Thanks where my thanks is due today.

There are so many people I am thankful for in my life, and I’ve said so many times throughout my blog. My family and my husband’s have all been very supportive to me through so many years of deafness before my Cochlear implant, but today there’s also another I’m so very grateful for.

I’ve seen an enormous amount of posts across the web from so many who are thankful about various people and things (yay food!), and I couldn’t go without posting my own warm and fuzzy thoughts.

I’m thankful today, Thanksgiving day, for this man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I thank God today for Professor Graeme Clark.

I’m thankful that Professor Clark had the tenacity to succeed and successfully implanted the very first multi-channel bionic ear and cochlear implant. If it hadn’t been for his perseverance, despite so much stacked against him, I wouldn’t be hearing during my very first winter Thanksgiving after being deaf for so many years.

Many, many thank you’s to Professor Clark and to Cochlear Americas for what they began and what they continue to do.

“In spite of the problems and criticisms, I just had to go on. A cochlear implant was their only hope of ever hearing.” – Professor Graeme Clark

My little boy. His first hearing test.

I’ve said many times here and there that my hearing loss condition runs in my family.

Today began by being very challenging. I’ve talked previously about needing to take my oldest child, my five year old son, to get his hearing checked and today I did that. My cochlear implant audiologist’s office was a bit steep on the price for a hearing test, and because my son isn’t medically insured, I took him to the audiologist that I used many years ago when I got my hearing aids, long before my cochlear implant surgery.

I don’t think anything really prepared me for walking into that audiologist’s office today. I had told myself time and again that it was a simple test, it was likely that my son has zero hearing loss, and there wasn’t anything to be nervous about. And I wasn’t much until I stepped into that office.

My son had no hesitation. The minute we walked through the door, his eyes zoned in on some large leggo blocks, and the rest is simply history, for him at least.

I have been very careful the last few days, only telling him twice that he was having a hearing test, and very intentionally making it out to be no big deal. The last thing I want to do is create an anxiety or fear about it in him. The only thing I made a big deal about was that this wasn’t a “shot” doctor. He was good to go after he knew that he wouldn’t be getting a shot. Gotta love kids.

I had both my son and my little girl with me today. And I have no idea why I didn’t think to have someone go with me. Who cares about help with the kids? I definitely could have used the emotional support. My son walked in front of me and I held my little girl’s hand as we walked into the room that housed the sound-proof room for the hearing test. Audiology equipment sat at a little table, just under the window looking into the sound-proof room, and I felt like time stood still for a few moments.

I realized I hadn’t done this before. Because the times I’d been in this room before, it was all about me. Not about my little boy.

The audiologist checked my son’s ears a moment, asked me a few questions about why I wanted to get his hearing checked, then we both ushered my son into the sound-proof room, indicating for him to sit in it’s only chair. The audiologist placed headphones on his little ears, showed him how to push the button on the little remote when he heard a sound, then she stepped out. She closed the thick padded door and my heart nearly broke in two.

I forced myself to remain calm. This was only a test. No big deal. But I paced back and forth and wiped my teary eyes a dozen times as the audiologist made notes across my little boy’s first audiogram. She finished, and I held my breath.

She turned and looked at me, and it took me a second or two to really process what she said. My little boy heard just as well as any five year old boy does.

I couldn’t decide whether to cry, jump up and down, or give her a huge bear hug. I didn’t really do anything, just kinda stood there with my head spinning as she turned and opened the big door for my boy to exit the enclosed room. I smiled and told him how very proud I was of him sitting still and taking the test. He just shrugged like it was no big deal. Just like I’d hoped he would.

I let out a great big sigh of relief as we exited the office today. Thank God for such a great day. Fabulous day. With such good news.

Letters of my past

This week was a rough week for me personally.

My baby boy turned five last month, and if that wasn’t enough to make me weepy, he started kindergarten on Tuesday.

More than those reasons for a difficult week, this week required something of me that I’ve really not thought much of.

Years ago, when my husband and I decided to have kids, we talked about the chances of our children inheriting the hearing loss condition that runs through many of my family. At that time, I had probably not even lost fifty percent of my hearing, and I really didn’t expect that I’d lose much more, if any. When my husband and I talked about it, we mutually decided that I lived a normal enough life, a very happy life, and we felt peace about having children. It really wasn’t a difficult decision for either of us.

