Calling for Backup

It's always important to have people to fall back upon in emergencies. It's even more critical when you have a child with additional needs. When Hadley was a baby, I wanted to make sure that anyone staying alone with her knew how to insert the hearing aids and do some basic troubleshooting, like change a battery. If a person was hesitant to learn these things, it was a good indicator that I should leave Hadley alone with someone else.

Hadley's much more independent with her hearing aids, and my focus has turned more toward finding people who can handle the challenge of active twins. Last weekend, however, was a huge reminder of how important it is to have a strong contingency plan in place.

My husband became very ill, very suddenly the weekend before Thanksgiving, requiring a trip to the hospital. What began as a simple trip to the ER became a three day hospital stay, resulting in a call for backup help with the kids. We're fortunate (spoiled) to have frequent contact with my family who live just a few minutes away, and the kids were happy as clams with their extended sleepover. I was able to just focus on my microworld at the hospital, Dan focused on recovering, and the kids just did their thing. It went so well, my guys are now hoping another hospitalization is necessary so they get another three night sleepover!

While this was an extreme experience that hopefully won't occur again anytime soon, it was a reminder how important it is to have a "what-if" plan in place...and doubly important when your family is a little more complicated than the norm. This week has been a return to our regular routine: regular, boring old life is pretty good!

The Wheels on the Bus...

Regardless of progress or experience, one issue seems to always remain for parents of hard-of hearing children: determining whether a problem is due to the child or the hearing status. It's a bit of a chicken-or-the-egg dilemma. Is Sam not pronouncing the /s/ sound because he can't hear it or because there's an articulation problem? Is Cindy afraid of fire drills because of the loud sounds or a fear about her safety? Does Kim stand around on the soccer field because she can't hear the coach's instructions or because she's simply bored of playing soccer?

Most of the time, the cause has little to do with the ultimate solution and you can respond to the whole child, not just the hearing loss. I remember that, but then every once in a while, I'll completely jump the gun.

Hadley has a new school bus driver this year, a great person who is on top of everything that happens on the ride. I've had no concerns about Hadley and her time on the bus, until I recently noticed that she was taking forever to find a seat in the morning. As one of the last kids to board the bus, it can be a challenge to find a seat, but this was becoming agonizingly long (especially to the drivers in the cars behind the bus). I noticed she was often walking back to the driver to ask for assistance. I couldn't figure out what was the problem. Was she avoiding sitting next to older kids, or someone in particular? Trying to sit in a certain section to hear the driver? Could she hear the kids who were telling her where to sit? I could only figure out so much from my view from the driveway, but I was convinced this problem was due to her hearing.

While we're really trying to let Hadley fend for herself, I decided that it was time to intervene. In anticipation, I prepped myself with some possible solutions for Hadley. Turns out that all my guesses were wrong. Hadley has a friend who joined their bus route this year and is the final stop on the morning pick up. They like to sit together, so Hadley has been searching for a completely empty seat. It took a few weeks, but kids who used to sit by themselves now sit together to leave an empty spot for Hadley to grab. An Olympic sprinter couldn't get to the seat faster than Hadley does now!

Perhaps now I'll learn not to lose sleep preparing to solve a problem that doesn't even exist. It's not always about her ears...

When adults say stupid (yes, stupid) things

Having been acutely aware of each and every word Hadley heard and learned in her first five years, I'm very conscious of the words I choose to say around my kids. I choose my issues about a lot of things, but I'm a stickler for polite language. So, it was a bit of a shock for Hadley to hear me say to her the other day, "That was the stupidest thing I've ever heard an adult say ". And I meant every single word.

Hadley and I were out and about, just the two of us running some errands. A 65ish year old woman waited on us and, while staring at Hadley's hearing aids, stumbled for words. "Are those...is she wearing...?" I filled in, "Yes, those are her hearing aids." The woman looked directly at Hadley and commented on how fancy they were. So far, all normal. We have these kinds of conversations all the time with adults. Then she said the stupidest, dumbest thing an adult has ever said to Hadley:

"You don't really need them, right? They don't look real. Are they part of your Halloween costume?"

I really encourage Hadley to speak up and answer questions on her own, but this went beyond the call of duty. I assured the woman (well-intentioned, I know) that Hadley's hearing aids are real and that they make aids in cool and fun styles. Hadley was stunned into silence, trying to figure out how to respond to a smiling person who had just delivered a zinger (albeit, unintentional). She managed to quietly confirm that these were, in fact, her hearing aids and finished up the conversation. We scooted out the door, where I said my fateful words, "That was the stupidest thing I've ever heard an adult say", along with, "I'm proud of you. You taught her something today."

I know we all sometimes say things that come out the wrong way, especially when confronted with something we are trying to understand and figure out. Hadley was at first pretty sad about this encounter-- not in a dramatic "She said my aids were a Halloween costume!!! Can you believe it??!" kind of way, but a quiet, I'm-going-to-go-sit-quietly-by-myself manner. Hearing me use the word 'stupid' shook her out of it, and we spent a minute or two talking about how the woman didn't mean to hurt Hadley's feelings, that it was okay to feel sad about the encounter, and how Hadley had handled the situation well. She's brought it up a few times since, and the story is quickly becoming "The Time Mom Called a Woman Stupid" story that will end up in our annals of family history.

You know what? I'm completely okay with that.

