religious if Hearing people had not forced it upon her ancestors hundreds of years ago, talk as if God was the only thing in her entire life that mattered – it was upsetting.

Also, this lady said that her body told her that she is deaf, so she obeyed her body and socializes primarily with the Deaf community. Again, this triggered me on the queer aspect. In order to have a fulfilling life, I have had to change my body to be more congruent with my identity. And, upon changing my body, I have been happier because now my body fits my identity. I tried to do it the other way around – changing my identity to match my body – but I was just so unhappy that I had to go ahead and change my body. So, to have this lady sit here and tell me that she socializes with the Deaf community because she has a deaf body – I had to take a headspace break before I could work again.

It also really highlighted some of the downfalls to having a complex identity. For the most part, I like having a complex identity. You can’t make any assumptions about me. That’s okay, because I don’t make any assumptions about you either – to the best of my ability. But it made me remember that nearly everyone else sees identity as a simpler thing. Either you are a man or you are a woman. Either you are deaf or you are hearing. That kind of thing.

I’m very definite in some categories, – I’m definitely that blue-eyed and blond whitey who could never be mistaken for any other race, for example – but I blur the lines on the categories in the minorities that I belong to. Do I act Deaf or Hearing? Neither/both. Do I act gay or straight? Neither/both. That kind of complexity may upset people who are used to a more binary mode of relating to others.

I mean… this lady was saying that I should have an interpreter at work and just sign all the time. Because I guess that being neither fully Deaf nor fully Hearing is too complicated. Which was rude – it’s my life, so let me live it. I tried to convey to this lady that I do share her mixed feelings about cochlear implants – it’s not right for everybody, and it shouldn’t be the first solution that parents go to – but I definitely did not share the fact that I personally appreciate my cochlear implant as a tool that enables me to function in the Hearing world.

Like, I don’t blame her for telling me to not trust Hearing people. She told me that her own brother would make fun of how she spoke. I can definitely see why she would be like, “Fuck the Hearing world!” after that. But the world is not the same as it was in her day. My problems are different than her problems.

It’s just all so complex. Other people see intersectionality as this kind of academic theory that doesn’t really apply to them – I don’t. It’s definitely very much a part of my day-to-day life, and sometimes that makes it harder to find people to talk to.

Alright, time to go shoot those baddies at the arcade.

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Natural sounds?

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Remember this post in which I explored the fact that most of my favorite genres are electronic or distorted? Well, that post was inspired by a journal entry that I wrote in March of this year. I’ve found myself in the middle of a paradigm shift: lately, I’ve found myself bored with electronic or otherwise artificial-sounding music.

This is a really weird shift for me because most of my favorite music ever since I started listening to music on my own two years ago has historically fit in this category. If you asked me to name my favorite songs off the top of my head, I’d say that roughly 95% of them are electronic or otherwise made to sound artificial.

When I thought about it, I was tempted to give credit to my boredom with this type of music and the fact that I haven’t smoked in a while.1 But then I thought about it a little more, and neither of those factors should be enough on their own – I usually get bored with individual artists, not entire genres of music, and my previous tolerance-breaks haven’t affected my music taste this much.

No, the main factor is probably the fact that I have a new external processor: a few weeks ago, I received a Nucleus N5. I’m not going to lie – it is incredibly cool with a lot of amazing features, like a remote control. A fucking remote control – how cool is that? Goddamn, I love being able to click on my remote and turn up the volume or change the program without fiddling with the actual equipment on my ear. Another feature that I really appreciate is the fact that it automatically turns off if you take it off of your head for more than a few minutes – after waking up to several dead batteries in my old processor due to a pre-bed brain fart, I can tell you that this feature is the most amazing thing ever.

As shiny as it is, the main difference that I have noticed goes deeper than that: things sound more ‘natural.’ I have no idea what the engineers did – did they improve the code or the physical engineering or what? – but whatever it was, it’s an amazing feat. When I listen to music, I can now tell the difference between a series of electronically-generated sounds (eg, Graphics by Memory Tapes) and a series of sounds that were created with a physical instrument. Before, I couldn’t really tell the difference – because of the way that my cochlear implant processed information, everything sounded like a series of electronic sounds.