After having my son, my first child, I had lost a significant portion of my hearing, and my husband and I knew that we’d only have one child. We certainly didn’t expect that I’d get pregnant with my daughter when my son was just five months old, but as a great many parents know, sometimes the unexpected brings quite a bit of joy.

I never think about what our lives would be like without our children. Some may pass judgement on me for choosing to have kids, but I never really think about that either. And another thing I don’t think about? Other than the one day my husband and I talked about whether or not we would have kids, I never think about whether or not my children will ever have hearing loss.

But this week I was forced to think about it.

Because of certain circumstances, I felt a strong obligation last week to really consider my children’s future. I’m not going to spend time worrying about what-ifs, but I did have to write a letter.

The letter I wrote was to my son’s kindergarten teacher. I told her briefly about my own hearing loss, I told her that it is a hereditary condition, and I asked her to look after my son. As a parent, this letter was by far the hardest letter I’ve ever in my life had to write. I didn’t cry, I just wrote a bunch of facts, but as I sit here and write about it, I’m overwhelmed at the emotions that I realize I hold at bay. To date, my son has shown no serious signs of hearing loss. But what I needed from his kindergarten teacher, was for her to be aware of conditions that may show up in his year-long tenure with her. I pray often for my son, that he never has what I do, but at the same time I want him to have every opportunity to succeed as a child. I want so much for him to have the best, even unimaginable, life as possible.

I hope that, by not denying to be aware of the situation, that I make a better life for my children than I had when I refused to admit my difficulties with hearing. I will be honest, though, and say that I genuinely hope and pray that the cycle of this hearing loss is broken with my children. I know it can be.

I pray for myself sometimes too. I pray that God gives me the endurance emotionally to hit this thing head on. To be prepared for it, even if it never happens.

Most of all, I pray for my kids. And I welcome your prayers too.

Half-year Anniversary

Today marks my six month hearing anniversary with my cochlear implant.

When couples tell me they’ve hit the 6 month mark, whether married or dating, I roll my eyes and think puh-leeze! Six months is really not that long. And I seriously thought about saying nothing at all about it. I mean, it’s natural that I want to hit my one year hearing anniversary with a big bang, but six months? Well, I had to think about it a little, which is probably why I waited until the late evening to even post.

But I really had to.

I asked myself  a few questions today.

What have I done that I couldn’t do before February 17th?

I talked to three people on the phone today. One of those people wasn’t related, nor have I ever met that person. I’ve seen four movies at the movie theater in the past 6 months, none with captions. I’ve come to count four women, all unrelated to me, as friends now. Not just any kind of friend, but closer than that. I can’t yet say that we’re really really close, since I feel like I’ve only known them for 6 months (even though I did talk to them before that), but I know we’ll grow closer still in the 6 months before my one year mark. If it’s even possible, I’ve grown closer to my mom, my dad, and my sister. Other than my husband, they’ve been my rock of support over the last many years.

The biggest things? I’ve become a better, more understanding wife. I’m a better mother. I’ve developed a more patient attitude to both my husband and my children. I have a closer relationship with my children, and carry on many conversations throughout the day. I answer many more questions from my kids, but I also teach them more about life as a whole.

I’m much more confident. I’m more outgoing. I laugh more often. I have a more positive outlook on my life. I enjoy life much more now. The depression I constantly fought while deaf has rapidly decreased, something I’m confident I won’t battle by the time I hit my one year mark.

It’s been a great 6 months.

And I’m anticipating the next.

Kids. Gotta love ’em.

Something I love most about hearing with my Cochlear Implant is all the conversations with the kids. It’s so true that children say the funniest things, and I must say that they bring so much joy to my life. One thing I remember about being deaf is that I could go for days without laughing a whole-hearted laugh. Things might be comical and bring a smile, but rarely did I catch anything that would make me completely laugh. More or less it was because I couldn’t really hear anything to bring that.

But yesterday I was in the car with my husband, Jesse, and my two kids. My 3yr old daughter was pretending to talk on her toy cell phone, while my 5yr old son and my husband were having the very serious conversation that’s below. In the end, we all laughed at my silly little girl. I love hearing my kids!

 

Son: Dad, who is over all the church?

Daughter: Shhhh. I’m talking on the phone.

Jesse: Jesus is over all the church, son.

Son: Oh.

Jesse: It’s actually named something different.

Daughter: SHHHHHHH!!!

Jesse: Daughter, I love that you have a great imagination, but I’m talking.

Jesse: Son, the bible says that Jesus is the Head of the Church.

Daughter: <exasperated> I’ll call you back.

