Self-isolation is a concept with which I am well-acquainted. I feel isolated in my illness which cannot be seen.
Participants with worse hearing ‘show substantial relief at not being obliged to attend challenging social gatherings’.
“Tinnitus and hearing loss are a lot less cool than wearing earplugs!”
Unfortunately, through the two layers of face-coverings, her speech reached my ear as a series of unintelligible scrambled tones and fragments of muffled words.
She came round the corner just in time to watch me vomit on the side of the street. I think that was the moment she internalised what was happening.
Since I’m blind, the sound I can’t take for granted any more, literally means the world to me. It is the key to my independence, to the travels and adventures I’m having and to the communication that keeps me connected and grounded in this world.
Image by Jan Vašek from Pixabay A friend of mine recently told me a story about how her elderly grandmother, who is in
At night-time, it loves the limelight, gobbling it up with glee. The more I focus on it, the more layers of noise I discover.
I felt guilty for feeling sad. I was swallowing down grief in giant gulps, trying to dismiss complex emotions. The pragmatic part of my character knew there were much worse challenges that life could present to me.
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