Wednesday, January 11, 2012


My oldest son interviewed me for his Theology class. I was asked what seemed like three simple, yet were very thought provoking, questions. In a nutshell, I had to speak of a miracle that has impacted my life. I've been blessed, so far, and never had to confront a life saving accident, or a loved one surviving cancer who had a small chance of survival,  or being told I'd never get pregnant, etc-  miracles many speak of. If I am ever confronted with such a situation, I hope it becomes another miracle story I can tell.

My miracle though, has to do with hearing.

my deaf child. hearing.

I was brought back to tell our story from the beginning. I didn't have to get into a lot of detail, but how could I not, or at least how could I not let my mind go there. and as this brain of mine turned each corner, the eensiest memory would pop up, tiny-maybe, but for each of these I could tell you each and every small detail of the situation. These are a few of the small moments that God impacted my life in getting through the first days:

- like the day Aiden didn't pass the "come back to the hospital in two weeks and we'll try again because we're sure it's just fluid" test. and he didn't pass. again. we were sent home with yet another appointment. I went home a mess, feeling sorry for myself, crying, and wondering "why him!" At the time, it was one thing after the other in our life and I couldn't take much more. I was SO angry. I wanted to scream out, "do anything to me, but leave my child alone!" That same day, as I flipped through the newspaper, I came across the obituaries and the baby photo drew my eyes to read about Aidan. Born the same exact day as my Aiden, who didn't live past his first two weeks of life. and the tears that flowed were for  this baby, his mother, his family. I held my baby a bit tighter, longer, thankful he was in my arms.

-or holding him in this dark, little room as they tried one thing, and then another, and then yet another before the audiologist finally went and got another audiologist who tried each and every step all over again - all without saying a word. I can still see the screen, feel my deep breaths and heart pounding against my chest. and then the words,  "You're son has profound hearing loss ...". It was the longest ride home. That same day of receiving "the news", I had to go on with life and pick up some groceries. All I wanted to do was get home and drink a glass bottle of wine. I couldn't get home fast enough. Then I was stopped behind a bus. As I sat there frustrated, I watched how the bus driver got out and wheeled off a boy, about 10, all body parts strapped down. and I watched the mom come to meet him and stroke his hair then kiss him on the cheek. I remember this like it was yesterday.  yes, my son was deaf, but it was a big reminder, things aren't always greener. Again, I went home and held my baby a little tighter, a little longer.

- or the day I received an email from a coworker to let me know she was talking to a friend who got this website from a friend of a family member of a friend type situation. It was Landon's blog. and that same day, I found Toes, and Drew, and Christian. It was my turning point. It was then that I started realizing, enough blubbering, time to get busy. and from there, I found countless other stories, most of whom I have created wonderful friendships with. My CI/hoh mommas/daddies have had such a huge impact on this journey, and I can't imagine this journey without them.

- or the day I got a phone call and another situation of knowing a friend of a friend that knew of this professor at a local university that worked with deaf children. My first phone call to her was very informational as I tried to hold it all together, nervous what to say, as at that point I didn't know my head from my ass. She taught grad students at that point, not clients. But I called her back and in pure desperation said, "I need you to HELP ME teach my deaf child to hear and speak." she fit me in that Friday and every other Friday there after until we left Texas. she opened my world to this thing called "Auditory Verbal Therapy". {smile}.

- or the day I was researching CI surgeons and found the one I wanted to perform Aiden's surgery; unfortunately he was over 3,000 miles away. Aiden was three months and we had little intention on leaving Texas. His CI team was pretty much set. It was one of those let's put this on our "wouldn't this be amazing" list  ... and it was, because five months later my husband was offered a job 30 MILES from this surgeon's hospital. and when the CI coordinator called to let me know that out of the six surgeons there, we were assigned THE MAN (without any official requests), I bawled.

and of course I spoke of his surgery, his first (right ear) activation one week before his first birthday, his first word, how hard we've been working, how far he's come, how he'll always be deaf, his sweet voice, etc etc. Then we checked out Aiden's "One Year Hearing" video that Ryan is going to use as part of his presentation.

It was the little details remembered though, that kept sneaking in, making me tear up, and smile.

the small details that reminded me of what a MIRACLE this journey has been and how He guided me through many "I just want to stay in bed and cry" type days. how He showed me, in His own way, that things would be ok. He showed me how truly BLESSED I am at a time when my world was falling apart.

my deaf child hears. he speaks.

yes, my miracle.

We finished by talking about how some wouldn't consider it a miracle, but call it "science". and while I agree science is no doubt involved, I thank God for all the wonderful technology we have and even more so, for the inspirational, inquiring minds who research and study and seek ought that technology to someday FIND that "spark", that "something" they're looking for. For us, our miracle mind is Graeme Clark. I thank God for him and his amazingness all.the.time.

but sometimes you have to look past the "technology". and this interview made me realize all the little miracles this big miracle is made of. and sometimes it's the littlest things, that impact one the most.

Aiden was meant to hear and speak. We have been shown that, by Him, throughout our journey.

Matthew 11:15 - He who has ears, let him hear.


monica said...

Oh, how time does pass quickly. To think when Alexander was diagnosed I vowed I would never be happy again (it was one of those really emotional, bad days). Now, look at our little men.
Good job.

dlefler said...

I love this. Love it. And you need a kleenex warning on this, by the way.

Hunter's Mommy said...

What an inspiration you have been and continue to be. Your words mean more to me than you will ever know!

Kat said...

My sweet "sister," every time I talk with you or read your blog you inspire me on so many levels. Will send you the email we talked about earlier this week...going through Thomas' IEP goals reminded me of how some need to change (as you know so very well, it is always something!). Miss you tons and more and more each day. Hugs and love!

Amy said...

WOW Tammy. I am speechless. Words cannot remotely describe just what an amazing thought provoking hit-the-nail-on-the-head writer you are. Lots of love .

Bill and Shelly said...

Now why didn't you warn us that we would need a handful of tissues to get through this post. Seriously, this is so amazing! I cannot believe how much he has grown since I wrote the 1st comment on your blog. He is doing so great! I love reliving Allison's journey through Aiden.

Lily's Mom said...

I definitely should have had a tissue before I started reading. As you described each situation you went through, it brought back all the memories I have of our similar situation. We would still love to get together whenever things slow down for you. :)

Jennifer said...

Beautiful post. Very touching.

Julia said...

Yes, yes, yes -- what a lovely, moving post. I remember sitting in the dark room watching the computer screen, the audiologist not saying anything but pursing her lips, trying one thing after another. Just like you describe. And even though she's not saying anything, you *know* exactly what's going on. Everything in your post took me back, but that part most of all.

Ben's Mom said...

Just beautiful, Tammy! You captured all those feelings from a few years ago. Miss you!

Herding Grasshoppers said...

Reading with tears in my eyes. Inspired again,