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My job is making me think a lot about the way I communicate with people, and the way language and expression allow us all to connect to one another. Many of my coworkers are first and foremost fluent sign-language users. They're able to express themselves well in written English because that's one of our standard job requirements, but it's not their preferred or native form of expression. Some of my Deaf colleagues can speak, but they all have thick deaf accents which are hard for me to follow. None of them knows a lot about deafblind communication methods, and I know next to no sign language, but we're all receptive to learning new things and we'll get there eventually.
Learning to sign - and even to communicate with people who don't have good written English skills - is almost like learning to swim. I can feel myself struggling against the water, not wanting to go under but not quite knowing how to stay afloat either. I have an overwhelming sense of wanting to get out, wanting to do things the easy way.
But then I have to remind myself that no matter how fluent I become at signing in any language, it will never be easy. The only 'easy' forms of communication for me are the written word and the human touch. Anything that involves my eyes or ears is inevitably going to wear me down. Hand-over-hand - a communication method used by deafblind people to feel what someone is signing - is slow and only works when you actually know the signs to begin with.
At the moment I'm mostly talking to my signing colleagues in toddler sentences and charades. "Where keys?", "What time meeting?", "No paper". I think the one full sentence I can manage right now is "The man has an evil paper goat". I am not expecting this to be a useful conversational phrase.
I wonder how this toddler-speak shapes their perceptions of me. I wonder if I'll ever be able to have a casual conversation with these people who are teaching me to say basic words all over again. After getting the cochlear implant, I had forgotten how fragile communication can be, how foreign one can feel without it. The strongest memory from my time without my hearing is that of not having a voice - not being able to participate in conversations, and not being able to physically control how I expressed myself vocally.
Now I feel like I've lost my voice all over again, only this time it's my hands that are tied.
Learning to sign - and even to communicate with people who don't have good written English skills - is almost like learning to swim. I can feel myself struggling against the water, not wanting to go under but not quite knowing how to stay afloat either. I have an overwhelming sense of wanting to get out, wanting to do things the easy way.
But then I have to remind myself that no matter how fluent I become at signing in any language, it will never be easy. The only 'easy' forms of communication for me are the written word and the human touch. Anything that involves my eyes or ears is inevitably going to wear me down. Hand-over-hand - a communication method used by deafblind people to feel what someone is signing - is slow and only works when you actually know the signs to begin with.
At the moment I'm mostly talking to my signing colleagues in toddler sentences and charades. "Where keys?", "What time meeting?", "No paper". I think the one full sentence I can manage right now is "The man has an evil paper goat". I am not expecting this to be a useful conversational phrase.
I wonder how this toddler-speak shapes their perceptions of me. I wonder if I'll ever be able to have a casual conversation with these people who are teaching me to say basic words all over again. After getting the cochlear implant, I had forgotten how fragile communication can be, how foreign one can feel without it. The strongest memory from my time without my hearing is that of not having a voice - not being able to participate in conversations, and not being able to physically control how I expressed myself vocally.
Now I feel like I've lost my voice all over again, only this time it's my hands that are tied.