It’s weird because, if I think about it logically, I am still hearing a series of electronic sounds. I am not hearing sounds with the same timbre as a Hearing person does – if I had to make an educated guess about what my hearing would sound like to a Hearing person, I would guess that it still sounds flat and artificial. But, comparatively speaking, it’s less artificial-sounding than before. I suppose the engineers figured out how to add nuances to my hearing experience so as to more closely approximate the Hearing experience of the world.

I am sure that a hearing person would still think that it sounds artificial, but, for me, the technology has approached a point where it doesn’t matter anymore – it sounds so natural. It reminds me of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K Dick – because everybody owns a robotic sheep that so closely mimics a real sheep, it becomes impossible to distinguish machine from flesh. In the end, it doesn’t even matter which sheep is the artificial one because they are both sheep.

It’s interesting. If I think about it even more isn’t it true that all hearing is an electronic signal? After all, the main function of the cochlea is to translate the eardrum’s vibrations into electronic impulses that the brain can understand, right? I wonder if, in the future, engineers could create a processor that translates data into electronic impulses so sophisticated that the brain of a person with a cochlear implant is no different than the brain of a hearing person? I think that that would be the point where the electric sheep and the real sheep would truly become indistinguishable.

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  1. Smoking is really important to my listening experience – read this for more on the topic. []
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Just a gadget

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When I think about what my cochlear implant means to me, all I keep coming back to is: it is a gadget. Nothing more than that. My hearing is an artificially generated sense. Without computers, I would have no hearing. Likewise, without computers, we would have no Internet and no cell phones. Computers are an essential part of modern life in many ways, but if all computers suddenly ceased to work tomorrow, I think that, after a period of crisis, humans would be able to figure out how to survive in nature once more. So, in my perspective, computers in general are integral right now – but in the long run, they may not necessarily be so important. My cochlear implant is no exception.

Heck, even hearing is not integral to my lived experience. I was trying to think of an analogy for my relationship with my cochlear implant, and this is what I came up with: Imagine that you woke up tomorrow morning in an alternate reality where every human has always had wings. They have structured society around the fact that humans possess wings: for example, to meet someone for lunch, you fly to the top floor of a skyscraper. This is every bit as normal as taking the subway. You are the only person who remembers that humans once had no wings; everybody else lives in a reality where human beings have always had wings. For them, this is the natural order of things and they cannot imagine how one could function without wings. They expect you to graft on wings because there obviously is no way that anybody could function in society without wings. I ask: how would you feel?

Personally, if I were in this situation and I chose to graft on wings, I’d appreciate my wings for two reasons: one, because flying is inherently cool and, two, because everybody else has trouble thinking of a society structured around bipedal people. Perhaps over time, I would even neglect to walk because flying was so much more convenient. But in the end, having wings wouldn’t be part of my normal self-conception – I had, after all, experienced a childhood without wings – and I wouldn’t think that wings are inherently necessary to function in all human societies. After all, I would still remember the fact that human beings in my reality were able to structure a society just fine with two legs and two hands.

This is how I feel about hearing. While hearing is not nearly as cool as having wings, I appreciate the ability to listen to music and get along with hearing people more easily. But at the end of the day, I know from experience that humans can function without hearing. Growing up, it was difficult for me to grasp why people thought otherwise, especially because there are real-life examples of functioning Deaf communities. I have come to the conclusion that most people, unless they are anthropology students or something, simply don’t think about what is not on their radar – if their social structure is working just fine, why think about what it would be like to live in a society with alternate rules?

In the end, though, I don’t begrudge hearing people for being ignorant. (Unless, of course, they meet me or other deaf people and continue to be closed-minded after prolonged exposure to deafness.) I think that most people in this culture are ignorant. Now, I think it’s important to say that I don’t believe that ignorance and bigotry are essential traits of human nature; rather, I think that it is simply part of the dominant culture. But, because many people are steeped within the dominant culture, they are inclined to simultaneously emphasize differences rather than similarities and to generalize so much that they try to apply their own experiences to everyone else’s. It sounds contradictory, but in the end, it comes down to this: we are encouraged to be self-centered. If it works for me, why wouldn’t it work for everyone else?

