Do you remember when it was just a joke?

When you were a child, did you ever cover your ears to experience what sudden deafness or the sensation of hearing loss would feel like?
Have you ever used this to, in a boring conversation, sulk by saying "I can't hear anything"?
I am now fully qualified — Or disabled? — considering that having your hand over your ear doesn't even come close to the utterly claustrophobic sensation of no longer hearing your own breathing, pulse… not even your own voice!!
And wouldn't you know it, on November 4th, which will be a month later tomorrow, I ended up being rewarded with a deeper exploration of this experience?

The Beginning: From Air Traffic Controller to Silence

I—a deaf person who spoke Portuguese, English, and Spanish—was an air traffic controller and, so to speak, able to hear even a fly buzzing on the other side of the thick windows of the tower: like the pilots, I went to CEMAL annually hoping to see that almost straight line at the top of the audiometry exam!

Then came the anxiety and depression disorder with panic syndrome, which were amplified by the events of the so-called "controller crisis," and despite my very serious psychiatric breakdown and its devastating consequences—I reached 210 kg, experienced episodes of stuttering, night terrors, body aches, and, among other things, the "record": one day, upon arriving at the tower, I learned that the major who was pursuing me was in the unit, and I reached my peak blood pressure of 23x16!—I was treated merely as obese.
They even tried to diagnose me with a heart problem, but after Holter monitors and ambulatory blood pressure monitoring (ABPM), that option was ruled out, and on recommendation, I joined the group (I miss it so much…) and underwent bariatric surgery.

Another day I'll tell these stories in more detail, but even after losing weight I continued to exhibit all the other psychiatric symptoms and, unfortunately, the pressure unintentionally exerted by the military system only prevented a cure: after 20 long years of service I was discharged due to incapacity for military service, without promotion and earning only 2/3 of the salary of a 1st sergeant.

The First Fall and the Diagnosis

The fact is, I can neither hide nor deny it, I believe in God, and it was He who placed people and activities in my life that allowed me to preserve my marriage and my sanity. It took me about two years to discover my secret to overcoming depression, and from then on, with my health restored, it was just a matter of striving to supplement my income…
It was supposed to be, but it wasn't: one day, living a healthy life, I was running happily on the treadmill at the gym when — BLOCK! — my ear got clogged like that pressure you get when you're flying on a plane.

I performed the recommended maneuvers, waited for a few hours, and nothing: it was as if I had an invisible pillow covering my ears.
It must be wax!
The next day I woke up feeling "stuck" and went straight to the ENT doctor's office, who quickly ruled out that possibility and, after a few questions, ordered a series of tests.

The questions asked were quite important, because at that time a strange phenomenon was occurring: I would get dizzy when I drank coffee!
This and other findings led to the diagnosis of sudden deafness: a moderate to severe irreversible bilateral sensorineural hearing loss, likely caused by Menière's syndrome and with either general anesthesia or Vioxx, a medication prescribed for recovery after bariatric surgery, as an ototoxic factor.

Finally, that tubercular hearing (which I was unknowingly proud of) never returned, and at least the Air Force itself contributed to the acquisition of my first hearing aids, which, incidentally, deserve a separate article because of all the errors that occurred, from their acquisition to the complete lack of adjustments, rendering them practically useless accessories: I was deaf and without hearing aids until April 2016, when I was invited to be the manager of a pavilion at the Olympic Games. And the brilliant Fleming brothers gave me (what I call) a return to the world of the living… I could even listen to music!!!

November 4, 2018: The Invisible Pillow

The episode that occurred in Sunday, November 4, 2018, was quite different from the first, as something similar to a frequency modulation occurred in my hearing: I was washing dishes and, suddenly, I started to feel pressure only in my ears and the sounds began to disappear!

Music has literally disappeared from my life.
Is it possible for anyone to find joy or peace in a situation like this?

The Despair of the Freelance Professional

What was worse was having a professional commitment to honor and, completely deaf, spending four whole days dealing with the public, particularly in Spanish, before I could even go and see what was happening…

Ah! Me I am a freelancer. And there's no such thing as "sick leave" for us in the events industry: no work, no pay... simple as that!
On second thought, it might even be a little more cruel than that, because there's also the issue that giving your word and then not showing up leaves a structural hole in some international event and gets you "burned," with the possibility of never being called to work with that client again!

It wasn't until Thursday that I was able to go to the speech therapist who, without any medical information, couldn't do much more than check the functioning of the hearing aids and look at my ears to confirm that they weren't inflamed or had wax buildup.

