Wake her up. Don’t let her eat. Hurry up and wait. Wait some more. Hand your first born over to some doctors. “We will take good care of her.” You know they will, but still, you worry. Walk away as she falls asleep after some “silly juice” and a mask with the good stuff. Cry a little bit. Go back to the waiting room. Wonder how its going. Check your phone. Try to read a book. Watch a daytime TV show, can’t remember which one. Text some friends. Wait some more. Check in on your other baby at home with the babysitter, she should be awake by now.
Finally, they call your name. “You can come back and see her now.” Dave runs out the door, eager to get to his girl. We walk in the room, she is still asleep. So small, in such a big bed. Blonde curls covering the pillow. Her chest raises up and down, hurry up and wait for her to wake. The children’s hospital audiologist comes in. We wait with bated breath. “She has bilateral sensorineural hearing loss. It is about 30-40 dB loss.”
What do you mean? This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. We were supposed to go, get her an ABR, find out that she did NOT have hearing loss, and then drive home, laughing at the waste of time and money we just went through.
Start crying hot tears. I’m trying to stop, but I don’t even know what I am crying over, yet. The audiologist begins to explain her findings from the ABR. I can’t focus. I need out of this room, out of this place, out of this situation. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way.
I don’t understand much of what she says, other than knowing that my child needs hearing aids. She has hearing loss. The type she has could get worse. We hurry up and wait for a follow up days later with our own audiologist. She confirms what we heard at the hospital. Our hearing loss journey is far from over. In fact, it has just begun.
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