With that being said, I would like to remind everyone that I was talking about my experiences with cochlear implants. Everyone has a different relationship to cochlear implants. Hell, my sister has a radically different conception of her cochlear implant and her relationship to hearing culture than I do. And we came from the same womb – imagine how different it would be for yet another deaf person.

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The root of my strange fear

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When I was in middle school, I had a strange phobia. Things like video game glitches and computer viruses scared the shit out of me. In fact, I still possess this fear to some extent – the creepypasta story / ARG about the haunted majora’s mask game scared me, for example – but I am not nearly as scared of glitches and computer viruses as I was in middle school.

Ash encounters MissingNo in Pokemon.

What my nightmares consisted of

When I say that I was scared of this type of thing, I mean that I was utterly and completely terrified. For example, when I read about how the ILOVEYOU virus brought major corporations and branches of governments to their knees, I lost sleep for several nights. Wandering around in Glitch City in Pokemon was every bit as scary for me as a survival-horror game would have been for most people.

Recently, I was mulling about this fear – I still am scared of glitches to some extent, but not as bad as in middle school. It’s such a strange fear. So where did it come from?

Then a possible explanation dawned on me: my cochlear implant.

When I was nine years old, I had a machine surgically implanted into my head. I am reliant on a computer to hear. It is really strange to think about how dependent on technology I am to carry out my day-to-day life – most people are born hearing, and it is every bit as normal and natural for them as breathing. For me, hearing the world around me is more like hooking up to The Matrix: I plug into a machine to receive sensory input.

An androgynous, bald white person is hooked up to a machine reminiscent of the one in The Matrix.

Like this.

Nowadays, it is harder for an average citizen to live a life without technology, but when I was in middle school, the Internet wasn’t popular yet. Computers weren’t considered a fad anymore, but they weren’t mainstream yet. It was perfectly possible and acceptable for the majority of people around me to live their lives without directly interfacing with computers on a day-to-day basis.

Not me. In middle school, I would put on a small portable computer every day so that I could function in the hearing world. Almost all of the people closest to me (with the exception of my sister) spoke to me, so my cochlear implant was a valuable tool to navigate my hearing social circle.

So, when I think about my phobia of MissingNo. and computer viruses in the context of my cochlear implant, it makes a lot of sense. If something were to happen to my cochlear implant, it would be a lot harder to communicate with the people who were most important to me. Not impossible, but definitely harder.

Like I said, I’m not as scared of this kind of thing as when I was a kid. There are multiple reasons. I confronted my fears head-on, technology became a normal part of mainstream society, I formed a stronger relationship with nature, and I became more comfortable with wandering around the world without a cochlear implant. Now that I understand that my identity is not dependent upon a computer, things are a lot easier.

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Deaf children and motivation

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Many (90%) of deaf children have Hearing parents. A good portion of these parents have had no exposure to deafness and Deaf culture, so their first thought is to make their child like themselves rather than working with what the child has. A lot of audiologists, cochlear implant corporations, speech pathologists, oralists, and other persons in similar professions promise that, with a lot of training and practice, deaf children will be able to integrate in mainstream Hearing society.

These professionals have noble sentiments, but I feel that a lot of them neglect to mention a very important factor: motivation. This is very simple. As many teachers know, it is nearly impossible to teach a reluctant learner. The same thing goes for teaching deaf children how to speak, how to listen, how to use a cochlear implant, and so forth.

The thing is, for a lot of people who were born deaf, hearing is unnatural on some level. Myself included – I now appreciate hearing as a tool that helps me integrate into society. But, as a child, I simply did not understand why hearing people put so much emphasis on hearing – in my perspective, if everybody in the world signed, there would be no problem with deafness at all. I still believe that, but I have learned that Hearing people stubbornly cling to their notion that hearing is one of the more important senses, so I have learned how to play along with them.1 At the end of the day, though, hearing is an artificial sense that I can turn off or on. When I was younger, this sense of artificiality made it harder to grasp why it was so important to learn how to do things like listen and speak.

