Carolyn Piper
Copyright 2000
Like a dog with a tasty bone, I tend to worry things to death. Gifted, or bedeviled, depending on your point of view, with a desire to peer beneath the surface of things not much in my life goes unexamined. So when the realization came to me recently that the past few years have brought major changes into my life- hardly less than a total brain transplant might have, I started right in. Why, I wondered, had I changed?
Thinking back, I suspect it started when we got our first computer. Well-adjusted I can assure you, I was NOT at that point in time. I was given to strong bouts of denial, and periodic panic attacks in public, scared to death as I was that someone might talk to me and I would be unmasked as being disabled, and just plain longing for what I had once had, and would never have again- functional hearing.
Now as I look back, I can easily see how skewed my thinking was. I can also see the pattern of change that came- a string of what some might call coincidences; a chain of events orchestrated as if by a well trained relay team, handing off one to another at precisely timed intervals.
The computer, as I said, came first. Unfortunately once set up, I had no idea what to do with it. I would sit for long periods of time just staring at the screen in more or less complete befuddlement - half hoping I think that those goodies I had heard so much about would simply spring to life of their own volition. I had no idea how to surf the net. I had no idea what the net even was. So, I sat and waited, which was, in those days, my typical method of facing a problem, until the Gods of coincidence, most likely tired of my dawdling, began to rearrange my life more to their liking.
Coincidence number one appeared in the garb of our then sysop, and neighbor. Craig, a Vermonter to the core, complete with waist-length beard, showed up unasked one night, volunteering to help me get started by showing me how to send e-mail.
At the time, I only knew one e-mail address and it belonged to the then editor of the ALDA News who had taken me, and my writing, under his wing when I joined ALDA (Association of Late Deafened Adults). And so, like a prisoner allowed but one phone call, I turned to this patient, and very busy, gentleman for help. What, I asked him, might I consider doing with this frightening machine sitting on my desk?
Enter coincidence number two. Luckily for me--though definitely not for him--David was home-bound recuperating from an illness at the time and was able to devote attention to a computer-phobic newbie. He willingly took over where Sysop Craig had left off, all the while keeping a straight face at my antics and fears.
The first thing he did was help me sign onto "Beyond-Hearing," a list that addresses hearing-related issues of all kinds. It was scary--after several false starts, I was sure one push ofthe wrong button would destroy civilization as we know it -- but with David's help I finally managed to sign on.
What happened next was no coincidence. It was a revelation. Timid I might be in person, but brave I was on screen. Amazing both myself, and my mentor, I jumped right in with opinions on just about everything- which often landed me in warm, if not hot, water. Still, it was an amazing feeling. It had been years since I felt myself to be on a level playing field in terms of any type of communication. Lapping it up, I grew virtually drunk on the experience of being able to express myself freely in a group.
In timely fashion came the next baton pass. All of us know Bob Elkins: the founder and moving force of the SWC. Hard as it may be to believe today, at the time these events were taking place the SWC consisted of only about 30-35 people, and Bob was actively, and personally, on the look-out for potential new members. Beyond Hearing was among his favorite fishing spots. I have no idea what made him single me out, certainly it was not my ability to keep my mouth shut- as he later found out, perhaps to his regret, but one fine morning I discovered in my in box a message from our founder inviting me to sign on to his small but lively club.
I hemmed. He wheedled. I hawed. He insisted. And insisted. Well, what could I do? I joined.
What can I say about the SWC in those now far away times? Probably pretty much what a lot of you say about it now. Those of us who join and stay generally find the first few months magical. I could say my first months were even more magical than usual- joining as I did in the very beginning of SWC history. Certainly there is something to be said for a small group of just 35 or so folks. We all, for example, came to know each other very very well, with no exceptions. We joked. We let down our hair with each other as we shared experiences, as I am sure you do to this day. And, most of all, as you also still do today, we learned.
What did we learn?
