A decision we made, for you.

Your hand sways in perfect rhythm in mine. The warmth of the July breeze was a gentle reminder to wake up from my anxious pondering thoughts. I looked down at your white blonde curls, bouncing with every step you took. You’re blissfully unaware. Your Dad looked tense as were about to make a big decision for you, a decision you have to forgive us on, as we cannot ask you so.

We can only hope, it’s the right one for you.

Giving a cochlear implant to a child who has had extremely limited access to sound is a extremely sensitive and I’ve gathered controversial subject within the community.

The surgeons advise against implanting children after the age of four, as the likelihood of being able to interpret and make use of the sound is diminished. Whilst Dad and I firmly stood by wanting to wait until you was old enough to know what you wanted, but time was running out and irreversibly so was the opportunity…

We have to choose for you.

Now.

For the last 4 years you’ve inhabited a different world to us. And you have no idea just how incredibly special that you are, just the way you are.

But I guess that’s a biased opinion.

Since birth we knew that you was deaf, a world of blissful silence. We had early intervention of hearing devices, from 3 months old which was essential to your future.

Much like a wild flower, We’ve seen you adapt to your surroundings and watch you flourish in all your beauty.

And for every time someone says to me, “It’s such a shame, what she goes through” in response to the news that you are deaf, I’ve always wondered if they’re blind to all the things YOU CAN DO!

We absorb your happiness as you talk through the use of your hands, the pride shines out of you like a flower reaching the sun’s golden glow. You babble with so much to tell and so much to say. Seeing how happy you are to use your voice and make it be known is mesmerising. But we recently started to realise your quench for more language to be known has overtaken the speed which I can learn and teach you.

Throughout the years, I’ve always said there’s nothing on this earth I would give, in exchange to change anything about you. I admire the fact you’ve grown in places that people never assumed you would. I love the uncertainty that you bring.

Whilst you’ll always be deaf. We now have a opportunity, that will open doors of fields and meadows for you to roam and chase the setting of the sun. There’s a chance that one day, you may be able to communicate purely with your voice, but that’s your choice if you wish to communicate that way.

I would like to say, the decision to give you this opportunity of a lifetime wasn’t easy. I can’t lie, it was, we had no second thoughts.

But the decision to be made for you wasn’t easy, whether it be one you would be thankful for, but to me, the idea of you being put to sleep was the hardest part to make.

Deep down, the feeling of making a decision for someone which was one that could change their life was impossible, the type of decision that was on a loop of whether you was and was not doing the right thing for your child. Like your swaying back and forth on a rocking chair and there was no medium or balance as it continued to sway to and from.

No parent has ever taken this decision lightly and carried each baggage of pros and cons on their shoulders and I’m sure at one point in their journey, they became weighed down in the depths of their responsibility to make this decision.

Like most surgeries, what if it doesn’t work? What if you become poorly? What if the side effects outweighs the goodness? What if you hate hearing new sounds? What if you feel you no longer fit anywhere? What if life becomes overwhelming?

But what if you could finally hear your name being called? Do you like your name? What if you could hear the birds tweeting in the morning? What if you can hear the waves of the ocean lap across the shore? What if you can hear the rain in the car, do you like the sound as much as you like to see the rain? What if you can hear the squeals of delight whilst playing with your siblings? What if you can hear your mummy tell you she loves you as well as using her hands…

Our promise to you is we won’t stop signing with you, and I refuse to allow any professional stop this. I refuse to believe some of your professionals, that believe we have to choose between raising you as a ‘talking’ or signing child.

Signing hasn’t always come naturally, but like most things in this world, it takes time. And time brings practice and practice makes perfect… there’s been moments of frustration and anger where signing just isn’t telling us what you want, need or feel.

And the moments you insist on demand to be carried to snuggle your face into my neck to block out the world of stares, I cannot communicate with you. So for as long as you need to be held closely. For the moments you need to be held and carried for comfort and grounding. For the times you need reassurance. I will pick you up and carry you to where you want.

What ever you decide is your preferred method of communicating with me, I’ll never stop learning and talking your language.

We’ve made the decision for you because we feel it’s the best for you and your future.

Darling your surgery is 8.10.2020,
When the world stopped still, and everybody stayed home.

I don’t know why I never posted this before. But I guess I had reasons, I never explored…

Published by Mothering Silence

A late twenty-something mother of two boys and a profoundly deaf diva of almighty sass. In between splitting spontaneous sibling wars, curiatimg pillow forts and channeling inner superheroes. Mothering Silence documents a brutally honest truth of the trials and tribulations of motherhood. (The toughest hood.) Here you'll find the weekly ramblings of the rollercoaster life of my journey in motherhood. *Please note my style of writing is tongue in cheek.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: