Not Just Plain Vanilla

By Vena Dagnall, Montana H&V

I’ve been surrounded by supportive people throughout our whole journey. I really have nothing to be sad about. Everything is going great. So why this huge wave of emotion?

Our family always likes to stop at the Big Dipper Ice Cream when we are in downtown Helena. There’s nothing like a big scoop, or maybe two, of handmade ice cream in a waffle cone. My personal favorite, salted black licorice, always elicits ‘ewws’ and ‘yucks’ from my family. My husband usually goes with something safe, like cookies-n-cream or rocky road. My kids tend to pick something along the lines of bubble gum or anything colored blue. We all have very specific and different choices in ice cream. The Deaf and hard of hearing community is a lot like ice cream. There are countless varieties of Deaf and hard of hearing people.

Someone once referred to our Deaf daughter as plain vanilla. Kind of boring, I know. Her ears simply do not work. She has no other issues. Although she was diagnosed relatively late (18 months), we have had a pretty easy journey. Her hearing devices work well and she has always liked to wear them. We received and have continued to receive effective resources in a timely manner. She has responded well to all our choices. Everything is working, and she is thriving.

As she entered preschool this year and we’ve started preparing for kindergarten, everything is still going great. Her IEP team is full of thoughtful, caring individuals who listen to her father and me and want her to succeed. The school district has met all our requests to the best of their ability. She will be going to a brand-new school with technology other families in Montana dream about. Her language and communication skills are progressing at an accelerated pace. Her social/emotional skills have exploded since starting preschool. She is a happy, mischievous 5-year-old.

Then why, after a week of very successful meetings and decision-making, did I sit in my car and cry?  Not just a few little tears, but ugly, sobbing crying. I’ve experienced a lot of emotions since all this began. I’ve often felt a little guilty about how well everything is going for us when I hear stories of other families’ struggles. I’ve felt doubt about whether a choice is the right one. I feel excitement and pride when her teachers and therapists praise her success. More than anything I’ve felt an abundance of amazement and love for our child. If something hasn’t worked, I let it go and moved onto the next option. Other than the initial shock and rollercoaster of the diagnosis, I have assumed a positive attitude and never looked back. I’ve been surrounded by supportive people throughout our whole journey. I really have nothing to be sad about. Everything is going great. So why this huge wave of emotion?

What I realized, as I sat there trying to pull myself together, was that even when things are going great, all the small tasks can become overwhelming. With my oldest daughter, I didn’t have to go to meetings or plan years ahead to get her into school. I just signed her up and dropped her off. I didn’t have checklists of goals or a binder with her short academic career recorded and analyzed. Sometimes I just want my life to be normal again. I’ve grown to hate the word “normal”, but that’s what I think to myself on those occasional bad days for a quick moment. Even when a child appears to be sailing through, a lot of work goes on in the background to make sure they are getting what they need. What looks like a “plain vanilla” Deaf child to the rest of the world to me is better represented by an organic, handmade, small batch Madagascar vanilla bean delicacy with hidden layers that we haven’t even discovered yet.

H&V Communicator – Spring 2019