It was a cool morning early last spring and I was interviewing a breeder about her concerns about the upcoming fire season in BC Interior. We were walking in pieces of snow and in a meadow with a bunch when we noticed a meadow sitting on a fence. She commented on his beautiful song and we were silent as I spread my microphone to catch his voice. But as I turned up the volume on my recorder, I heard nothing. The moment stabilized something I had suspected for a long time: I was losing my hearing. And it marked the moment when I began to fear the impending end of my vital bond with the world I love – that of radio journalism. Ever since I can remember the sound, I have had a deep connection with the sound because I know how precious it is. From childhood, I was deaf in my left ear, a rare side effect of a common infection. I miss a lot in casual conversations and I have learned to read my lips and maneuver in social settings as my friends and family participate in choreographed dances to get on my “right” side. In part, that was what drew me to a career in radio. I spend my work days with headphones and when I’m out in the field, I pick up sound with a shotgun microphone and control the volume up close. I can waste hours in the studio mixing and layering sound, creating documentaries that bring stories to life for listeners. I have developed respect for the sounds I have collected: the voices of the last monks of a dying man to sing songs of worship in a hospital chapel. The howl of cattle climbing a mountain by a young woman whose dream is to take over the family ranch. the deep voice of former First Nation Leader Kwikwasut’inuxw Haxwa’mis standing at an ocean entrance and calling for a little salmon run home. These recordings are accompanied by a series of human emotions, along with deep breaths, sighs and awkward laughter that reveal as much as the words they note. LISTEN Jennifer Chrumka’s audio documentary on reducing the salmon population Unreserved24: 03 The first nations are trying to reverse the tide of “splitting” the salmon population 2020 saw the lowest yield of sock salmon on the Fraser River in BC since records began in 1893. The Pacific Salmon Commission says only 288,000 sockeye returned. This has worried many people compared to the peak years when more than 20 million salmon would return. 24:03
A disorienting racket
A few months ago, I visited an audiologist who confirmed my unilateral deafness. He also said that hearing in my right ear was mapped to the lower end of normal range and could continue to decline. He proposed a CROS type of hearing aid that would cost several thousand dollars.
I did not stop a single rhythm before saying “Yes”, dreaming that I did not have to bend down to hear my daughter’s voice and hoping that it would allow me to hear the world in all the depth I wanted.
But when I finally settled in with hearing aids, the world did not get clean and tidy. Instead, it was wrapped in static with sharp, tiny accents, as if I were sitting on a plane ready to take off.
A new headset turned the world into a chaotic noise chaos, writes Jennifer Chrumka. (Duk Han Lee / CBC News Graphics)
The audiologist told me that my brain would get used to it and come back for more adjustments. I left her office completely disoriented by the racket in my ears.
In recent months, I’ve been trying to get used to the new way things sound, but it ‘s exhausting. Although I’m more adept at catching small group conversations, it’s a struggle to sort out the chaos deal that comes out of my headphones when I go out to report. A voice no longer has a prominent position over a set of keys that ring in the hand. the sound of my shoes walking on a sidewalk echoes behind me unnaturally.
This also changes my journalism as I move from audio to writing.
On the radio, there is an intimacy combined with listening to another person’s voice or quietly washing the ocean directly in your ear. It can transport the listener to another world. Now, I try to recreate these moments in words – the pauses and the silences, the way the wind rustles through trembling poplars when the leaves dry in the fall or how with the first heavy snowfall there is a sense of stagnant stillness. My reverence for sound is still there, but I am learning to express it differently.
And just as when I lost my left ear hearing as a child it made me appreciate the world of radio, so the reconciliation with falling to my right made me cling to everything I can still hear. I listen more carefully than ever, gaining valuable connections to the world around me.
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