(Ch. 39 of my story of my journey into Deafhood…)

While I was still recovering at home, a close male friend of mine came to visit me. My friend has graduated a year ahead of me, and though we hadn’t seen much of each other over the past year, we had remained in touch. He had learned of my illness through mutual friends and made an effort to come out to see me. He was a really nice guy and a good friend. He took me to a prom once and we had a great time, but neither one of us had ever taken a romantic interest in each other. Our relationship had remained platonic.

My friend came into my room and sat down in a chair at the foot of my bed. He attempted to talk with me, but we were unable to carry on a two-way conversation. Our uneasiness grew. I could see him become more uncomfortable. Finally, he asked me through gestures to find him something to write on. He was the first person who resorted to writing notes with me to communicate after I had lost my hearing.

I handed him a tablet near my bed. While this helped me follow conversation better, it was still new and awkward for both of us. My friend had to virtually remain silent and write all his words, while I, however, could speak normally in response. We could both sense the growing grief and frustration at not being able to communicate as easily and fluidly as before.

Through writing, my friend asked me out for a date. He asked me if there was a movie out that I might like to go see with him after I got better. But after he had done so, he looked incredibly guilty. I think he quickly realized that I would not be able to hear a movie and he suddenly felt embarrassed at his thoughtlessness. He didn’t know how to take his offer back to spare us both the frustration and embarrassment. So he continued to act as if nothing were wrong with the idea.

When I read his words and looked up at his face, I wasn’t sold. I didn’t see someone who genuinely wanted to go out on a date with me. All I saw was sympathy, pity, and an awkward obligation. Yet, I too, played along. What else could we do? I told him I had seen some commercials for “Endless Love” which starred Brooke Shields, whom I adored. I told him it was a romantic chic-flick, which he probably wouldn’t want to see. I gave him a way out, but my friend wasn’t too quick and missed the innuendo. He said he didn’t mind seeing a romantic film with me. Still, I had to wonder.

He left shortly after this, saying he would go check out the movie times and stop by tomorrow to let me know when it was showing. I wished he had let it go. By then, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself too. ‘Would I ever be able to go to a movie again and enjoy it now that I could not longer hear?’ My friend said he would even try to return daily to check on me, but we both knew that this sudden wash of attention and devotion was artificial. He was caught up in trying to be helpful and nice, but he wasn’t selling it well, and I still wasn’t buying it.

I had plenty of time to ponder my future dating life as I lay there in bed over the next few weeks. ‘Do my guy friends feel sorry for me? Is that why my friend feels he needed to take me out on a date? Did he think I needed to be reassured that I was still likable even with a hearing loss? ..…Am I still lovable?….. What a thought!

My friend did show up to check on me a couple more times that week. At each visit, he would say, “As soon as you get better, we’re going out on our date to see your movie.” I think what he really meant was that as soon as my hearing returned, as we all hoped it might, things would be back to normal and we could see movies again and hang out like old times. I smiled and nodded. Yet I was convinced that my friend’s attention was more an act of pity than of true interest. Or maybe, I was just feeling sorry for myself.

I eventually told my friend that I appreciated his effort to check in on me, but it really was not necessary. I suggested that I needed some alone time and when I did feel better and ready to be out, I would contact him and we would plan to see that movie if it was still playing. Not surprisingly, my friend looked relieved and wisely took his cue to leave.

True to his word, my friend did take me to go see that movie before it stopped playing at the cinema. Our date felt more like an obligation, and was not entirely enjoyable for either of us. As expected, it was very difficult not being able to hear the movie. It was even more difficult not knowing what to do with my friend’s emotions. He would often look over at me during the movie, his face full of curiosity and pity. He did not know whether he should offer to tell me what was going on, and I didn’t know how to ask. He kept looking over at me to see how I was coping in this new silent world of mine. I had to pretend everything was fine and that I didn’t notice the pity, but it was hard not to.

I had several male visitors the first couple months after I returned home from the hospital. I had no idea why. My girlfriends didn’t even come to visit. Why were the guys coming over? They were boys whom I knew in high school, whom had no previous romantic interest in me. ‘Why now?’ I wondered. I tried chatting and writing with each of them, but I never did feel any genuine interest from them. There was always a feeling of pity and obligation, as if Mama or one of my girlfriends told them to come over and ask me out so that I would feel normal. I had to wonder. It just wasn’t fun. ‘No more pity dates!’ I told myself.

(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 Monday, July 30th, 2007 at 4:45 am.