When I was a kid, I had the most amazing speech therapist in the entire world. She was extremely kind, patient, and tolerant.2 To give her credit, I did learn how to produce basic sounds, like h, k, e, and so forth. However, once I had learned the basics of speaking, I plateaued. I didn’t see the importance of making my speech more clearly understood. Now my parents and peers at my small private school could understand me; why bother working on my speech even more?

It was only when I entered a large public school that I regained motivation to work on my speech. I discovered that most new people could not understand me, so I had a reason to make my speech more clearly understood. Later on, when I entered an academic competition that included a public speaking category, I had even more motivation to make myself understood to hearing people.3

I do have mixed feelings – if society were truly equal, d/Deaf people wouldn’t need to learn how to make their speech understandable, or even how to speak. Like many Deaf people, I sometimes daydream of a utopia in which everyone can sign. But, at the end of the day, it is a Hearing person’s world. Unfortunately, a lot of us have to make compromises in order to get along in society, whether that means learning how to speak and read lips or using cochlear implants. Another alternative is to live in the Deaf community, which I personally think can be a very fulfilling life.

That being said, if a Hearing parent really wants their child to live in the Hearing world, cochlear implants are not a magic cure for Deaf children. Motivation is much more important. If a Hearing parent truly wants their kid to learn how to speak and listen, I would suggest being more sensitive to the Deaf kid’s perspective. Remember that Deaf children may not necessarily see the importance of hearing. It is up to Hearing people to explain that Hearing people believe that hearing is an important sense.

Another thing that Hearing parents overlook is that there are many answers. Like I said, cochlear implants aren’t a magical cure: if a child decides that a cochlear implant is not something that fits in with his or her self-image, a properly motivated child can learn how to lipread and speak. I personally decided that I can be Deaf and have a cochlear implant, so I got a cochlear implant, but there is no one-size-fits-all solution. One key of encouraging motivation within a child is to look at his or her natural inclinations, then work with them. Like I said, hearing is an unnatural sense for many of us, but some methods of integrating in the Hearing world feel less unnatural than others. What methods those are depend on the individual and how willing he or she is to compromise with Hearing people in order to live a fulfilling life.

I have more to say about the concept of fitting in with the Hearing world, but that’s for another post. I hope that I have made the importance of motivation somewhat clear in this post.

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  1. I honestly do not think that Hearing people can explain exactly why they believe that Hearing is so important using logical arguments. []
  2. In fact, when I came out to her this summer, she took it in stride – more on that later. []
  3. Incidentally, I scored something like 950/1000 in the public speaking section at the national competition. []
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On Genres

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After the “Cochlear Implants & Music” conference that I described in my previous post, I spent a considerable amount of time thinking about my relationship to music.

One of the things that I puzzled out whilst writing in my journal afterwards was the reason behind my attraction to some of my favorite genres of music. Namely, I gravitate towards electronica and punk music; I enjoy a wide diversity of styles within each of these genres.

If you look at it song-by-song, my musical taste1 can be seemingly random: I do shit like put Bad Religion in the same playlist as Florence + The Machine, Boards of Canada, and Ayreon. But, if you look at my musical taste from a broader genre-based perspective, commonalities emerge.

One of the primary commonalities between my favorite genres is the fact that they are already distorted and/or artificial-sounding. My hearing is unnatural and distorted; so is this music. Because a lot of my favorite genres of music are supposed to sound unnatural, it doesn’t matter if I am hearing it ‘wrong.’ Furthermore, the artificial soundscape of, say, a really trippy piece of electronica, doesn’t sound as artificial to me as I imagine it would to a Hearing person. Whereas the Hearing person is used to this rich, warm soundscape with millions of nuances, I am used to that sparse soundscape.2 For me, an artificial soundscape is normal.

Don’t get me wrong – I am capable of telling the difference between natural sounds and artificial sounds if I concentrate. (Acoustic vs digital songs, a human voice vs a computer voice, etc) It’s just that they sound so similar to me, so I often can’t distinguish them. To me, comparing natural sounds to artificial sounds is a lot like comparing turquoise to teal. I imagine that, for hearing people, it’s a lot more like the difference between red and green.

