One Family’s Journey

Belated Joy

By Terri Patterson, Hands & Voices HQ

When we were expecting our second child, I remember having silent conversations with God about not receiving more that we can handle and ensuring Him/Her that I was not one that would be prepared to handle “more”. I’m not quite sure why that was something I contemplated; I didn’t with our firstborn daughter. Nothing was out of the ordinary or at risk with our second baby either, but I did ponder these possibilities.

Just a few months before our first was born, along came our nephew. He did not pass his hearing screening in the hospital and was later identified with hearing loss. My husband was distraught. I, feeling that I was being somehow reassuring, shared with him that it could be so much worse and everything would be okay. Because of this new family history, our daughter was screened in the hospital and passed. When our second was born (our son), universal newborn hearing screening had not yet passed in our state and the hospital had no capacity to screen, so we set that up for two months later. My husband and I alternated in believing that he could hear just fine and convincing ourselves that he couldn’t hear, but never felt the same way at the same time.

When the appointment time came along two months later, I was ready to cancel. (We had been through lots of new baby appointments already; he seemed to be hearing; I had a toddler; it was a busy time…you know the drill.) At my husband’s urging, we went anyway. As I held my new baby in my arms in that small dark room, with wires attached to his little head, and lines bouncing across a dark computer monitor…I knew. “That’s not right,” I quietly said, not wanting to wake him. The audiologist at the computer slowly turned and confirmed my fears. Everything spun as she ushered my husband into the room and a tech enticed our daughter down the hall with the promise of toys. I wondered, as I had tried to assure my husband three years earlier, is this the so much worse? At that moment, the only answer I could imagine was yes, it was.

We went home, and thankfully my husband fielded all of the calls from those curious to confirm the popular vote that we had needlessly worried. I grieved, I questioned; I felt the hopes I had dreamed for our son spiral down the drain. My husband and I tried to comfort each other, and not confuse our toddler, but it was hard. I called my sister-in-law and apologized to her for my earlier comments. She brushed that aside and reminded me how great our nephew was. I had to agree.

We pulled ourselves together enough to start on all of the appointment-scheduling and insurance company arguing and home intervention visits. I followed all of the directions, I asked a lot of questions and I worried about all that I was not able to provide to my baby. I secretly worried about how I was going to raise two babies. I had been pretty content with one and not sure how to adapt to another. I wanted everyone who knew about deaf babies to impart their expertise and knowledge and love upon my baby. They were the experts; they knew what he needed. Somewhere in those early days I took on the role of his teacher and lost my confidence and joy in my role of mother. Did we play? Did we sing? Did we read? No, we went to appointments, we worked with professionals and we did our “homework”. I felt guilty because it took time away from our daughter. I felt resentment that my husband had to work and I had to do all of the appointment-going, I felt sad and ashamed that I didn’t feel capable of giving him what he needed. I felt angry that we seemed to be handed “more than (we thought) we could handle” and I felt cheated that I couldn’t just love and hold and play and sing and read to him, like other moms did with their babies. I felt that way until a really great human being came into our lives and asked me–why not?

Why not? And then I “took back” my baby. And we played, and we sang, and we read….and we still went to appointments, we still invited professionals into our home…and I still asked a LOT of questions. I realized I never lost the opportunity to be joyful. He never “lost” his hearing, and we only lost the insignificant amount of time it took to realize that of course my husband and I were more than capable. We were as capable as any other parent to raise two children in a home full of love and hope; always questioning if we were doing the right thing or enough of the right thing, just like all parents do. 

We feel richer through the experience of raising our son. Maybe there was a higher calling, and maybe the calling was just within me, waiting to be awakened. Our son is a clever, handsome, high-achieving, thoughtful young man now, finding his own dreams which definitely surpass any that my husband or I could have ever dreamed for him. We continue to have moments of immense pride, halting fear, wild adventures, extreme laughter and unbelievable joy. I wonder what he’ll say when he learns about our early struggles. He’ll likely brush it off, just as my kind sister-in-law did. 

I believe we all have to find our way through—to find our joy. Joy is still there, underneath, and maybe we feel just a little more joy because we have had to search a little deeper and a little longer to find it. I am feeling it now, as a proud mom of a really joyful, deaf young man.   ~

H&V Communicator – Winter 2019