Long story short, more than a decade ago I had surgery that involved relieving pressure on several cranial nerves by a blood vessel. As a result of this procedure, I lost hearing in one ear, except for a constant whooshing sound.
Hearing loss is devastating for some people. For me it is sensorially overwhelming and physically fatiguing in a room full of conversation, and frustrating to strain to hear something I want to hear, but like most disabilities, you learn to cope with it. Luckily, I’m an introvert, so I relish the quiet and isolation hearing loss brings, especially since my cancer diagnosis.
I’ve learned to gather in, get inside my head, meditate, piece things together or take them apart, stay mindful of the moment, discover or marvel at something I might have missed if I were busy hearing and talking. It helps me transcend the constant turmoil of cancer.
I’ve been mulling over a post about this gathering in that comes with my hearing loss, but I couldn’t find words that made any sense, so I laid the idea aside. Then yesterday, while catching up on blog reading, I came across a beautiful piece by one of my favorite writers, Jan Wilberg at Red’s Wrap. This last paragraph of her post called “Old Pony” (about her hearing loss) captures what I could not.
There is talking going on but I’m not part of it. I marvel at the oldest pony’s white eyelashes and the wrinkles on his horse nose. Deep wrinkles like what you would see on a person, what you would see on me. I think about this while the others are talking, little pieces of their words slipping in under the wind. I think only about the old pony’s precious, soft nose and wanting to smooth his wrinkles with my hand.
Thank you, Jan.