Like many Stephen King aficionados, I recently revisited the chilling world of Derry with a re-watch of IT Chapter Two, the cinematic sequel to the equally gripping 2017 film, IT. Both movies masterfully bring to life King’s epic 1986 novel of the same name, a tome I’ve devoured at least 10 to 15 times – no small feat considering its formidable 1500+ pages.
The narrative, for those unfamiliar, plunges into the terrifying experiences of seven children stalked by an ancient evil. This entity, famously known as “IT,” preys on fear, often manifesting as Pennywise the Dancing Clown to lure its preferred victims: youngsters. The children confront and seemingly defeat Pennywise, vowing to reunite should IT ever return. Twenty-seven years later, the promise is tested as Pennywise resurfaces, compelling the now-adult children to confront their childhood nightmare once more.
But what, you might wonder, does a shape-shifting, child-eating clown from a horror novel have to do with hearing loss? Quite a lot, as it turns out, especially when Pennywise Dancing becomes an unexpected key to unlocking auditory perception.
My journey into the realm of Pennywise began in 2017, post-cochlear implant activation. The initial experience was far from the world of sound I remembered. Instead of clear auditory signals, my implanted ear delivered a confusing jumble of stimuli. “Sound” was too generous a term; it was merely something, an unrecognizable sensory input.
My audiologist, understanding the challenge ahead, armed me with a 64-page “Adult Cochlear Implant Home-Based Auditory Training Manual.”
The manual, while comprehensive, felt daunting. Rehabilitating an ear dormant for 26 years demanded dedicated effort. Knowing my learning thrives on enjoyment, I sought a way to make auditory rehabilitation engaging, something I could integrate into my daily train commutes and home relaxation time.
Then came the “brilliant idea”: Stephen King’s IT. I retrieved my well-loved copy from the bookshelf and invested in the audiobook version, loading it onto my iPhone. My strategy was to simultaneously listen to the audiobook through my implanted ear while following along in the printed novel. Initially, it was a struggle. The narrator’s voice was a confusing blur, and synchronizing the audio with the text felt almost impossible.
Yet, convinced of this method’s potential, I persisted. Slowly, my determination began to yield results.
In the novel’s opening chapters, a poignant scene unfolds: during a torrential downpour in Derry, six-year-old Georgie Denborough chases a paper boat down a rain-slicked gutter. Tragedy strikes as the boat is swept down a storm drain, much to the distress of Georgie, who received it as a gift from his older brother, Bill.
Then, amidst the narrator’s voice, something remarkable happened. I thought I heard the name “Bill.” Moments later, “Derry” and “Georgie” seemed to emerge from the auditory fog. And then, the breakthrough: I distinctly understood the chilling phrase, “Pennywise the Dancing Clown,” as the infamous antagonist introduced himself to the unsuspecting Georgie. This wasn’t just stimulus; it was comprehension. It was sound taking shape.
Gradually, individual words began to coalesce into phrases, phrases into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, and paragraphs into entire pages. While the printed book remained a crucial guide, I found myself needing it less and less. My gaze would drift from the page for increasingly longer periods, until, astonishingly, I could grasp entire chapters solely through auditory input.
The next phase involved removing the visual crutch of the book altogether, relying solely on the audiobook. Distractions occasionally caused me to lose my way, but my deep familiarity with the IT narrative allowed for swift recovery. It was like revisiting a well-known path; even if momentarily diverted, the route back was always clear.
Throughout this process, a parallel, equally significant transformation was occurring in my everyday life. I began to discern more environmental sounds, understanding conversations with family and colleagues with greater ease. My audiologist was astounded by my rapid progress.
Reflecting on my cochlear implant journey, the anxieties leading up to surgery and activation are vivid. Had I waited too long? Was my left ear beyond recovery? These questions haunted me. Driven by a fierce determination to achieve the best possible outcome, I poured myself into rehabilitation. And the unexpected key to my success? Making the process enjoyable, even fun. Who knew pennywise dancing could be so therapeutic?
So, yes, Pennywise the Dancing Clown, the embodiment of childhood terror, inadvertently became my unlikely auditory rehabilitation partner. And in the process, he helped me rediscover the world of sound, one chilling chapter at a time.