Day 4: Must fix my attention span

I begin by apologizing for the delay in posts. Apparently I don’t know how to post things at a specified time, like I thought I did. Writing I can do. Figuring out WordPress is a completely different matter. So be prepared for multiple posts today as a catch up. Because I won’t be timing them to publish at a certain time.

Day 4 was Sunday. Sunday for my family means attending church. But here’s the thing. I haven’t heard a sermon from start to finish, and understood it, in a great many years. I’d really love to say that on Sunday I was just completely ministered to and learned something so deep and full of inspiration that it will change my life forever. Unfortunately that would be a complete lie. Not that today’s sermon wasn’t inspiring, it’s just that I had a very very very hard time paying attention. And no, it wasn’t because I couldn’t understand the minister.

The big problem is that every Sunday for the past several years, I have sat in church services and read the notes from the service about five times during the service. After nearly memorizing them, I’d eventually look up at the minister and pretend I’m paying attention, all the while making to-do lists in my head or trying to remember where I placed a certain item.

See, church services are a lot like those pre-mentioned dinner dates for me. I used to pretend to understand, but really, I’d only get a couple words (at most) out of the whole service even if I was paying rapt attention to the speaker. It isn’t apathy that made me fail to pay attention, it was the fact that paying attention or not paying attention, I couldn’t understand a word that was said. But now that I can? Well, I seemed to forget during Sunday’s service that if I had been paying attention, I would have understood what was being said.

So what I’ve learned on Day 4 is that in order to sit in any type of service, seminar, or what-have-you, I’m going to seriously have to work on getting my mind to focus on a speaker for more than five minutes at a time without wondering to my [not so] exciting domestic life.

The other thing I learned on Day 4 is that my front door is very squeaky and needs to be oiled.

Activation Date: Day 1

On Thursday, February 17th, life as I know it changed completely.

It’s funny how someone can tell you something, but you really do not understand until it happens. I remember my sister-in-law telling me so many years ago that, “When you have kids, you’ll understand.” Understand what? That kids change your life? That they mess up schedules, but you love them so much that nothing really matters? I knew that already. I’d planned and prepared for countless hours for kids, but really when it came down to it (despite how much I did not want to admit it), she was right. You’re never truly prepared or understand what it’s like to have kids until you have your own.

I kinda felt the same with this. My sister and my dad had told me countless times that when I was activated, sounds would be similar to alien beings, very technical sounding, or anything similar to that. But nothing prepared me. Absolutely nothing.

The first time I went in for activation, I had a whole entourage with me when my activation failed. The second appointment I had for activation was canceled because of snowy/icy weather conditions, and when I finally made it into the office on Thursday, it was a simple deal. My dad had an appointment immediately after mine and decided to go with my husband and I for my activation.

My audiologist, Marla, had me place the processor on my ear (magnet connects nicely), and my processor (on my ear) was connected by a cord to her computer. The program to set my processor went through a series of beeps and noises to begin the process. After the little preliminary start, Marla had me identify how many “beeps” came from the various electrodes through a series of different pitches. Some were easy to identify, particularly the lower pitches, but the higher pitches I found I had to listen a little more closely for. Not because I couldn’t hear them as well, but I have been so accustomed to hearing tinnitus, that it fooled me at first, because I didn’t realize I was hearing those pitches and not hearing tinnitus.
After repeating the number of “beeps”, Marla would turn up each pitch, one at a time, until it was as loud as I could manage it, without it being uncomfortable. She then set up four programs for me. I have a remote that can contain four programs, and each program has four levels of volume, totaling sixteen levels of volume adjustment. She explained that I would obviously start at the bottom, and as I became adjusted to the implant, I could gradually start turning it up. I will have an appointment in two weeks when I have likely gone through all sixteen levels and will be ready for even louder levels. It’s important for my brain to learn the sounds a little at a time and not overload my system.

After Marla explained my remote, and the volume levels of each program, she turned my processor on to my complete surroundings.

I don’t remember who said what first, but I remember thinking, oh my gosh my sister was right. Everything sounds like aliens! I had to laugh the more that I heard my husband speak. For lack of a better description, it was like hearing him with a very high pitched falsetto voice. And my dad sounded just the same. Everything sounded the same for that matter! It was overwhelming in that I suddenly came to that full realization that I did have a very long road ahead of me. I quickly learned that it would take more that a few short moments to become accustomed to the new sounds. So what my sister and dad had told me so many times, it really never hit me until just then what they really meant.