This time, without health insurance, I had to go to the Air Force hospital, and the tests are much slower: the results of a blood test I had done on November 13th only came back on the 30th!!!
At least the audiometry results were immediate: I was able to hear some things again after making adjustments to the hearing aid settings, and, given the necessary increase in volume, I even got a new mold to put an end to the infernal feedback that had started to occur.

Tomorrow I'm going to pick up those results and spend a day out on the streets, in hospitals…

Sensations: The Revolt and LIBRAS (Brazilian Sign Language)

Please understand that I am not even trying to present a medical perspective on deafness, and in this text I only want to talk about sensation and emotion, especially after discovering, in an embarrassing way, that deafness varies from deaf person to deaf person.

I was feeling all giddy, thinking I was "useful" for making—and posting in the deafness groups I joined—some videos of my journey in search of a diagnosis, the adjustments to the hearing aids after the audiometry, the making of the ear molds… until the moment I was, literally, broken when someone humbly asked me: where are the subtitles for your videos?
At that moment, I felt like I was part of the Brazilian film industry.

You don't know, and you don't need to know, but I feel a deep hatred, and I've even stopped watching Brazilian films in theaters because, aside from the countless shallow plots, no one has ever considered the possibility that deaf people might want to watch national productions.

After that, I realized that I won't have anyone to speak to in LIBRAS (Brazilian Sign Language) in my social circle, and professionally, this course might not be very helpful, since I'll still need to learn American Sign Language, English Sign Language, and Spanish Sign Language!

Finally, even knowing that my condition hasn't yet worsened to the point of total deafness, I'm really quite worried about this whole new setup that's becoming necessary in my life.
A little relieved to be able to hear my children's voices again, but, since the hearing aid doesn't filter, I'm forced to turn it off and become deaf when the youngest, one year and nine months old, starts making his high-pitched cries: it hurts my brain!!!

We'll get over it…

Mourning for Music

What saddens me the most?
The day after tomorrow will mark a month without even being able to listen to music… and all I can think about is a photo of Paula Pfeifer on the subway, with that satisfied look on her face, in a post where she says she's "listening to music in her brain"!!!
Envy? That's an understatement…

I was even wondering if I could start thinking about a cochlear implant, but my dear Thiago Fleming clarified that, due to the surgical risk, they are only recommended for those who can no longer hear anything, because if something goes wrong... there is no harm done.
In my case, since I can still hear a little... imagine if something goes wrong and I lose everything at once?!?
No way!!! This audition is a joke, but it's mine…

Actually, I keep watching Chronicles of Deafness and, despite being talkative and articulate, I feel like a Cro-Magnon: she travels the world, she uses Apple, she concentrates and helps with information… and I, a stubborn Android user, just wish I could hear her.“If it's not too much trouble“", especially the magnificent work that DeLéo performs on the double bass... as if it weren't a monotonous short circuit.".

Okay, I'm crying...
And I haven't listened to music for a month: I feel selfish thinking that there are people who have NEVER listened to music, I swallow my tears and move on!

Welcome to Silence: A One-Way Ticket…

I explained above how I got here, but understanding what this place is requires a different perspective.

It's not just about hearing or not hearing: it's about inhabiting practically a new dimension.
If you want to visualize where I'm really living right now — and understand rule number 1 of this place — let me introduce you to Silence:

From Mourning to Struggle: The Audioactive Manifesto (2025)

I keep thinking that the next degrading outbreak could happen at any moment… and, worse than that: with you!

Seven years have passed since I wrote the anguished lines above.
Today, leaving a routine check-up, I received confirmation that my hearing loss — as well as my dental problems — has genetic roots: my reaction to that medication was not a random accident, it was biology.

But if biology dictates deafness, it is I who dictate my reaction to it, which, like the color of my eyes, has become an indelible characteristic of mine.
The fact is that I stopped seeing it as a sentence of limitations and started seeing it as a way of operating: now I am Audioactive!

I realized there's a dangerous trap for us deaf people: the "50-Cent Coin Syndrome": it's like the old fable of the fool who always chose the smallest coin to amuse others, guaranteeing the same old handout.
The market tries to give us the currency of least value: underemployment, low expectations, the idea that we have a "limited vocabulary"...

I refuse to accept that.
Just as I learned to read ancient Greek without knowing how to pronounce it, I know that our intellectual capacity is limitless: reading and knowledge happen in the brain, not in the ear.
Watch my full manifesto in the video below, where I explain why I chose to stop accepting small change and started investing in my adaptability:

If you're also tired of accepting 50 cents and want to discover how to transform deafness into an active and technological way of life, the invitation is made: follow my daily routine and reflections on social media (links in the footer!) and also subscribe to the YouTube channel so you don't miss the next episodes of this journey.

Until next.