Jeff's "My Life with Meniere's" story

I'm very excited to post my first guest blogger's "My Life with Meniere's" story today! Not only is it exciting because it's the very first one, but it's equally exciting because this story is from someone I love. I'm happy to share with you my husband's "My Life with Meniere's" story. No, Jeff does not have Meniere's Disease (thank god!) but let's face it, MD doesn't only effect the person with the condition, it effects everyone around them. Jeff is not only my husband, but he is also my caretaker, my counselor and my best friend. He is always rooting for me on my good days, and helping me through my bad days. It amazes me how supportive of me he is and understanding knowing how easily my condition can go from good to down-right nasty in no time. Many people would have given up a long time ago, but he never does. He was the first one to respond to my quest for guest bloggers, so his story is the first to be featured here.



I’ve been thinking about this for a while; I guess I was just waiting for an invitation.

My name is Jeff, and I am Shanon’s (insert flattering adjective here) husband. I’m incredibly proud of her for the strength she has shown while facing a disease/disorder we had never heard of before it barged into our lives; however, sometimes (and I’ve told her this) I feel like it might help others to know how bad it gets. I don’t have Meniere’s and I enjoy relatively good health, but it has been unimaginably beneficial to know what she suffers through so I can support her.

Now don’t get me wrong, in our seven- or eight-year battle with Meniere’s I’ve read enough to know that while her symptoms are awful, many people have it much worse than she has, but she’s the one in my life – she’s my point of reference.

It’s hard to watch her quality of life diminish at such a young age. She doesn’t drive anymore because of vertigo, she has to have conversations with friends via text because hearing aides didn’t work and her lip reading is limited. She’s lost her job, her independence and a significant chunk of her sense of self, and every doctor we’ve seen eventually throws his hands up in frustration. She’s cried herself to sleep so many nights and for so many years that my words of encouragement have changed to supportive hugs and silence; if all the doctors have reached the end, I can’t give her any hope about her circumstances that doesn’t feel false.

Her family is great, and she has amazing friends who are always there for her, but many of them still don’t fully understand that Meniere’s is more than just a hearing disorder – it is, in many ways, an isolation chamber. They often don’t realize that when their faces turn from her, she loses the conversation when she loses sight of their mouths, or that every time she responds with a smile to a roomful of belly laughs, part of her feels left behind. And although volume and patience are vital when communicating with someone with a hearing disorder, she finds that many well-meaning people aren’t willing or able to give enough of these.

It’s hard; it’s hard every day. And maybe the best we can hope for is that our friends and family continue to make her feel a part of that circle by being mindful of her disability and adjusting their communication over time; Shanon and I both sincerely wish you the strength to let your circle know when you need the same.



Short and sweet. Thanks dear! I love you! Oh, and for the "insert flattering adjective here" part I would add "amazingly wonderful, handsome, passionate, caring, lovingly sweet" husband. Thank you Jeff!

Now it's your turn! Please contact me at fookaDESIGNS(at)gmail(dot)com if you would like to share your story. Thank you to those of you who have already submitted. I plan to share one about every week or so, so keep 'em coming. Until then...

Much Love,
Shanon