(Ch. 36 of my story of my journey into Deafhood…)

Someone had bought me a new nightgown and robe to wear out to the car. I still had the hospital slippers on my feet, which were laid lightly on the wheelchair foot rests. The hot, dry, valley heat blasted me as I exited the hospital doors. The air was thick and heavy, not like the cool oxygen or temperature-controlled hospital air I had been breathing for 2 ½ weeks. My surroundings seemed so different. I felt like a newborn fresh out of the womb on her first drive home. Every sensation felt like a first.

As I was being wheeled out to the car in that wheel chair, I looked back and remembered the only other time in my life that I had sat in a wheelchair. I was 4 years old and recovering from a tonsillectomy and hernia operation at the old Clovis Memorial Hospital where Mama worked the night shift. I was restless and bored lying in my hospital bed, and very curious about the things around me. I had seen another little boy with an elevated broken leg in a cast, wheeling down the hall in a wheelchair, and I thought it looked like fun. I crept out of my hospital bed, and located the nearest wheelchair down the hall and tried it out. I was having fun trying to catch up to that little boy until one of the nurses scolded me and told me to get my hiney back into the hospital bed. I think they probably lured me back with a promise of ice cream.

I was glad to finally be going home now. The instructions were that I was to go right to bed when I got home and to rest my body for another couple of weeks. But, it was the first summer after graduating from high school, and I wanted to balk at the loss of freedom that took so long to gain. I was ready to get back to my life, but I had no idea what lie ahead. I had planned on going to college to major in music. ‘What am I going to do now?’ I wondered numbly.

Mama and Roger had to return to work. Mama had taken many days off to be with me, and the Union finally called Roger and told him that there was a new project available for him. It was time for our family life to return to its normal rhythm.

Sadly, my hearing had still not returned, but otherwise, things were looking pretty good and I seemed to be slowly recovering, but I was still weak. On that first summer morning after my return home, my mother entrusted my care with my younger 16-year-old brother before she left to work. Mama explained that she just needed him to be there for me, to help me as needed, and to call her if there was an emergency.

My brother has never liked mornings much. He has always been a late sleeper. I, however, had been sleeping for weeks and felt ready to be up and about and taking care of myself. I was hungry and decided to get up and fix myself a bowl of cereal.

I took things very slowly at first. I sat up in bed, carefully swung my legs one by one, over the side of the bed, stepped into my slippers, and put on my robe. Next, I stood up very slowly. It took a lot of effort just to get to my feet. I stopped for a moment to get my balance. Then, I took one step at a time, holding onto things as I slowly made my way into the kitchen. I opened the large pantry door and stood there for a few minutes looking at the cereals, trying to decide what I wanted to eat. My mouth still tasted like banana from the banana-flavored potassium drip they had given me for so long through the IV.

I finally chose a box of cereal and carefully shuffled over to the kitchen counter. I opened the cupboard and got down a bowl. I scooted over the refrigerator and got the milk to pour over my cereal. Then all of a sudden, my eyes went black!

I started to swoon. My heart rate increased, my face felt flushed, and I couldn’t see a thing! I moved over a step and felt for the counter to set down the milk in my hand. I was scared to death and began screaming for my brother!

“Mar-tin! Mar-tin! Help me! Hellllp! I can’t see! I can’t seeeee!” I was alone and deaf and blind.

My brother was startled out of his slumber and tried to make sense of what he was hearing. It took him a few seconds before he bolted toward me in the kitchen. He found me groping the empty space in front of me in tears, trying to find my way back to my room.

My brother grabbed my arms and stopped me. Then he brought my hands to his shoulders and I leaned on him for a few minutes, my heart pounding as I cried, “I can’t see! I can’t see anything!” I couldn’t see him or hear him, but I knew he was there and I could feel the vibrations of his words. I could feel his rapid breathing as his body trembled. His heart was beating as fast as mine. Slowly, my brother began to lead me back to my room.

It took several more seconds before my vision returned. When it did, I felt sick to my stomach, and had to lay down. I had simply blacked out from the effort it took to get from one place to another. I had no idea my body was still so weak. My brother made sure my vision returned and then he let me have it! In muffled tones and garbled words, he totally chewed me out!

“WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING? WHAT ARE YA’ DOING GETTIN’ OUT OF BED? WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME TO HELP YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE? WHAT DO YA’ THINK I’M HERE FOR? DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN! YOU SCARED THE HELL OUT OF ME!”

All I could do was whimper, “I thought I was ready to take care of myself.” I was feeling better, but my body was weaker than I realized.

“Don’t go anywhere!” My brother scolded, as he stomped out of the room, grumbling to himself as he left. A few minutes later, he returned with my bowl of cereal and brought me a box of tissue to dry my eyes.

I sat there sniveling, wondering aloud if I would continue to be such an encumbrance to others. But, my brother made it clear that I wasn’t a burden. He told me he was really glad to have me back home, and willing to do whatever I needed. My cry for help had scared him, but he made it clear that I could still call on him. He would do whatever it took to help me get well. “I don’t want to lose you again,” he told me. “Don’t push it. Take it slow and lean on me when you need help.”

I sat up and attempted to eat my cereal in bed with Al Green’s music whirling around in my head. I became lost in my own musical reverie. I wondered if I would ever actually hear that song again. It was a painful thought. Yet I knew worrying wouldn’t help. I had always thought of myself as an optimist, and decided not to dwell on it. I would change my tune, try to stay positive, and pray my loss of hearing would be temporary.

(Footnote: You have been reading the chapters in my summer storyblog entitled: My Journey Into Deafhood, which tells of the first recognition of my deafness and waking up to a world of silence. It also tells of how I grieved, coped, adapted and then thrived as I learned to embrace my Deaf self. Thank you for reading! The final installment will show on August 8th, 2007. More coming soon…)

Posted by LaRonda on Sunday, July 29th, 2007 at 4:45 am.