Miss-Delectable
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Two worlds collide - Alternative Health, Health - Independent.ie
Sinead Desmond is close to her brother Conor. The TV3 presenter has always adored him. But when she hangs out with Conor's friends, she just can't keep up with the conversation.
"Conor is profoundly deaf," explains Sinead. "We have our own communication, but I never learned Irish sign language. So when I'm with his friends, who are also profoundly deaf, I feel left out. That really frustrates me."
But it makes Sinead aware of how it feels when your first language is not understood by the wider world.
"I was in the minority, and I realised that Conor is in the minority in society every day of the week. I realised how difficult this must be for him.
"Conor is a hairdresser, and he has a great life. He has not allowed his deafness to create a barrier. But it's been tough for him, especially at university in England, when his interpreter was withdrawn in his final year."
As for Conor, 33, he just wants to be understood.
"I want people to have patience with me," he says. "Often I meet people who walk off rather than try to work out what I am saying. I can see them thinking I am stupid because of the way my voice sounds."
There's little understanding of sign language in Ireland, and that, Conor says, is frustrating.
"In the UK, understanding is much better," he says. "The deaf community in Ireland gets very little support, especially from the Government."
Unrecognised
There are 5,000 people in Ireland who are profoundly deaf. They use Irish sign language (ISL) as their first language. Sixty thousand people use sign language, when you add in the hard of hearing and the helpers. Yet, ISL is not recognised as an official language of this country (it is recognised in Northern Ireland).
It's something the Irish Deaf Society is determined to put right. And it is especially keen that ISL be recognised as a human right in the Irish Constitution.
"There are a lot of misconceptions," Kevin Stanley, Chief Executive of the IDS, says. "People do not know that Irish sign language is different to the sign language used in the UK.
"Hearing people often are not willing to try to communicate with the deaf," he says. "People don't know what to say; they are frightened that they might cause offence. You should try," he says.
"You should speak clearly, and use gestures. Or you could try writing down what you want to say. You should use your common sense."
Stanley would like to see more funding allocated too.
"There are so many barriers," he says. "There's discrimination too. A lot of deaf people do have employment, but most of them are on a low wage. Promotion is difficult for someone who is deaf and they can feel isolated."
A rich life
Catherine McCormack, 34, lives in a cottage by the sea in County Wicklow, with her two dogs. Born partially deaf, she became profoundly so by the age of 18. A year ago, Cathy had surgery for a cochlear implant; this electronic device, she says, has made life a little easier.
Catherine has a rich life. She has represented Ireland in basketball for the European and World Deaf Games, and this month she's off to Australia to represent Ireland in golf -- a game she adores.
Catherine loves her job, too. She's an occupational therapist. But were it not for her father's wisdom, she might never have had the chance to train.
"I had accepted my CAO offer to study Occupational Therapy at Trinity, when the then director rang my father and urged him to make me change my mind. He said, being deaf, I would not be able for the course. My father banged the phone down. He didn't tell me about the call until four years later, when I graduated, coming first in my class."
Life for Catherine has had its struggles.
"Secondary school was an absolute nightmare," she says. "I found it hard to make friends. But, by the time I went to college, I realised there were some positive things about being a deaf person. I learned sign language, and began to enjoy deaf sports. I stopped trying to pretend that I was a hearing person.
"My change in attitude and behaviour has helped me to make friends with hearing people, and they with me."
How would she like a hearing person to treat her upon first meeting?
"I would like to be treated as an equal, but I'd like them to acknowledge that I am deaf. I'd like them to meet me half way across the communication divide. Then we can converse, as equals, from the deaf and the hearing worlds.
"But when you are living in a hearing world, everyone is treated as if they can hear. So, there's a breakdown in communication at the bank, on the golf course, in the pub and at work. The environment disables me. At work, for example, I can't hear the security guard when I buzz him. He talks through the intercom, but is out of sight. So, I have trouble getting into the car park.
"Signing week is a chance for me to share my deaf world and my language with hearing people. It's an opportunity to open their minds to the visual way of living.
"My father has learned to deal with my world," she says. "Last month my brother got married on my birthday. At the end of his speech, in front of all our family and friends, my father wished me a happy birthday in my language -- Irish sign language. That was my best moment ever."
Different
Lisa Dunne, 24, doesn't remember when she realised that her family was 'different'. An only child of deaf parents, known as a CODA, Lisa was always mixing with her extended family, many of whom are also deaf.
"My dad has two deaf brothers," says Lisa. "One has two children, one is deaf and one hearing, and the other brother has seven children, two hearing and five deaf. We are all very close."
Lisa used sign language to communicate with her parents. She learned it from them naturally, but was it tough, having to do all the talking for her parents?
"Being between the two worlds, these worlds that did not 'get' each other, could be hard," she says. "You are a kind of mediator. It was difficult sometimes, but it wasn't traumatic. I just went with it.
"It's not a strain at the time, but it can be inappropriate," she says. "I would have known bank and insurance details, and my parent's medical details. It is better, if possible, that parents do not always rely on a child to interpret. But often they don't have a choice."
After a year at college studying International Event Management, Lisa realised that the career was not for her. So she studied ISL at Trinity College Dublin, gaining an accreditation to work for a government agency as a freelance sign-language interpreter.
Rewarding
"I love my job," she says. "It takes me everywhere in the country. I might be at a business meeting, at a conference, or in a college signing to a deaf student from the front of the lecture hall," she says.
"It can be rewarding, but some deaf people go through hard times. And because we have to be neutral, there is not a lot we can do at the time. That can be frustrating."
What was it like, though, being brought up in a quiet home?
"Well we still had rows," she says. "We'd become really animated. The best thing, though, was when my friends stayed over. If we came in late we could make as much noise as we liked. My house was really popular!" she laughs.
