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From: Biniam Tekle (biniamt@dehai.org)
Date: Wed Dec 29 2010 - 13:57:27 EST
After 27 years of silence I can hear my own voice and speak to
my family
By Richard Price
Last updated at 11:02 PM on 30th August 2010
Growing up in the vibrant, cultural melting-pot of Ladbroke Grove, home to
the Notting Hill Carnival, Semhar Beyene’s childhood dream was to become a
performer.
With her dancer’s physique, love of music and exquisite, model features, she
had all the attributes to make it to the top.
There was just one problem: Semhar was born profoundly deaf.
The reasons are unknown (both her parents and older sister have perfect
hearing), but with the assistance of hearing aids and lip-reading, she
never allowed being deaf to hold her back.
Nevertheless, once she left school and started attending auditions, the
reality of her disability hit hard. She gave up on her dreams, finding work
as a graphic designer.
Now, however, the old spark has been reignited — thanks to a tiny electronic
implant drilled into her skull last November. At 27 years old, Semhar is
one of a small group of profoundly deaf people offered a cochlear implant.
She can now enjoy sounds and voices she has never heard before.
Prior to this, the quietest sound she could hear was 98 decibels (the level
of noise made by a lawnmower), whereas the normal hearing range is 0-20
decibels. Hearing aids helped to amplify the sounds, but hearing
conversations was impossible.
‘For the first time, I’m able to hear my voice,’ she says. ‘And I can hear
the way my parents’ names are pronounced — up until I had the implant I had
never heard them spoken. All these things make a huge difference. It’s a
surprisingly emotional experience. ’
Cochlear implants have been transforming the lives of deaf people for nearly
two decades, with around 200,000 users worldwide, but until recently the
procedure was reserved either for the very young — ideally toddlers — or
for those who had previously been able to hear.
The logic behind this was that adults who were born profoundly deaf would be
incapable of adjusting to the bewildering array of new sounds. However,
Semhar is challenging the old received wisdom.
The success of these devices is all down to extraordinary scientific
development which allows doctors to short circuit the damaged ear canals
of deaf patients and wire a microphone directly to the brain.
The tiny implants, which can last up to 20 years, are inserted into the
inner ear and wired up to the cochlea, the snail-shaped cavity that
normally helps to transmit sounds to the brain.
In severe deafness, as in Semhar’s case, tiny hair cells lining the inner
part of the cochlea, which pick up sound waves, are damaged beyond repair.
Surgeons therefore implant tiny electrodes and a receiver deep within the
ear, then connect them up to a microphone worn on the outer ear, just like a
hearing aid.
As sound waves are picked up by the microphone, they are transmitted along
a wire to a sophisticated sound processor which is worn behind the ear.
This modifies the signal according to the individual’s needs (its power,
for example, can be finely adjusted) before transmitting a signal to the
receiver inside the skull.
This is converted to electrical signals which are sent to electrodes to
stimulate the auditory nerve, which is what enables our brain to ‘hear’
sounds.
For Semhar, who had the operation last November, the process of having the
implant fitted was the culmination of a lifetime’s consideration. Despite
being born deaf, she never regarded herself as disabled.
She grew up using lip reading and hearing aids rather than sign language
and attended a mainstream primary school, where she was marked out as a
high-achiever.
‘I didn’t even think of myself as deaf. I thought I spoke exactly the same
as all the other children although it clearly sounded different to hearing
people.’ she says.
‘Then, at secondary school age I moved to a deaf boarding school and
everything changed. I was shocked because everyone was signing, which I
didn’t understand — initially I felt like it was some kind of freak school.
Looking back, I guess I was prejudiced about deafness myself.’
But the environment led to her making many deaf friends and so, despite
several offers of a cochlear implant in her teens and early 20s, she saw no
need to seek to improve her hearing.
Indeed, she went on to achieve a great deal. She appeared in Channel 4’s
show Vee-TV made for and by deaf people; helped organise a dance troupe and
appeared on stage. She also reached the latter stages of selection for the
BBC TV show Britain’s Missing Top Model, in which eight young women with
disabilities competed for a modelling contract.
When offered a place, however, she turned it down. ‘I didn’t like the way
they were make a big deal of my disability,’ she says. ‘They were choosing
people with the most severe disabilities and my view was they were trying to
exploit these girls, so I pulled out.’
‘I didn’t even think of myself as deaf. I thought I spoke exactly the
same as all the other children although it clearly sounded different to
hearing people.’
But it was at this point in her life that things started to change for
Semhar. ‘I was becoming disheartened. I would go to auditions and feel
exposed. Normally I wouldn’t tell them I was deaf, but then I’d realise I
was struggling to keep up.’
At the time, Semhar was also working as a graphic designer and found herself
shattered at the end of every working day.
‘When you’re deaf, every conversation with a hearing person takes a lot of
effort and concentration because you’re straining to make sure you fully
understand.
‘I just wanted to make my life easier, so I decided the time had come to go
ahead with the cochlear implant.’
In April last year, she informed her consultant at the Royal National Ear,
Nose and Throat hospital in London’s King’s Cross of her decision and in
November the operation was carried out.
And despite the major potential side-effects to consider — cochlear
implants destroy any residual hearing, as they effectively short-circuit
the ear canal and there’s a very small chance of paralysis if a nerve is cut
— Semhar decided it was still worth the risk.
The operation took three-and-a-half hours. When the implant was first
switched on the following month, however, it was far from a positive
experience.
‘I’d been told it would be unlike anything I’d experienced before. One
anology was that while the hearing aid gave you sound in 2D, the implant
gave you sound in 3D. I’d been very excited about it. But it was incredibly,
horribly noisy,’ she recalls.
‘Everything was too loud — especially the sound of traffic. Initially, I
struggled to focus on work — constantly being distracted by what was going
on around me. In the end I had to turn it off for a few weeks.’
However, Semhar now regards the implant as a success. Voices which
initially sounded robotic have settled into normality. And her hearing has
improved to the level where she can make out sounds at 35 decibels — the
sound of someone snoring.
This places her in the ‘mild hearing loss’ range — a massive improvement.
Semhar now goes to pubs and clubs regularly and is learning a talent which
hearing people take for granted: the ability to block out extraneous noise.
‘I get annoyed with someone who keeps coughing, or if I hear a crisp packet
rustling. But I’m privileged to be in this position, so I can’t complain.
‘My pronunciation is coming on leaps and bounds. I do still lip-read, but
hearing helps lessen the need, so it’s a mix of both.’
The procedure is not without controversy. There is a strong lobby that sees
being deaf not as a disability, but as a distinct ethnic group with its own
language — sign language — and culture.
But Semhar is keen to be seen as a pioneer for deaf people.
‘I want to open more doors for people like me,’ she says. ‘People think once
you have an implant you’ll get involved in the hearing world and forget
about the deaf world, but that’s not true. It’s a bridge to both of them.’
While she insists she has no regrets about the operation, she has no
intention of having another implant fitted in her right ear.
‘I’m very happy with the hearing I have — it’s like seeing individual
colours, then gradually recognising how they all mix together to make a
clear image. I wouldn’t change it for the world.’
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