Monthly Archives: August 2012

The Whistling Chemistry Professor

20 Monday Aug 2012

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It was with great sadness that I received the news that Kermit Schroeder died this morning. Kermit was in his mid 70’s, and spent the last 5 years of his life battling Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). Often referred to as Lou Gehrig’s disease, it’s a progressive, neurodegenerative disease in which the brain loses the ability to control motor function. There is no cure, although stem cell research is somewhat promising for future treatment. It’s a horrible disease.

Kermit was an integral part of my life through my 20’s and well into my 30’s. I was engaged to his younger son during college. Though we did not get married, Kermit, his wife Betty, and Dan’s siblings and various other relatives continued to make me feel like family and I participated in a wide range of activities and events with them. The impact he and the family had on me is many layered and complex. I think the fact that several of them drove many hours to come to my wedding speaks volumes about who they are to me–and I suppose, who I was to them. Though we do not now have the strong connection we once did, the love is everlasting.

In addition to making me a part of his family, Kermit played another role in my life. An inorganic chemistry professor at my college in Brockport, NY, he also had a degree in mathematics and taught some math courses at the school. I had put off taking the one required math class for my liberal arts degree, having brought with me to college the internal message that “I don’t do math”. Nervous about the possibility of looking like a dunce in front of him, yet wanting to have a chance to take a class with Dr. Schroeder, I took the math class with him. At 8:00 in the morning. Yeah.

I did well enough, getting a B or B+ as a final grade. At the end of the class, he pulled me aside and said “Deb, if I’d gotten to you sooner, I’d have persuaded you to become a math major.” I was STUNNED and told him so. He explained that he could see that though I had little experience with various formulas I understood concepts and played well with numbers. I thanked him profusely, but I regret not telling him what a powerful message he’d given me to share with myself: I can do math. I can. I love numbers. I am not brilliant, I will not be giving the world complex puzzles and formulas never before imagined. But on the strength of one message from a trusted, knowledgeable friend, my self-perception began to shift. It took two decades to get back to school to see about learning all of those formulas. Better late than never. It’s a pretty sure bet it would’ve been never if he hadn’t come into my life.

The reason for the title of this post? The man could whistle long classical pieces without stopping for a breath. His was the last whistle I remember hearing and enjoying before my hearing took the plunge and I heard no more whistling until about 5 years ago thanks to my cochlear implants. I can still see him, long and lean, gliding down the hallways of the science building on campus, the whistled tune announcing his presence even before he came into view. Now that he is free of the paralyzing effects of ALS, I see him out there, gliding all over the Universe, whistling his beautiful tunes again. I can almost hear it.

Sh’ma

19 Sunday Aug 2012

Posted by in Cochlear Implant and Hearing, Spirituality

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I attended Chevra Torah (bible study) at Temple in Greensboro this morning. I don’t get there as often as I’d like, as I currently reside nearly an hour away. I prefer to make the drive with my friend Jayne, so that we can enjoy what I refer to as our post-Chevra session. The group is large and very different from the experience I had with a study partner several years ago. It has many merits but there is not usually the allowance for in-depth discussion of one or two finer points. That is my study preference, and one I can engage in to a greater extent in the car with my friend on the drive home. She could not join me today, so I was left to mull things over without the benefit of friendly discourse.

An aspect of today’s Torah portion that was of great interest to me was consideration of a single word: hear. One of the best known Jewish prayers is the Sh’ma:

Sh’ma Yis’ra’eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad. Hear, Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One. (Deuteronomy 6:4-9)

The word Sh’ma means to hear. It also can be understood as to obey, as well as to listen. Rabbi Andy led the group in considering the shades of difference between hearing and listening. I was apparently bobbing my head with much more energy than I would have had I been aware of myself. I do not like to draw attention to myself at these gatherings, and with few exceptions am extremely quiet during discussion. This is a product of two factors: fear of tripping over my tongue and not articulating my thoughts well, and tending to focus on one aspect of a discussion and not making rapid transitions from one aspect to another. Even though I can follow a large group discussion with a good deal of accuracy, thanks to my cochlear implanted ears, I still am not a major player in group discussions. But Andy walked over to me and said Yes? I see you’re relating to this? I replied: OH yes, one hundred percent! I live this! I don’t know if he thought I merely meant this in the sense of hearing versus being deaf, and of course there is that element. After all, I am deaf without my cochlear implants and lived the greater part of my life with significant hearing loss. When I was profoundly hard of hearing and without the benefit of cochlear implants (or hearing aids for several years) I was a complete failure at hearing. However, I was an exceptional listener. As a result of using every bit of data available to gather information—beyond hearing whatever I could, reading expressions became my lifeline–I was fairly good at understanding the messages being sent to me.

My exuberant expression of recognition this morning was about more than the functional aspects of hearing and listening. Jokes are often made about certain individuals having “selective” hearing. He or she is accused of hearing what is of interest and conveniently missing the undesirable messages. The ones made at the expense of spouses and partners are usually greeted with loud chuckles and knowing glances. Underneath the smart aleck humor is often a great deal of pain: one does not feel that they are being heard by those closest to them.  I have often been thanked for listening intently to what another is saying. Although the hard of hearing among you may smile with recognition: well of course she does, she has to read their lips! But you know what? I don’t have to anymore, most of the time. I have been given an incredible gift: the ability to hear in reasonably quiet environments without hanging on to the speaker’s every lip movement, every facial expression. However, I find that I connect most deeply with another when I show by my physical actions that I am fully present. I also find that maintaining that practice means a greater chance of being successful at it. I propose to my normal hearing friends that while you may indeed have no difficulty hearing another speak while you have your face averted, you may be unwittingly diverting your attention from the other. In doing so, you may be missing out on the more nuanced aspects of hearing and listening, and depriving not only the other but yourself the deeper connections that make life so rich and satisfactory.  I believe that there are many ways to practice meditation. One needn’t sit cross legged on a cushion to develop the ability to be fully present in the moment.

We also touched upon the concept of seeing versus looking this morning. Andy gave an example of a You Tube video that apparently went viral some time ago. The gist of it was that instruction was given to closely watch some kids playing a game-basketball or volleyball, I think. In the background, but in plain sight, there is an image of a bear walking through the scene.  Apparently there are many people who are so focused on watching the game that they completely miss the bear until a second viewing or until someone points out the fact of the bear in the video. A classic example of missing the forest for the trees! This led me to thinking about what I see when I look up to observe trees silhouetted against the sky. Have you done this? Viewed through one set of “lenses” one can see that there are branches, needles and leaves. Perhaps one notices birds perched or sitting on nests, water droplets and butterflies. Switch the lens and one can see the sky, the clouds, perhaps some fog or drizzle or bright sun. One might observe leaves loosening from branches, falling to earth, or birds taking flight against the blue or grey sky.  Viewed in totality, one can see how all the parts have their place in the scheme. Nothing is superfluous. In the practice of looking and listening comes a greater capacity to see and understand. Everyone needs a reason to get up in the morning. This is mine.