© 2007
When I Grow Up
by Bet Whitcomb
I decided at the ripe old age of 7 that I wanted to become a teacher. My second grade teacher was, in my eyes, nothing short of the perfect human being. My appreciation for the perfection she embodied expressed itself in my desire to follow in her footsteps. As I aged, so did the group of students I hoped one day to teach. In second grade, it was second graders. In junior high it was seventh grade math. By the time I graduated from high school there was no doubt in my mind that I would one day stand in front of high math students, all every bit as eager as I to learn the beauties of this wonderful discipline.
Had I known in advance all the trials and tribulations that were to face me as a teacher I may have had reservations. I was a “good” student and could not imagine that anyone would want to be anything different. Teaching public school in a poor mill town opened my eyes very rapidly. I quickly learned the need for constant awareness if I were to survive in the classroom. Little did I know, however, that these survival lessons would later prove to be invaluable in a different context.
A change of jobs for my husband brought me to a new school district, a new mill town when I was 28. I was feeling good about my choice of career. I was an experienced teacher, yet young enough to have nearly as much energy as my charges. Our first child had been born 8 months earlier. The maternity leave had been just long enough to return to teaching with renewed conviction. There was one problem, though. The students at this new school mumbled. For some reason they lacked the diction that my former students had. They started mumbling even more three years later when I returned from my second maternity leave.
I do not recall what exactly prompted me finally to have my hearing tested. I knew my mother and oldest brother each had otosclerosis, but I doubted that the same was true of me since each had started losing hearing at a younger age than I. Besides, as a youth, I had always been told how acute my hearing was. But, I could not ignore that otosclerosis did seem to run in my family, nor could I dispute the fact that my hearing was deteriorating.
The results of the hearing test showed that I indeed had inherited my mother’s hearing loss, a type of loss that worsens with pregnancy. I was fitted for hearing aids and embarked upon a new phase of my career, that of teaching with a hearing loss. At that stage I had few concerns about my ability still to teach. If need be, I could function without hearing aids and so teaching with them was not a big issue for me. One more child and several years later, my perspective changed. I believed that I still had much to offer as an educator, but coping with a severe to profound hearing loss put me at a distinct disadvantage.
Early on I decided to meet this disadvantage head on. I realized that trying to hide my hearing loss from my students would be ludicrous. They would, of course, figure it out in a matter of minutes, and make me the brunt of jokes and pranks. So, instead I begin my school year by not only telling my students about my hearing loss, but also by giving them letters describing my loss and how best to deal with it. They and their parents are to sign these letters that the students keep in their binders. Brightly colored laminated signs hang above my board, each reminding students of ways to help me understand them more clearly. I wear an FM loop around my neck and explain to the students how the FM system works. When I teach pre-calculus, I always include a lesson on conversion between sound intensity and loudness. The students interpret my audiogram and calculate how many times more intense sounds need to be for me to hear them. I have found that the key is to keep my students aware of my hearing loss using a variety of means, some subtle, some not.
There have been many factors that have allowed me to continue teaching. One is my subject matter. In mathematics classes the discussion is minimal and answers tend to be very predictable. Plus, with the exception of fifty and sixty (or fifteen and sixteen), numbers all contain very different vowel sounds, making it easier for me to distinguish between them. Another factor is a very supportive school district. My colleagues and administrators have provided me with the support necessary to persevere. The school has purchased an FM system for my use. More recently the superintendent agreed to an extensive purchase of technology that will allow me to view my students’ calculator screens on my computer. This same technology will allow for communication between the students and me, as the calculators have text messaging capabilities. Colleagues have worked with me to help get this technology up and running. One of these same colleagues always sits by me at faculty meetings, using her laptop computer much like a CART screen for me.
A final factor in my continuing to teach is my own determination. The same drive that led little seven-year-old Elizabeth to pursue her dream of teaching is leading a much older version not to abandon that dream. Something as trifling as a severe hearing loss is not about to deter me.