Sinead Desmond is close to her brother Conor. The TV3 presenter has always adored him. But when she hangs out with Conor's friends, she just can't keep up with the conversation.
"Conor is profoundly deaf," explains Sinead. "We have our own communication, but I never learned Irish sign language. So when I'm with his friends, who are also profoundly deaf, I feel left out. That really frustrates me."
But it makes Sinead aware of how it feels when your first language is not understood by the wider world.
"I was in the minority, and I realised that Conor is in the minority in society every day of the week. I realised how difficult this must be for him.
"Conor is a hairdresser, and he has a great life. He has not allowed his deafness to create a barrier. But it's been tough for him, especially at university in England, when his interpreter was withdrawn in his final year."
As for Conor, 33, he just wants to be understood.
"I want people to have patience with me," he says. "Often I meet people who walk off rather than try to work out what I am saying. I can see them thinking I am stupid because of the way my voice sounds."
There's little understanding of sign language in Ireland, and that, Conor says, is frustrating.
"In the UK, understanding is much better," he says. "The deaf community in Ireland gets very little support, especially from the Government."
Unrecognised
There are 5,000 people in Ireland who are profoundly deaf. They use Irish sign language (ISL) as their first language. Sixty thousand people use sign language, when you add in the hard of hearing and the helpers. Yet, ISL is not recognised as an official language of this country (it is recognised in Northern Ireland).
It's something the Irish Deaf Society is determined to put right. And it is especially keen that ISL be recognised as a human right in the Irish Constitution.
"There are a lot of misconceptions," Kevin Stanley, Chief Executive of the IDS, says. "People do not know that Irish sign language is different to the sign language used in the UK.
"Hearing people often are not willing to try to communicate with the deaf," he says. "People don't know what to say; they are frightened that they might cause offence. You should try," he says.
"You should speak clearly, and use gestures. Or you could try writing down what you want to say. You should use your common sense."
Stanley would like to see more funding allocated too.
"There are so many barriers," he says. "There's discrimination too. A lot of deaf people do have employment, but most of them are on a low wage. Promotion is difficult for someone who is deaf and they can feel isolated."
A rich life
Catherine McCormack, 34, lives in a cottage by the sea in County Wicklow, with her two dogs. Born partially deaf, she became profoundly so by the age of 18. A year ago, Cathy had surgery for a cochlear implant; this electronic device, she says, has made life a little easier.
Catherine has a rich life. She has represented Ireland in basketball for the European and World Deaf Games, and this month she's off to Australia to represent Ireland in golf -- a game she adores.
Catherine loves her job, too. She's an occupational therapist. But were it not for her father's wisdom, she might never have had the chance to train.
"I had accepted my CAO offer to study Occupational Therapy at Trinity, when the then director rang my father and urged him to make me change my mind. He said, being deaf, I would not be able for the course. My father banged the phone down. He didn't tell me about the call until four years later, when I graduated, coming first in my class."
Life for Catherine has had its struggles.
"Secondary school was an absolute nightmare," she says. "I found it hard to make friends. But, by the time I went to college, I realised there were some positive things about being a deaf person. I learned sign language, and began to enjoy deaf sports. I stopped trying to pretend that I was a hearing person.
"My change in attitude and behaviour has helped me to make friends with hearing people, and they with me."
How would she like a hearing person to treat her upon first meeting?
"I would like to be treated as an equal, but I'd like them to acknowledge that I am deaf. I'd like them to meet me half way across the communication divide. Then we can converse, as equals, from the deaf and the hearing worlds.
"But when you are living in a hearing world, everyone is treated as if they can hear. So, there's a breakdown in communication at the bank, on the golf course, in the pub and at work. The environment disables me. At work, for example, I can't hear the security guard when I buzz him. He talks through the intercom, but is out of sight. So, I have trouble getting into the car park.
"Signing week is a chance for me to share my deaf world and my language with hearing people. It's an opportunity to open their minds to the visual way of living.
"My father has learned to deal with my world," she says. "Last month my brother got married on my birthday. At the end of his speech, in front of all our family and friends, my father wished me a happy birthday in my language -- Irish sign language. That was my best moment ever."
Different
Lisa Dunne, 24, doesn't remember when she realised that her family was 'different'. An only child of deaf parents, known as a CODA, Lisa was always mixing with her extended family, many of whom are also deaf.
"My dad has two deaf brothers," says Lisa. "One has two children, one is deaf and one hearing, and the other brother has seven children, two hearing and five deaf. We are all very close."
Lisa used sign language to communicate with her parents. She learned it from them naturally, but was it tough, having to do all the talking for her parents?
"Being between the two worlds, these worlds that did not 'get' each other, could be hard," she says. "You are a kind of mediator. It was difficult sometimes, but it wasn't traumatic. I just went with it.
"It's not a strain at the time, but it can be inappropriate," she says. "I would have known bank and insurance details, and my parent's medical details. It is better, if possible, that parents do not always rely on a child to interpret. But often they don't have a choice."
After a year at college studying International Event Management, Lisa realised that the career was not for her. So she studied ISL at Trinity College Dublin, gaining an accreditation to work for a government agency as a freelance sign-language interpreter.
Rewarding
"I love my job," she says. "It takes me everywhere in the country. I might be at a business meeting, at a conference, or in a college signing to a deaf student from the front of the lecture hall," she says.
"It can be rewarding, but some deaf people go through hard times. And because we have to be neutral, there is not a lot we can do at the time. That can be frustrating."
What was it like, though, being brought up in a quiet home?
"Well we still had rows," she says. "We'd become really animated. The best thing, though, was when my friends stayed over. If we came in late we could make as much noise as we liked. My house was really popular!" she laughs.