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by Clovis Mabry
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Role modeling is a democratic activity. It can happen anywhere and
anytime. Consciously and unconsciously, adults and children provide
models of behavior and attitude for each other. The effect of
meeting adults who are deaf has long been noted on deaf children
and young people. Here is one parent's experience. |
Walking into the hospital room with my deaf daughter as I had
so many times before I didn't notice the nurse at first. My eyes
fell on the little lady wrapped in a wheel chair. She was my
friend's mother and seemed so helpless. Blankets and pillows
propped her up, half sitting, half lying down. My friend was there,
too, trying to coax her mother to eat.
"Do you want me to feed her?" the nurse offered.
I couldn't help but notice her then and she was one of the
most attractive people I've ever seen. Her hair was clipped, neat
and short. Her smile was happy. Her manner was gentle.
My daughter signed something to me.
"Does she sign?" the nurse asked.
"Yes," I answered. "She is deaf."
My daughter is 24 years old. When she was little, she was
diagnosed with autism. She attended a special education program at
the Arkansas School for the Deaf. Now she lives with me on our
farm, about three miles from Eudora, Arkansas. We communicate
mostly through signs, writing, and gestures.
The nurse nodded.
"I'm deaf, too," she said.
To my surprise, I noticed two large hearing aids in each of
her ears and a wire behind her head. Then she told me her wonderful
story. She had gone to a state school for the deaf from an early
age. She had some residual hearing and preferred to communicate
through lipreading, not signing.
One day, she went to her doctor, and he asked her what she
wanted to be when she grew up. She told him: "I want to be a nurse,
but I can't. I'm deaf."
The doctor disagreed: "If you want to be a nurse, you can be
a nurse," he said.
Apparently the doctor helped make arrangements for her
schooling. She stopped talking to show my daughter and myself her
stethoscope. It had a built-in amplification device.
The nurse bent down and put the specially-equipped stethoscope
to my daughter's ears. My daughter is profoundly deaf, but perhaps
she could hear something with the residual hearing in her right
ear.
As my daughter realized the nurse was deaf, she stared at the
woman in awe and delight. I'll never forget the look on her face.
It didn't matter that the nurse was African American and my
daughter is white, or that the nurse communicated with voice while
my daughter communicates with signs. "It's like she is an angel
nurse," I thought.
After we left, I noticed my daughter seemed more confident.
When she was not happy about something, she mimicked the nurse's
communication, lipping "no" to me.
Last fall, I had an operation. As I recovered, my daughter
helped take care of me. I was touched with her tenderness and
skill. I wonder now if the "angel nurse" helped me and my daughter
as much as my friend's mother.
I was glad she was there.
| 
in
Education and Deafness 
