With tightly laced hot pink figure skates adorning my feet, off I went with unbridled confidence, gliding smoothly across the ice tossing in a few swizzles and twizzles, nailing a triple salchow and ending my routine in a perfect Hamill Camel. I gathered the teddy bears, the flowers, and basked in the applause – but moved quickly off of the ice for I needed to do a quick change before the next event.
I tossed my hot pink figure skates to the side, and scrambled into my hockey gear and heavy skates with the thick blades. I rushed to join the team, wrestling my way to the front, while elbowing Jim Craig right out of my way (those goalies just take up too much space). I managed to catch the end of Coach Brooks’s now epic speech. His words rang in my ears as I jostled my way to the entrance of the rink… “Their time is done. It’s over. I’m sick and tired of hearing about what a great hockey team the Soviets have. Screw ’em. This is your time. Now go out there and take it.”
I startled awake, momentarily confused that my now 50 year old self was rising from sleepiness in 2024 in Massachusetts and not in the 1980 Lake Placid Olympic Village with multiple medals heavy around my neck. I had nothing to show for my Olympic dreams except a few pictures of me sporting the now ubiquitous “Dorothy Hamill Bowl Cut” most girls suffered through in the 1980s hidden away in faded photo albums, determined to not let them see the light of day. Ever.
I did spend some time on skates as a child, and each time I greeted the experience with a renewed optimism that this time would be different. I would be spared the humiliation of immediately falling after one step on the ice. I would not have to hold on to an adult to even try and move a little bit. I would be able to let go of the wall and join my friends freely racing across the ice with little fear. I’d be able to spin and stop on the frozen pond alongside my cousins. I would finally have a few moments in my life where I truly was “just like all the other kids”.
Those moments never came.
Each venture onto the ice was the same. I would get my skates on, tied up and ready to try again with an innocent wish that this time I will be able to do everything that comes so easily to everyone else. I would cautiously toddle over to the entrance to the ice, take one cautious step, and immediately start to slip around. I’d panic and grab onto the nearest grown up or the wall, whichever was closer. A few more unsuccessful starts and stops nearly always relegated me to clinging to the wall in desperation. I’d then plaster a smile on my face, make a few jokes, and send my friends and family off to enjoy their time skating while I hesitantly hedged myself along the perimeter, the wall my only companion for the duration of the outing. It was awful, and by the time I hit my early teen years I accepted that skating was just not going to happen for me, and that my time would be better spent as a rabid hockey fan in the stands.
My Mom was a skating instructor. My Dad was a skilled athlete. One would logically deduce that my genetics lent a high probability that I would be able to skate, ski, ride a bike or take a few steps on a balance beam.
One would be so, so wrong.
Let’s blame the hearing loss.
In all seriousness, hearing loss and issues with balance are closely linked through basic biology. The auditory and vestibular systems are neighbors within the inner ear, and when one system is damaged, the other is also impacted.
A brief bit of research yielded a few interesting tidbits that lends some explanation as to why those of us with hearing loss experience such difficulty with tasks requiring balance:
- Loss of hearing can muffle subtle cues that our ears register to support balance while walking. This reduced awareness of cues impacts balance skills while in motion.
- The cognitive load required for the brain to work overtime to process sound leaves little mental energy reserves for balance-related sensory input.
- Physically, hearing loss can lead to changes in gait and/or posture, which naturally impacts overall balance and increases the risk of falls.
Additionally, unrelated to hearing, as we age our sense of balance also decreases while fall risks increase. I had my left knee replaced in March 2022 – and at my follow up appointment, the surgeon said to me “Well, Julie, your skating, skiing, rollerblading, and running days are over – you need to avoid any activities where you may have compromised balance”. I tried to screw my face into a disappointed expression in an effort to disguise my inner glee at this news – the end of days that had never really started, but at least now I had a better excuse than my hearing loss to not have to even attempt any of those hellish recreational activities. (I have added hiking to the list, too – not necessarily because of balance, but because it also sounds like the 7th circle of hell.)
I avoid ice skating, but I do have to contend with the dangers of ice each and every winter. I have a near crippling fear once the first frozen patches appear on the steps and driveway, as there is no wall for me to latch onto as I make my way to my car, my front door, or the entrance to the school where I teach. My anxiety ratchets up to 10 immediately, and even though I wear boots with sensible grips, take my time, and walk on the hard packed snow whenever possible the feelings of terror never leave.
I am already a fall risk due to the hearing loss and the employment of one titanium knee but the greater danger beyond injury is falling in such a way that my hearing aids will get damaged on impact. They are fragile machines, precariously teetering over the top of my ears, and one slight misstep or slip increases the possibility of them sustaining significant, irreparable damage. The implications of a damaged hearing aid adds a level of terror each winter season. I grapple with removing them, housing them in their shatter proof case and placing the case inside my school bag or pocketbook for the duration of the outside navigational periods. A logical plan, to be sure, but I then compromise my safety in a different way because I am unable to hear moving vehicles or people around me – this also increases my feelings of anxiety.
The dangerous winter months are descending upon us at the time of this writing, so I shall retreat into hibernation as often as possible to avoid navigating the treacherous landscape that lies outside the door. I will enjoy the ice from the comfort of my couch watching my favorite B hockey teams: the Boston Bruins and the Boston College Eagles – with a favorite B event, The Beanpot, coming up in a few short weeks – where the ever satisfying beatdown of Boston University awaits.
Author’s Note: Brad chose to aggravate me by sending a chart of past Beanpot statistics…that NU Husky never misses an opportunity to aggravate this BC Eagle…let’s see what happens come February!
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