I didn’t cry. It really wasn’t a huge emotional thing for me right then. It was just so intriguing. While everything sounded like a high pitched childrens’ animation, or even a digital synthesizer, I could immediately tell a huge difference in the quality of the sound. The difference in the sound from my hearing aid and the sound from the processor are so incredibly different that I don’t know that I could explain it. The closest I can think would be this.

Imagine yourself standing in a very small soundproof room, like the ones they use for hearing tests. If you clapped your hands, the sounds would be pretty flat sounding. You’d hear the clap, sure, but it would stay within your small space.
Now imagine yourself in a great big auditorium. And clap. No matter the quality of the auditorium, there’s no doubt that the sound from the clap would reverberate throughout the building, probably echoing and coming right back to you.
That’s the difference to me. The sounds are no longer flat and one-dimensional. There is so much depth, like the echo, to the sounds I hear and so much different, even without being as clear as it will eventually be. I’m just simply astounded.

I didn’t expect anything out of day one. I anticipated it to be overwhelming and full of new sounds, probably not even sounds that I’d be able to differentiate between yet. And I thought that was ok.

But here’s a few things I did pick up. I spent about six solid hours with my husband after activation. We went to a seminar in a large auditorium, and I didn’t understand a word that was said really, but I knew I wouldn’t. It’s wasn’t a big deal to me. On the way home, however, in the darkness of our car, our kids were just jabbering away. I was looking out the front windshield, just watching everything go by, and my husband asked the kids, “So did you learn anything at church tonight?”

I turned and looked at him, and my eyes immediately welled up with tears. I didn’t say anything, just turned my head back to facing forward, and tried to hear my son’s response. I couldn’t understand it, but I understood every word of my husband’s next question. And the next.

And as the tears just rolled down my face, I repeated the exact words to my husband that he just spoke. I heard them. Every single word, and I wasn’t even looking at him. A quick high-five later, and we were both in fits of laughter and amazed at that simple thing. So simple, but so very different from the life we’ve had until that moment. And I’m in tears just thinking about all the new sounds I have ahead of me still.

I should clarify. It’s astounding to think that I was able to pick up my husband’s speech so quickly. It’s not really normal for it to happen that quickly, as I’ve learned from some online forums, but I really think it’s because I had spent such a large amount of time conversing with him that day. I’d grown very accustomed to the way he spoke, and the rhythm, and I’m sure that it had a lot to do with that.

There were several other things I picked up that night. I loaded the dishwasher and kept clicking the silverware together, remembering that sound from when I’d last heard it so many years before. I’d walk across the floor a little louder than I had to, just to memorize the sound. I’d smile every time I heard the blinker in the car, wondering how long it had been since I’d heard it.

But one thing startled me. I was sitting at my computer, checking my facebook one last time before bed, and I realized I was still hearing the tinnitus. I’d not really paid attention during the day, but when I sat down to the quiet evening with the kids in bed, I heard it pretty clearly. I sighed loudly in frustration. Then I stopped. I sighed again. Then I breathed in regularly. Oh. I was just hearing myself breathe. How long had it been since I heard that sound?

Surgery Revision has arrived

So today, at around 2pm, I had my surgery revision for my cochlear implant. As I sit here, I’m simply astounded by the fact that I am actually sitting here, in not-so-much pain, writing about it all.

If you haven’t read about my last surgery, you might not know how difficult the initial surgery is for a cochlear implant recipient. When I think about whether or not I will eventually chose to have a second implant (after I have the life-altering experience from hearing from this first one), I really can’t say whether or not I’d want to go through that all over again. Talk about being incapacitated for a solid week. It was serious stuff.

But I’m so happy to say that this revision surgery was completely different. Today, my doctor was able to make about a 2″ incision and just move the implant a little higher up my scalp. Because the surgery was so minimally invasive, I have full neck mobility and zero problems with my balance/equilibrium. My neck is sore, and I certainly feel pain from the incision, but it’s nothing like the first surgery, when I was unable to look left or right without moving my entire body, or was in tears the first time I had to bend over to brush my teeth. I’m one happy camper as far as recovery goes.

But. There’s some not-so-great news too. I’ve chosen to focus on the positive, because it really is good, but I also feel the need to be transparent here.