We learned what kind of dental adhesive to put on the ear molds of our hearing aids to keep feedback down when all else failed. We learned about Alaska thanks to Sandy Umlauf, one of my SWC contemporaries- or classmates as I call them. We learned how a young woman with a very serious hearing loss could possibly b eon the fast track to becoming an up and coming composer- a miracle only Beethoven and our own Gabriela could pull off. We laughed at Lorna's wit, and listened attentively to anything Shawn Lovely or Mark Dessert cared to say on any subject what-so-ever. Trish Wilson was there, just as she is now to comfort, guide and forgive us for being fallible human beings. Alan C guided us through somevery weird technical situations (anyone remember Garcia?) and Alan S told what I still find to be the funniest deaf anecdote I have ever heard- ask him about carpet cleaners and be prepared to howl. Larry Littleton and I argued about handicapped parking spaces- he for their use by deaf folks, and I against. Lady Kai, always so dignified, and now sadly gone, looked after us all - a mother hen among a wild and somewhat unruly flock. And Bob, well Bob was always there. The man lived, as I understand he still does, glued to his computer chair with Ling perpetually tapping her shoe in frustration, trying to vary his routine if only a little.
It was wonderful, wild, confusing, and bit by bit, life changing. Slowly, as the knowledge that I was not alone in dealing with a silent world seeped into my brain and very bones I realized that deaf or not, there was a whole lot of happy and interesting living still to come.
Timing is everything they say, and the baton passers at this point executed yet another flawless move. Just coming up for breath from a near drowning as I sought to cope with deafness, the relay passers rested and I was given a year or so simply to learn and frolic in the fun of the SWC without any real life problems popping up to distract me.
It couldn't last of course. But when real life did reassert itself- in the form of my mother being diagnosed with Alzheimer's, I found myself able to cope amazingly well- thanks to the SWC. Infinitely more comfortable with myself by this time, I dealt with medical staff, nursing homes, hospital clinics, and a mother, who despite her best intentions, had always been shamed by my hearing. I demanded CART under the ADA when I needed it and did not melt in a puddle of mortification for doing so. I told maintenance to take their vacuums elsewhere when necessary. The ability to say, "I am deaf," and ask for what I needed became routine. All this and more I did, knowing that that faint noise I heard as I sailed ahead coping with the problems that came my way, was the SWC cheering me on; a quiet ovation unheard by any but myself. For the first time in 20 odd years I realized that I actually LIKED myself.
To paraphrase an old song of the 60's: I am Carolyn, hear me roar. Finally.
I wish those early times could have gone on forever. I miss them still. But change, like death and taxes, is inevitable. As I grew more confident of myself, life broadened in the real non-cyberworld, and I began the process of letting go of my SWC training wheels. I kept in touch with my "class" more and more through personal e-mail, as indeed I still do today, and less and less through the Forum list- which had grown by that time by many many fold, necessitating new lists to accommodate everyone. Gradually I found myself beginning a new odyssey as I went from craving daily contact with the group, to digests, and, finally, to no-mail. At the end, realizing that the time had come to fly independently, I signed off.
It wasn't easy to admit or accept that I was ready to leave. For a long long time I remained on no-mail, so as to keep a SWC fix near at hand should I need it. It was only when the periodic renewal notices came out that I was able to fully realize that graduation time had arrived, my diploma was in hand, and it was time for the final toast.
And so, I say: here's to Shawn, and the Alans, and Sandy U, Lorna and Trish, Karen Pitt Bull, Lana, and Carol and slug-eating Gabriela. Here's to Mark who nourishes us all with his caring and humanity, and to Zvi in Israel, and Lady Kai and K Dog wholook out for us still from their perch on a cloud. Here's to Joanie, Larry who never gives up, wise Charley, wry and insightful Billand David our first resident audiologist. Here's to ALL the SWC past, present and future. And most of all- here's to you Bob Elkins, with much love, admiration and many thanks for being there for us all for so long.
BACK to Table of Contents