I am a water baby. Growing up on the west coast of Scotland, a huge proportion of my memories involve being in, or at least next to, the sea. I swam in the sea, I sea kayaked in the sea, and all year round I walked alongside the sea. At University, I joined the canoe club, escaping the city at the weekends to journey down Scotland's rivers. Whitewater kayaking was a whole new experience for me, and I spent a lot of time not in my boat, bobbing along in the river flow, thankful for my dry suit. I remember someone saying: "You have a dry suit - you must be really good!" I laughed in response: "Oh no, I swim all the time. That is why I have a dry suit!"
After University, in 2016, I noticed a sudden change in my hearing, and what felt like quite a long time later I was diagnosed with otosclerosis, a (in my case genetic) hearing impairment. I was presented with one hearing aid, and a few months later I received my second. Hearing aids are incredible and they very quickly made a significant improvement to my quality of life, but they don't replace normal working ears. When water is involved, they are very little use at all. When I want to swim, they have to come out.
Everything changes when I take out my hearing aids. The world goes quieter, and I'm so aware of the void. It's hard to explain - I'm aware there is noise there, but my surroundings are muffled. I also feel less aware of what is going on around me. I am different too; my whole self is altered. I am shyer, more vulnerable, less confident. I feel like a shadow of my full self.
I remember one day last summer when I took my hearing aids out before making the 5 minute walk to my swim spot. Honestly, I'm surprised I had the courage. It's not something I've done since. I walked swiftly down the road and avoided eye contact with anyone. I just wanted - needed - to get to the river. I remember breathing out a sigh of relief once I got there. The river calmed, cooled and soothed me, and I hadn't even plunged in yet. Once in, my senses just tuned into the water around me. I hoped that if I needed to be alerted to anything on the riverbank, Orchy would bark loud enough to grab my attention. Breast stroking through the deep green-brown, I allowed myself to be at peace with the small bubble of awareness around me: the shifting shape of the river, and my movement within it.
It is easier when I'm alone to accept the quiet. The social element of wild swimming, and any other watersports, has changed. When I get changed, the final part of undressing comes with a reminder to those around me: "Right I'm taking my hearing aids out now!" Taking them out is like putting down a protective shield.
My relationship with white water kayaking, already a dwindled passion due to lack of practice and the fear of capsizing, getting pinned on a rock, etc, has suffered a further blow with the onset of hearing loss. I never want to go anymore. It's not that I don't want to be on the river, but I'm put off by the extra barrier involved. What if I don't hear an important instruction? However, I recently adventured down a local river with Ben and Orchy, and it felt so freeing to be journeying downstream again. Being in the open canoe, with Ben controlling from the back, I felt less likely to fall in, and therefore felt confident enough to wear one old hearing aid to help me hear his instructions from the stern. However, I'm lucky I have that spare pair of hearing aids. It's not like glasses where people often have more than one. I'm more protective about my hearing aids than I am about anything else these days.
As Jack Johnson famously sings, I'm just sitting waiting wishing... in this case for an operation to, hopefully, fix one ear. Then hopefully, in time, another to fix the other. As I get used to my changing relationship with the water, I remember that I still love to be immersed in it, and that when I'm swimming, it is helping me to come to terms with the situation. One day, this phase of my life will hopefully be fixed and put down to life experience. Until then, I will swim on.
All photos by Ben McKeown, with thanks <3
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