(Preschool) Lessons Learned

This summer, my 3 1/2 year old twin boys did a three week session of preschool, a mini introduction of what to expect come September when they "officially" start. (If you ask them, they will tell you they are now on summer vacation. That's right, 21 hours of preschool has given them the right to be on break.) We've opted to send them to our town's intergrated preschool as model peers, both because of our own confidence in Hadley's integrated experience and because it's what Conor and Brady selected. I was looking forward to the practice, not out of concern for their transition but rather to help me improve on getting three kids ready and out of the door on time!

While this particular integrated preschool is new to me (Hadley went to preschool in our old town), it's located in the same building where Hadley did K-2, so it's familiar territory to all of us. Conor and Brady got off without a hitch. I'm always on hyper alert when I'm out with my sons for security's sake, so I usually don't have a moment to talk to the other adults. After the first week or so, we were into the routine and I could stand down on my guard a (slight) bit. When I used to wait for Hadley at preschool, I'd join in on conversations about therapies or juggling doctor's appointments: the general topics of raising a child with different needs. This time around, as I looked around the clusters of parents, I realized that, to them, I'm not Hadley-the-girl-with-hearing-aids' mom. None of them know that I've lived through this before with an identified child. The point was really hammered home when one of the teachers very nicely offered to tell me a little more about integrated education and the general needs of some of the kids. For a split second, I kind of felt that the badge I've earned with the years of services with Hadley had been stripped away. I know about this! Really, I know!

So, off we start on the preschool journey for two typically developing boys. It's strange not to be thinking about team meetings or accommodations, prepping the staff on equipment, or evaluating the classroom for any challenges to a good listening environment. And, even though I'm doing it with two kids instead of one (and at the risk of jinxing myself), I'll say it: this is a piece of cake. I keep double checking to see if I've forgotten something, because this is all too easy. You mean all I have to do is send them in with a snack and pick them up on time? With pleasure!

Third grade starts for Hadley next week. She has her teacher assignment, the sound field system is in place in the classroom, and her backpack is already stocked with hearing aid tools and supplies. Conor and Brady start preschool in two weeks. They have their backpacks, snack bags, and extra bag of clothes. Bring on September!

They're Not YOUR Friends!

Here's the catch: You meet the professionals. They are, in all sense of the word, professional. They are the lifelines to your goal. It doesn't matter their role, their age, their gender: you will do whatever they say in order to get what your child deserves (after researching the advice to the nth degree, until you trust their knowledge). Some will have a front desk staff. You will kill them with kindness, because you need these people on your side: to get faster appointments, receive calls about cancellations, be squeezed into the calendar at the last minute. Your notes have little comments in the margins, marking children's names, spouses, any personal information. You are pretty much willing to exploit any possible connection you might have to, again, get what your child deserves.

Then, suddenly, you realize that you actually like these people! You are no longer being friendly just to win them over, it's because they are really nice people.

We have an amazing group of professionals who truly care for Hadley. We lost the dead weight early on and built up a team of people who want-- in fact, insist upon-- nothing short of the best for her. Along the way, we have relied heavily on their expertise and advice as we made tough choices for Hadley's future. In the nearly nine years we have been on this expedition, I have come to know everyone very well, trading stories between ear mold fittings, sound booth visits, ear examinations, scheduling appointments and therapy activities.

One problem, though: I'm not the patient.

In the past year, Hadley has made it very clear that her medical appointments are about HER, not me, and I should keep the chit chat to a minimum. She's exactly right, but it's hard to break old habits. Plus, I like these people! Sure, we don't make plans to get together (or, at least, not all of the time), but they all know that if they ever need a hand, we'd offer a dozen.

However, these are her appointments and not my social calendar, so I've made a concerted effort to let her run the show, add her input, and minimize my mouth until she has had her say. Some days she asks that I stay in the waiting room (okay at the audiologist's office if it's a routine visit, not okay at the ENT where she'd be waiting alone in the exam room). Sometimes she even beats me to the punch and makes inquiries about the new baby or house or recent vacation.

After all, she now knows these folks as well as I do, too.

Sticks and Stones

It was bound to happen at some point, but this has been the year of the put down.  Welcome to second grade!  Hadley is a frequent reporter of other people's behavior, so I've heard who-has-said-what-to-whom throughout the year (interestingly enough, I have not been kept current on what-Hadley-says-to-whom, so I can either live in blissful ignorance or let my imagination soar).  Hadley experienced her first put down of her hearing aids when one kid called her "Alien Head" (yes, to you ultra rad readers out there: I know the other meaning, and I can only hope that the 8 year old who said it does not.  And, no, I'm not going to define it, but the helpful people at Urban Dictionary can do that for you). 

After talking about the who-what-where-and-why's of the situation (classmate, while working on a team project, because they were arguing about which idea to use), we moved on to how this made her feel.  Hadley sighed, rolled her eyes, and patiently explained to me that kids will tease other kids about anything and that if she didn't have hearing aids, she'd be teased about something else.  (Hmm, looks like someone paid attention in those anti-bullying programs they ran at school this year.  Or they covered this in an episode of Phineas and Ferb).  And besides, the kid didn't know what he was talking about, since she needs hearing aids to hear.  There was really no need for me to add my $.02 so, other than silently noting that something I had once worried about was a complete non-issue, we moved on from it. 

With all of the spring sports going on, we've had loads of opportunities in the last month to see Hadley out and about with her peers.  One of us made some comment to Hadley about how she knows a lot of the girls and that so many of them came over to say hello to her.  She didn't roll her eyes this time but with a I-can't-believe-I-have-to-spell-this-out-out-for-you sigh said, "Everyone knows me.  I'm the only girl with hearing aids in school.  Of course they remember my name!" 

"Confidence in self", checked off the list.  Now just back to regular parenting, like making sure she's not the one doing the name calling.