When my husband and I got to the hospital, signed all the necessary paperwork, and I changed and was set up in a pre-op bed, both doctors came and talked to me for a few minutes to let me know what was gonna go down in the OR. (I’ve obviously watched too much Grey’s Anatomy if I’m saying OR instead of Operating Room). After talking/meeting with the Anesthesiologist for a few minutes, my ENT came to discuss his end of the deal. He told us that he was going to attempt to make as small an incision as possible and just move the implant up a bit. My husband asked if the implant would be tested after that, and that’s where things get a little sketchy.

After my first surgery in September, and my implant activation failed, my doctor had told us that a representative from Cochlear would be present during my surgery to test the implant. But (cue dirge-like music) my implant was not tested during surgery. When we had the chance to talk to my doc before surgery, my husband asked if the implant would be tested, and my doc said it would not. According to the doc, he has never had an implant not work properly. Granted, it would be a serious lawsuit for Cochlear if a patient received a non-working implant, but wouldn’t you want to check during surgery, just in case?

I certainly could have chosen to forgo the surgery without the Cochlear rep, but I figured the odds are greater that the implant was just placed wrong than the implant failing to work right. I mean, it’s like I’ve said before, a magnet can’t malfunction and I highly doubt that Cochlear forgot to put the magnet in the implant. So we’re out on a limb here, believing that the implant will truly work like it’s created to do. And it better!

There’s one last little tidbit of bad news. Ok, maybe “bad news” is stretching it a bit. Or maybe I’m just a little materialistic. Or maybe not.

Just before wheeling me in to surgery, the operating nurse (sorry I haven’t been paying enough attention to Grey’s Anatomy for the proper name here) came to introduce herself and take me to the OR. One look at her and I remembered her. Hair net, mouth-cover-up-thing and all, I completely recognized her as the OR nurse from the last time. Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice and all. Until she wields her razor!

I’m pretty sure my husband recognized her too, because when she asked if we had questions before she carted me off, my husband asked, nicely of course, if she could do her best to not shave more of my hair than necessary. Because really, let’s get real here, it’s not necessary to shave the portion of my hair in front of my ear. There’s not a way to tell yet how much was shaved yet, however, since my head is all wrapped up. And I do suppose that even if I was shaved bald (which I wasn’t), I’ll be happy to hear my daughter for the first time, regardless. But here’s to hoping that I have enough hair left for a ponytail!

All in all, I’m happy with the outcome today. I’m fortunate that surgery went so well, was actually less than an hour surgery-wise, and I know my future will be better because of it. I’m very optimistic that even without the Cochlear rep, this surgery will fix the problem that I had with activation. I’m already anticipating being able to hear so many sounds!
I’m not sure when my activation date is, but I certainly plan on writing about all my escapades as a hearing individual. I’m off to go recuperate (as in take some more pain meds and stick on a feel-good movie), but I will check back in with my activation date soon. And you can bet that I’ll be writing about all those new sounds I hear when that comes around!

Fall Festival Fun

I love fall.

There’s just something about the weather getting cooler, the leaves changing, and the approach of Thanksgiving that will lift a weight off one’s shoulders from a too busy schedule, and it reminds us to slow down. It reminds us to remember the moments that pass us, take mental pictures of events that fly by too fast, and to sit back and enjoy this life that we have, despite obstacles it may contain.

My husband and I have never been big Halloween fans. Kinda like the creepy incident the other day, we’ve always made a point to refrain from celebrating such a dark day. We were both raised by Christian parents, but even if we hadn’t, I wonder if I’d feel the same way about the 31st. I do not do well with scary movies (call me a wuss and I’ll probably agree), and I find all the hanging skeletons, headless bodies, and bloody cauldron decorations are more than slightly questionable. It just creeps me out.

And although I refrain from placing any type of Halloween decor outside or in, I do think that the idea behind the children’s side of Halloween is a fun thing. Dressing up as a favorite character, getting a bucket full of candy, what’s not to like about that? My husband and I have made a few unspoken rules about Halloween for our kids because I do want them to have fun in life, but I certainly do not want to entertain the idea that all the creepy stuff is a good thing.

So while we may not take our kids door to door to trick-or-treat, and I won’t ever dress my kids as a skeleton or witch, I will let them enjoy being a kiddo by dressing up as a fun character and attending a parent-approved local fall festival. And candy. Can’t forget that we’re getting candy.

Here are our kiddos all dressed up.

And yes, I do realize that I said I wouldn’t dress my child as a witch. And yes, I also now realize that a pirate is probably just as bad, since all they do is steal things from other people. Who was it that said that hindsight is 20/20? Whoever is was, he’s probably right.