So, when I listen to a song that is already distorted and/or artificial-sounding, like Risingson (Otherside Remix) by Massive Attack, it is a lot easier for me to embrace my inner distortion. Weirdly, knowing that Hearing people also hear a distorted song gives me more confidence that I have the ability to evaluate the merits of a song myself.3

Like I said, the conference was really interesting and I still have yet to process many aspects of it. I only hope that I made sense in this post; I would be genuinely interested in learning more about how Hearing people perceive music. Most of what I know about Hearing people comes from conjecture based upon my observation of them, so please feel free to set me straight if needed.

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  1. Note: links to my last.fm []
  2. For a point of reference: Hearing people have thousands of hair cells; I have twenty-four cochlear implant electrodes. []
  3. I’ve had self-confidence issues prevent me from fully enjoying music in the past – navigate to this blog post from July 2010 and ctrl-F ‘unconsciously.’ Read that paragraph for more on this topic. []
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“Embrace your inner distortion”

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A few months ago, I went to a conference about music and cochlear implants. It is still something that I have not completely processed, so I have been putting off writing about it. But fuck that, I’m just gonna tell you guys about it now.

First of all, it was pretty difficult to get there. I had to take a Greyhound bus to the city where it was, and there was a car accident in front of us so we were super-fucking late. Then I had to figure out the small town’s crappy public transportation in order to get to the hotel where the conference was held, and it took me about 10 minutes to figure out where the stop was etc. I waited for the bus a little longer, and it finally came. But then the bus broke down, so we all had to wait for like half an hour for a back-up bus to come. Then it rained, and I didn’t have an umbrella. And I hadn’t had dinner, so I was hungry.

Needless to say, by the time I got there, I was late and grumpy. But then, before I went into the conference room, a deaf guy came over to me and began chatting. He was really nice and put me in a better mood. I told him I’d talk to him later and went into the room.

I hadn’t missed much. Most of it consisted of a bunch of researchers telling Hearing parents how their children would perceive music with cochlear implants. The researchers talked about the joy that cochlear implants would bring into the lives of deaf children, and everyone in the room seemed to take it for granted that everyone loves music. They talked about scheduling ‘listening drills’ for children to ‘learn how to appreciate music’ – which, if you ask me, sounds like a really good way to make kids even more bored with music.

It was all very strange.

Then I noticed these two Hearing parents in front of me. They had a newborn baby, and I watched them out of the corner of my eye. Every now and then, they would glance at their newborn deaf baby with worried expressions and whisper to each other. It was pretty obvious that they thought of her hearing as a ‘problem’ to ‘fix.’

Just as I had made up my mind to leave, the kind deaf man that I had spoken to earlier got onstage. What? Curious, I stayed.

Turns out he was the keynote speaker! His name was Richard Reed, and he was a musician who had gone deaf later in life. Because he was late-deafened and hadn’t learned how to navigate society as a deaf person, I felt some sympathy for him. It was, in other words, easier for me to relate to his desire to get a cochlear implant.

He mostly talked about how much joy his cochlear implant had brought to him, but one segment of the lecture in particular caught my attention: He explained how he “embraced his inner distortion”.

Basically, he had spent his entire life relating to music in one way. He grew accustomed to processing it in this specific manner. But then, when he got his cochlear implant, the sensory input that his brain received was quite different from what he had heard before. It was like seeing the world through a maze of funhouse mirrors. So he had to re-learn how to piece together auditory data into a coherent picture.

I could relate to this point – after my cochlear implant was turned on, my brain had to take this brand-new sensory data and rearrange it into a meaningful picture. As time went on, bits and snatches of sounds slowly became coherent words.

Another thing that Richard discovered was that he couldn’t relate to old familiar songs in the same way that he had in the past. They literally sounded different to him. What’s more, they sounded distorted. That’s where embracing his inner distortion comes in: he had to accept this new soundscape and then find enjoyment in it.

It was incredibly fascinating. In the end, despite everything, I didn’t regret going to the conference. Seeing Richard Reed was more than worth it. It was amazing to hear about somebody else’s experiences with his personal music-appreciation evolution.

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