My child’s loss of hearing became my source of strength.
When my first son was almost two years old, we were shocked to find out he had hearing loss. The diagnosis that started this chain of effects came about in an unlikely way. My sister-in-law, who is child development specialist, asked if she could practice performing a hearing screening on our son. This screening was an otoacoustic emissions test and results are pass/fail based on a hearing loss of 25-30 dB. My son continuously failed. We were a little surprised, but had hoped it was just her learning curve. We decided to follow up with our pediatrician. I went to see him for my son’s two year well baby check the following week. Just as a precautionary measure, he referred me to an audiologist, but assured me he felt his hearing was fine.
Our first trip to the audiologist is a little hazy in my mind. The news I received that day overshadowed all the testing we did. What I do know is we did a visual reinforcement audiometry which involved us sitting in a soundproof booth. Inside it has speakers on each side of us and when they would emit a sound, my son would look toward the speaker it came from. It’s a basic, but very effective test. I didn’t feel as if were that effective that day, but in hindsight I can see how accurate it was. When we emerged from the booth, the audiologist told us he believed our son had a moderate bilateral (both ears) sensorineural (abnormality of the hair cells in the ear) hearing loss. And that is where my mind goes blank. I vaguely remember discussing further testing and needing hearing aids and then we left. I put my sweet little boy into his carseat, kissed his chubby cheeks, got into the driver’s seat and cried. I cried long and hard for all the opportunities I felt my son was going to miss out on, for the burden he would have to bear for being different, I cried for the loss of my perfect child. When I got home and shared the news with my husband, we cried together.
The news undoubtedly shook us. We were blindsided because our son was talking, he met all his milestones and seemed in all senses to be a perfectly normal two year old. His speech had a few quirks- but what two year old speaks fluently? In light of the diagnosis we still held hope that they were wrong. I decided to schedule further testing even though it required sedating him. The thought of sedation terrified me, but I needed answers, firm answers that I could see on paper and hold in my hands. I needed to know without a doubt that this was our new life. I made the call and scheduled his next test.
In the meantime we decided to get him aided just in case they were right. Unlike our first trip the audiologist, the day we went in for his fitting will forever be engrained in my mind. My son was standing with his back to me when the audiologist put in his first hearing aid. I waited, holding my breath, for some miraculous moment that would make this all real. I nervously scratched my jeans and his head whipped around and looked at my leg. The tears began to fall again. The audiologist rustled his shirt and my son’s head whipped around again to look at him. I could see the immediate change in what he could hear- I could SEE my son hearing. We walked outside to leave and my car loving child screamed in excitement when he heard the cars racing by! As further proof, that night at dinner we could hear a siren in the distance and my child ran to the window fully expecting to see a fire truck in front of the house. He had never heard one without seeing one.
The test we had scheduled is called an ABR or auditory brainstem response. The child is sedated, electrodes are placed on the head, and brain wave activity in response to sound is recorded. ABR can detect damage to the cochlea, the auditory nerve and the auditory pathways in the stem of the brain. This is what would give us the conclusive extent of his hearing loss. The day came and we checked into the hospital. To start with, waking a toddler at 5am, not feeding him breakfast and dragging him across town in the snow is not a great way to start the day. Throw in an IV, loopy drugs and ineffective sedatives and it’s downright miserable. When the sedatives finally kicked in and testing was underway I thought we were in the clear but he managed to wake up half way through and we had to start all over again. My poor guy. What a rough day for a two year old! After we finished with the ABR, he was taken in for a CT to check for physical abnormalities in the inner ear and then an ultrasound of his kidneys. Apparently the inner ear and kidneys develop at the same time in utero, thus a problem with one can mean a problem with the other.
Results came about a week later. His hearing loss was about what the audiologist had determined, no physical abnormalities and healthy kidneys. What did all this mean? His hearing loss was mild to moderate, meaning he could hear average conversation levels, they just sounded like more of a whisper to him. This explained how he was able to pick up so much speech and by using visual cues and teaching himself to read lips, he sailed by without anyone noticing that he had an issue.
An amazing thing happened as we were listening to all this, I no longer felt sad or scared for my son. I was proud and astounded by all his accomplishments at such a young age. For every word he learned, he had to work so much harder than the average child. I didn’t see the challenges in store for him, I saw his strength and determination to get what he wants from life. I saw a glowing, happy child that has such a bright future regardless of the challenges he’s presented with. I saw my two year old son, happy and hearing. What more could a mother ask for?
Richelle Killian is a wife and mother of two. She is the owner of Essential Esthetics by Richelle and the Fashion and Beauty Expert for Domesticating in High Heels.
