When the film started, my receiver was silent.

That moment is familiar to many people with hearing loss. I adjusted the controls, wondering whether I had done something wrong. I quietly asked others if their receivers were working. They shrugged, unsure. This uncertainty is common. People with hearing loss often do not trust themselves to know whether the problem is the system, their hearing devices, or their own settings. When there is no clear confirmation that assistive listening is active and functioning, effective communication breaks down quietly.

What stands out is how invisible this failure was to everyone else. From the outside, access appeared to be in place. Assistive listening was labeled as available. Yet there was no routine verification as part of setup and no feedback during use. Staff had no clear signal that anything was wrong, and users were left guessing. Over time, that uncertainty leads people to disengage from shared experiences rather than continually advocate or troubleshoot in public.

From a user perspective, technology that supports communication must support staff as well. Systems need simple, built-in ways to confirm that microphones, audio feeds, and assistive listening outputs are working as intended. Relying on memory, informal training, or user self-report is not enough.

Communication does not exist as a single audio feed. It moves through speakers, staff, systems, and listeners. When any link in that chain is weak, access breaks, even in spaces that believe they are inclusive.

The pastor spoke from the ambo using a fixed gooseneck microphone that was positioned too high. His voice was not captured as clearly or as strongly as it could have been, which forced me to strain to follow along and rely more heavily on lip-reading. That level of effort is tiring and distracting, and it pulls attention away from the meaning of the sermon itself.

What stood out was how easily this barrier could have been avoided. No equipment was broken. The system was present and functioning. What was missing was consistent microphone practice and a way for speakers to know, in real time, whether their voice was being picked up effectively. Other parts of the service use head-worn microphones, which provide far more reliable audio. The contrast made clear how much access depends on small, upstream decisions that speakers and staff may not even realize they are making.

Later in the same service, another access issue emerged. Right before the service began, the choir leader removed the hymn numbers from the board and did not replace them. For most of the congregation, this likely made no difference. For me, those visual cues are essential. I often catch only part of what is announced, and the numbers allow me to find my place and understand how the music connects to the message of the day. Without them, I felt disconnected from the meaning that others were receiving with far less effort.

This kind of barrier rarely comes from bad intentions. It reflects gaps in awareness and training about how people with hearing loss actually experience communication, and how much they rely on visual structure to stay oriented and engaged.

Whenever I leave home, I pack what I call my “suitcase” of hearing technology. Inside are my devices, extra batteries, accessory cords, international plug adapters, and even a surge protector. This checklist helps me feel prepared, because I’ve learned the hard way that even the most accessible spaces aren’t always set up for people who are deaf or hard of hearing. For example, many hotel rooms, including “accessible” ones, don’t provide enough outlets to recharge multiple devices overnight. What may look like a small detail can limit independence on the road.

What gives me confidence is knowing I have options and a checklist to keep everything ready. That preparation makes it possible to enjoy the trip instead of worrying about whether I’ll have what I need.

I’m grateful for the progress we’ve made, from better device options to companies that actively listen to our needs. At the same time, I know the work isn’t finished. Sharing stories like mine helps raise awareness, builds understanding, and pushes for solutions.

My travel experiences remind me that tech is only one part of accessibility. The environments we live and travel in matter just as much. Something as basic as making sure there are enough outlets or providing clear visual alerts in public spaces can make a huge difference. These are the kinds of barriers we face daily and the opportunities we want to see addressed.

Without captions, I struggled to follow crucial medical details, creating a frustrating communication gap.

By 2024, telehealth was much more common, but when I caught COVID again and requested captions, I realized little had changed. Although the hospital had supportive staff, no captions were available. It was disheartening to learn that accessibility still seemed overlooked, especially where accuracy can affect patient outcomes.

I knew I wasn’t alone in seeking inclusive video conferencing. The FCC required that, starting September 3, 2024, all video platforms, including those for telehealth, must provide captions, expanding the ADA’s promise of expanding accessibility. A second FCC Order, passed on September 26, 2024, introduced guidelines for caption accuracy, timing, third-party caption services, and user controls.

With this information, I wrote to my doctor’s office to remind them of these obligations. I expect them to comply with FCC rules, the ADA, and other regulations so my next virtual visit will finally include the captions I need. Though I hope to avoid COVID again, I’ll keep advocating for accessible healthcare whenever necessary.

Imagine depending on audio description to navigate the screen of videoconference meeting software. And then, someone drops a message in the chat. The message is audio described over top of whatever other audio information you are trying to access via voice description. It’s difficult enough just to hear with your hearing aids or cochlear implant and Bluetooth accessories; now this?

Or imagine people are courteously not using chat during a meeting but suddenly another notification sounds off from another feature of your device. Perhaps your phone is connected to your computer, something you value, except when in a videoconferencing meeting. Messages describing incoming calls or notifications are all going off while trying to engage in the discussion. Yikes! It’s hard enough without all the interference of conflicting access.

It would be great if all video conferencing software and my devices had a way to easily select what audio input I wanted to turn on and what would be muted. Then, I wouldn’t have to manually go through each notification app switching them off and on throughout the day.

The voice of the DeafBlind community is important. We want engineers to be aware of and understand our accessibility issues. If you’re reading this, put us on your radar. Reach out, and work with us. We know what we need and would love to be heard.