Dylan Part 2

Two weeks after Dylan's surgery, we scheduled a hearing test in the ENT's office. The trouble with trying to evaluate little people for hearing deficiencies is that the standard frequency tests rely upon the child for feedback. Unfortunately, the younger the child, the less accurate the results are likely to be. In spite of this, the doctor was convinced that there was indeed something off and that Dylan required a more thorough evaluation.We were referred to Texas Childrens' Hospital.

A month later, Dylan was subjected to a battery of tests, all of which indicated that something was amiss. When taking his medical history, the nurse asked us to detail my pregnancy and any unusual events surrounding his birth. We mentioned the jaundice and she nodded her head telling us that high levels of bilirubin was a major factor in infant hearing loss. I was dumbfounded. Dylan and I were booted out of the hospital less than thirty six hours after his birth because of insurance limitations. The hospital had pricked the bottom of his foot when he was born and again twelve hours later. These blood tests showed that his bilirubin level was escalating. They did one final test before we left the hospital but neglected to call us with those results. That test showed a level of 17.8 mg/DL, which was bordering on dangerous. By the time we brought Dylan back to the hospital that Saturday, he was registering 22.3 mg/DL.

The audiologist asked that we allow her to perform an auditory brainstem response (ABR), which is frequently used when more conventional methods have yielded less than satisfactory results. They put Dylan into a twilight sleep, attached electrodes to his skull and subjected each ear to a series of sounds. The electrodes measure the activity in the auditory centers of the brain and thus, give an accurate picture of any middle or inner ear damage.

After they completed the test, Dylan was allowed to sleep off the sedation while the doctor met with us to go over the results. The ABR test confirmed that Dylan had mild to moderate hearing loss in his left ear and moderate to severe hearing loss in his right ear. There was pronounced inner ear nerve damage which meant the loss was permanent. I burst into tears. That response seems so foolish to me now that I have years of distance from the event but at the time, the news was devastating. On the plus side, we were told that Dylan was a perfect candidate for hearing aids and the audiologist felt that they would correct his hearing to within the normal range.

Hearing aids?!!! On MY child? No, no, no, no, no.

Immediately, my mind flashed to football. Would he be able to play with the aids on? What about the reaction from other children? Would he be mercilessly teased? Would he be a social outcast? I was heartbroken at the future I envisioned for my son. Why him? Did I do something wrong to cause this? I had myself a full blown pity party until we were led down the hallway to a different office where we were to be educated on the different types of aids available to Dylan. Along the way, we passed an older child with a cochlear implant and in the blink of an eye, our situation was put into perspective for me. Dylan was not deaf. He would never have to learn sign language. He had hearing loss and we were fortunate that the jaundice did not leave him with cerebral palsy or other neurological disorders. I realized that Dylan's future opinion about his hearing loss and his aids would largely be predicated upon how his father and I chose to handle his disability. Once I pulled my head out of my ass and understood that my son would take his cues from my example, Dylan's impairment ceased to be a tragedy to me.

On the ride home from that visit, I pulled down the vanity mirror over the sun shade and had a look at my boy in his car seat staring quietly out the window. He was still groggy from the sedative but he seemed to sense that something had shifted. I turned around, put my hand on his foot and asked him if he was okay. He nodded and gave me a massive smile.

"I know you are", I whispered.