Sunday, January 30, 2011
On this night, 8 years ago, I didn't get much sleep. My house was full of guests… my Bestie, our #1 boy, and Bestie's honey had come in from points west. The boy and the honey had already gone to bed. Bestie & me, yeah, notsomuch. We were fretting over the next day's schedule. We would be leaving the house in Arlington at some ungodly hour in the morning to drive to UT Southwest Medical Center, where we would spend much of our day. If all went well with the surgery, in a few weeks, the kiddo who had never heard much of anything with any real clarity, and had, gradually, lost more and more hearing, even with the best available hearing aids, would be able to hear better than he ever had before. I've had neurosurgery. I survived. I'm normal not THAT weird (and really, my weirdness has more to do with my hobbies & interests than it does my brain damage). I think what terrified Bestie the most was the fact that if, for some reason, there was more damage than anticipated to his right ear, once that hole was poked, there's no going back, hearing aids would never work again, and our boy would forever be in a silent world. He was having Cochlear Implant surgery. There was a great deal of drama in the waiting room, because of the mix of people present: Mom, Aunt, Grandpa, Dad, OtherMother (me), and Mom's honey. I honestly don't remember how long we were in the waiting room, but I realize that it was probably not as long as it seemed to be. After surgery, and awhile in the recovery room, we were allowed to take him home. We got back to Arlington, had a bit of dinner, and settled down for the evening. The only tv in the house with closed captioning had been arranged in front of the couch where our boy was sleeping & he was watching whatever movies struck his fancy. Bestie went in to check on him, and I could hear her talking to him… we'd done sign & speech pretty much since his deafness was diagnosed at 2.5 yrs old, and him talking back. It was a bit hard to understand him, since his speech had always been a bit more muddled when he couldn't hear himself, but I listened carefully to see what he had to say. Bestie was awful fretful about the success of the surgery and the possibility of eternal silence. Our boy looked at her and said "Mom, it's OK. When I was a little kid (says the 11 year old), God told me he made me deaf for a reason, and that someday, something would happen and I wouldn't be deaf anymore, so I know it will be fine." Well, obviously both of his mother's bawled like big ole babies over that little revelation! At any rate, January 31, 2003 was the beginning of an amazing miracle. I didn't sleep that Thursday night 8 years ago, but tonight I'll sleep knowing that tomorrow's a day for celebration.