Should You Tell People That You are Deaf in One Ear?

With any other kind of hearing impairment, the rules are simple: 

The profoundly deaf can't hear a thing. You communicate with them via sign language, lip reading or visual media like texts. 

Those suffering partial hearing loss in either or both ears are affected by volume. If it all gets too loud, then they can't hear you.  You turn it down (or up, if you want them to hear that) and everyone's happy.  They might even have hearing aids, which makes this a void point.

Then you get unilateral hearing.  Could it be more complicated?

If it's one on one, with no background sound, I am not deaf.  If it's one on one with different sounds (say conversation over music), I am not deaf.  If there are competing sounds of the same type, I am deaf.

The rules change; and so do the ways in which communication with me is possible.

You need two working ears to achieve depth of sound.  It's not about volume.  It's about layers of audible stimuli. I cannot distinguish your voice from the voice on the television. Both merge in one humungous blob. I cannot tell what either of you are saying, if two of you are talking at the same time.

What I am hearing is disorientating and can be a little bit painful.  It gives me a headache and makes me have to deal psychologically too.  I can either disappear into my own world (usual tactic), or really, really concentrate through all of that, if I want to participate. 

That involves lip-reading and watching body language for clues, while my mind is being assaulted with white noise. It's exhausting, frustrating and can lead to me eventually tiring into becoming ratty.

It was a classic case of the rules changing. 

A couple of days previously, I had sat in this very same public house with four friends. The lounge was deserted but for ourselves, and everyone waited their turn to talk. The conversation buzzed unabated all night and nobody knew that I was partially deaf.

But now it was Friday night and we were in the bar. A smattering of farmers sipping a well earned pint suddenly turned into a busy room. I was lip-reading with my head filled with disorientating white noise. It was hard work.

I finally mentioned this to my hosts. They had vaguely known that I did have a hearing impairment, but we'd never been in a situation where it came to the fore. They realized now and, after some discussion, grasped the reality of my discomfort.

As two people who pride themselves on their hospitality, I could see that this was embarrassing for them. That made it embarrassing for me. We left after we'd finished our drinks, with me feeling like I'd ruined their evening.

Fast forward a week to my auntie's front room.  Recently widowed, she's taken to leaving the television on at all times. It's the dreaded background noise, which so many stereo hearing people seem unable (and unwilling) to do without.

It's not that my auntie doesn't know about my deafness. She used to routinely switch the radio off, when I walked through the door.  But the television stayed on, even after we and my mother were installed on the settees, cradling our cups of tea.

While the conversation ensued between my auntie and my mother, I drifted away inside my own head. I admired the new decor of the flat and vaguely pondered Wizzley articles.  Then all eyes were upon me. I'd patently been asked a question.

I wasn't looking. I wasn't ready.  I asked for it to be repeated again.  Now my mother spoke up, asking for the television to be switched off.  My auntie complied immediately, frowning as she did so. Whether at her own lack of awareness or the request itself, I didn't know.

"Why can't you get a hearing aid?" She demanded suddenly.  Ah! The latter then.

"Because it wouldn't do any good.  My cochlear is rotten."

The whole conversation then turned to my deafness. Sharp focus upon it.  I had the sense that this was all somehow my fault. In the realm of the normal, I was being wantonly and deliberately abnormal. 

I was glad when they switched to discussing how to arrange the garden.

One day later, my car has been in for its MOT and the mechanic has delivered it back to my front door.  He's trying to tell me something.  I think he said that my car has dangerous levels of emissions, which is horrifying to an old hippy like me.

Behind us, the television is blaring.  I gasp a question about fixing it at the mechanic, who looks confused. Frustration gets the better of me and I snatch up the television's remote control and switch the blasted thing off.

All around the room are the raised eyebrows of people wishing to watch the tennis at Wimbledon. The mechanic grimaces too.  Tension is rife in the air.  I'm a little too sharp as I ask, "What's causing my car to have high emissions?  Can it be fixed?"

He tells me, now probably for the third time, that there's been a change in the law requiring them to test emissions. Mine passed with flying colors. It was on zero percent.

The mechanic seemed like he couldn't wait to leave.  My father pressed for me to just pay him the money, so he could get on.  Unspoken was the utter censure in everyone's body language. I had caused a scene.

Three scenarios here.  All very real; all very possible.  This is the reality for someone deaf in one ear bringing that to the attention of the rest of the world.  It's worth bearing in mind, when you ponder the query that I found in my analytics. It had led somebody to one of my Wizzley pages.

I love a boy, but I'm partially deaf. Should I tell him about it?

There it was, in the list of terms which people have entered in order to find my articles. It led them to Talking to Somebody Who is Deaf in One Ear.

I hope that it helped them. Obviously not as information to answer their question, because that person would have already known this stuff.

But he or she could have used it like I do, which is as a link to give to people who want to know more about how I hear the world.  (And how to make life easier for me.)

So what is the answer to the question?  My instinct is to scream aloud - tell him!  If he's worth your love, then this won't matter at all.  He'll learn how to afford leeway and make your environment happier in all ways.

If you're planning to be with him forever, then he'll have to know.  Sooner rather than later, as he might wonder why you never told him before.

But then I pause and think. I ponder the heart-breaking reality of being desperately in love and wanting everything in your favor. You can spend hours in front of a mirror trying to look your best. You can practice your lines and your laughter. Anything to give yourself the edge over his other potential love interests.

Partial deafness lands in the middle of that like a stone stuck in your shoe. Awkward situations are all too common. He might not want the hassle and that's an automatic rejection.

On balance, I still think that (s)he should tell him.  The person asking does not deserve less than full consideration and understanding. And if he doesn't respond appropriately, then he misses out on what could have been the great love of his life.