broken

Last night I was reading a few postings on a cochlear implant message board and they were talking about how they told their child that he/she was deaf and how their children came to accept their hearing loss.

A few people responded by saying that they told their child that their ears were "broken" and a smart person made something to put in their ears to help them hear. For example, one lady said:

"I made it very simple.
From the time [my daughter] was very young I would tell her that she was born different.
That her ears were broken...and [the doctor] fixed them.
When she got a bit older i went into further detail and told her that broken also meant deaf.
That her ears do not work like mine.
That she needs the implants to make her hear and just like some people need glasses to see some people need hearing devices to hear."

What she said really hit me hard and I went into our bedroom and cried.

My kids are deaf.

My kids' ears don't work right.

My kids are different.

My kids will need hearing aids and CI's for the rest. of. their. lives.

.....And someday I'm going to have to tell them this.


It's been about two years since we've started our hearing loss journey. The diagnosis process with both kids was long and tearful, acceptance was naturally and expectedly hard, but eventually we came to terms with the hand that we've been dealt and have since had a very positive and optomistic attitude about it. This is our life, and we love it. I haven't cried about it in a very long time.

But last night, I felt like I was living it all over again.

First of all, the term "broken" makes me so sad. Abby and Carter are doing so well and are such NORMAL children, I've never honestly thought of them as broken. Delayed, yes. Broken, no. Last night, for the first time since maybe their diagnosis, I saw them as handicapped, and it overwhelmed me.

I don't want to think of them as broken. I don't EVER want Abby and Carter to feel like they are broken. I don't want other people to think they are different. I don't want Abby and Carter to feel different.

I don't want them to hurt.

But the fact of the matter is, regardless of disability, gender, ethnicity, social status, hair color, shoe size... every child is going to feel different. Every child is going to hurt. That's a part of life.

My job is to educate them about their hearing loss in a positive manner, give them confidence, and comfort them when they do hurt.

Abby and Carter are still too young to fully understand their inability to hear. But with Abby's CI surgery looming ahead, I know the time when Abby will understand is getting closer, and I dread the day when Abby will come to me with tears in her eyes and ask, "why am I different?" "Why can't I hear when I takes these off?" "Why do I have to wear things in my ears when other kids don't?" "Why did it have to happen to me?"

I'm not going to say:

"because you were born different."
"beause your ears are broken."

I hope that instead I will hold her and say, "because Heavenly Father gave you a unique challenge, and you are special."

And I hope that's enough.