The Stories We Tell About Hearing Loss
By: Hunter Kellerman, MS4
The first time I watched Sound of Metal, I was struck by how unsettlingly real it felt. The film traces the unraveling of a musician who suddenly loses his hearing, pulling the viewer into his confusion, anger, and desperation. I remember feeling the weight of his search for answers, his determination to “fix” what had been lost. When he finally pursued cochlear implantation, I anticipated the triumphant moment so often celebrated in viral videos, the kind where a switch is flipped and tears flow as the world comes rushing back. Instead, the film offered something more complicated. The sound that reached him was distorted, metallic, a poor echo of memory. Rather than restoration, the device amplified his sense of dislocation. In the end, he removed himself from the noise entirely, choosing the embrace of being Deaf.
It was a powerful story, told with honesty and care. Yet as the credits rolled, I could not help but think of the patients I had met, each with their own reasons for choosing or rejecting implants, none of their journeys as linear as his. Watching the film for the first time, I realized how much the stories we absorb through media shape what we expect of medicine, and how different those expectations can be from the lived realities I have witnessed.
Media has slowly expanded the ways it portrays hearing loss, but the messages patients absorb remain fragmented. Some stories highlight conflict, such as dramas that portray Deaf and hearing communities wrestling with what cochlear implantation means for identity. Others normalize it quietly, like when a child with a cochlear implant appears in the background of an animated film without explanation. Still others frame Deafness as a strength, as in thrillers where a Deaf actress turns her character’s implant from vulnerability into a means of survival. Each of these portrayals challenges stereotypes in its own way, yet each also oversimplifies reality. They leave audiences with pieces of the truth, but rarely the whole: that hearing loss exists on a spectrum, shaped as much by culture and identity as by technology.
I saw how deeply those cultural messages matter. One woman told me she had avoided an implant for years because, as she put it, “I don’t want to look like a robot.” Her fear had not come from medical counseling but from images and jokes she had absorbed from the outside world. For her, stigma carried more weight than possibility. For others, their interest in a cochlear implant had little to do with hearing words or music. What they wanted was safety, the ability to wake up to the sound of a fire alarm or hear the rush of traffic before stepping into the street. Yet they spoke with visible hesitation. As a proud member of the Deaf community, they feared that pursuing surgery might mean losing belonging. What struck me most was not the medical details but the vulnerability of their question: Would I still be accepted?
I have also seen cochlear implant activations that looked nothing like the miracle videos that circulate online. The first sounds patients hear are often metallic and strange, overwhelming in their unfamiliarity. Tears come not because everything is fixed, but because connection feels possible again. These moments are powerful, but they are also messy, gradual, and deeply personal.
This is why media matters. Stories shape expectations, stigma, and even policy. Patients arrive influenced by what they have seen on screen or scrolled past online. Families struggle not only with medical facts but also with how their choices will be judged by their peers and communities. Policy too bends under the weight of narrative: insurance coverage, newborn hearing screening, and accessibility programs all gain momentum when the public sees hearing loss not as an abstraction but as a human experience.
As medical students, we are taught to list the options. As physicians, our responsibility is to recognize that real decision-making takes place in the space between anatomy and identity. As advocates, we must call for a media landscape that reflects this diversity. The stories we tell in medicine and the stories we tell in media do not always align. I hope that we learn to tell more honest narratives so that patients see themselves not in stereotypes but in the full spectrum of human experience.
Hunter Kellerman is a 4th year medical student who is applying for residency training in otolaryngology. He is passionate about both the field as well as advocating for patient autonomy. He is a lifelong Oregonian who enjoys spending time outside, skiing, and cooking.