On another note, did anyone every have makeup on when they dressed in a pirate costume as a kid? I’m pretty sure it’s mandatory now. My son’s fingernails were painted black too. Pure genius I tell you! Just don’t tell my husband, because he was under the assumption that pirates don’t paint their nails. I had to enlighten him.

In all seriousness, my children came home with a huge bucketful of candy each and I’m fairly certain that I have only a few hairs left on my head after all the candy eating and wildness going on around here in the form of two small children. So while you may enjoy this time of year, please remember to portion the candy. You’ll thank me.

Update: New surgery date and a wisecracking husband

This Halloween stuff is creeping me out lately. Is it just me?

Yesterday I took my daughter to Radio Shack to pick up a new power cord for my mini-dvd player. Oops, I mean it’s my children’s dvd player. My mom bought it for them for Christmas one year, so of course it belongs to them, despite the fact that I borrow it when they’ve hijacked my big flat screen in our living room. One must survive.

After buying the power cord for our mini-dvd player, we jump in the car and I’m slowly backing out, careful of the car to my left, when I see it. Dangling out of the back of the car’s closed trunk is a black pant leg and a very bloody foot. Eww!!

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that for a teeny-tiny-minuscule second, I debated what I should do. Call the cops? Wait. No idiot would kill someone and leave a foot dangling out the back. Besides. It’s not like a trunk could close on a bone like that anyway. If you tried slamming a trunk on a leg, the trunk lid would probably just pop back up. You’d have to slam seriously hard to actually break through a bone. Not that I thought about any of that. I of course just realized it was Halloween props, not rationalized why it was fake. Seriously.

On to more relevant facts. I had the appointment today with my ENT to figure out why my implant is having difficulties.

We arrive at the office, my husband, my mom, and I, to sit down and wait a while. Because we just love to do that. Not. We waited for over an hour past my appointment time before I was finally called for my CT scan. This scan turns out to be just as creepy as the foot. It’s true! You sit in a chair with your chin placed in a chin-holder-thing (sorry I’m no doctor) and have to be as absolutely still as possible. On top of that you have to keep your eyes closed. But you can feel the little scanning-pad-thing that moves around your head as it gets really close to you. It’s kinda like when you know someone is watching you, but you don’t turn and look. Yeah, creepy.

So I finish the scan and get to go sit in an exam room to…. what? Wait on the doctor. That’s right, you read it here first. We sit in the room for about another thirty minutes or so and eventually see my ENT. What I really don’t like most is that there is no clear definitive answer for what the problem is. While the CT scan did show that the implant hasn’t moved at all, my ENT only has theories.

The first theory is something that is pretty rare. It’s very possible that I have a thicker scalp near my neck than he originally thought when he placed the implant where he did. To fix this, there are two options. [Weak stomached individuals may want to skip the next few sentences] The first is that he can shave the scalp a little to thin it out in the area where my implant is. It’s risky in the fact that if you shave is too thin, the implant can tear through, and if that happened, it would have to be completely removed. The other option is that he can move the implant up a little and hope that my scalp is a little thinner as he moves it higher. It still has to be cautiously done so that he doesn’t move it to an area where my scalp is too thin. Either way, he’s confident that he can fix that problem (if that is the problem), since he has seen this once before. I won’t mention that my scalp was compared to a man who had folds of skin at the nape of his neck. Nor will I mention that my husband said that this gives him medical proof that I am thick-headed. I’ll keep those details to myself, thank you very much.

The other scenario, that I previously mentioned, is the implant could be faulty. My ENT doesn’t think this is the case, but I’m actually glad that he’s preparing for it just in case. On the day of my next surgery, a representative from Cochlear will be present during my surgery to test my implant. If it proves to be defective, he will also have a backup implant and my implant will be replaced. I’m certainly praying, believing, and hoping that this is not the case, but I also think it’s good to be prepared to fix the issue, in any possible way, during one surgery.

It kinda stinks that “the backup plan” wasn’t there during my first surgery, but this is such a very rare occurrence that it’s not typically required. I’ve never really been one to break the mold, so it’s a little ironic to me to think that it’s now that I do so. But that’s ok, because I know everything is going to go great this next time around.

My new surgery date is set for Monday, November 1st. Not far away, to be sure. My activation date will be the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and thank God for that! Literally.

So while I’m certainly not looking forward to the anesthesia again, I’m very thankful that my goal, hearing during the holidays, is still tangible. We can do this peoples!