A Sliver of News on the AN Diagnosis and other Thoughts

For the first time in what seemed like forever, we actually had a pretty nice weekend.  None of our evenings were complete Google-fests that got us worked up, and we were able to really enjoy our kids and the family dynamic in general.  Good for the soul.

On Saturday we went to Shannon’s workplace.  They’re a relatively family-oriented company, so they offer a breakfast where Santa shows up on a firetruck, kids get to ask for presents on his lap, etc.  There are various activities for the kids to participate in as well.  It blew my mind when I thought of the fact that this was actually the third time our daughter had participated in it, even though she’s only two.  Crazy how time flies.

Something I’ve found myself doing A LOT now when I’m in a semi-crowded area is searching for people with hearing aids.  I’m not sure why, exactly.  Maybe it’s to comfort myself that Alex won’t be alone in wearing assistive hearing devices (should he be lucky enough).  Maybe it’s because I’m interested in seeing how those people “do” in louder environments.  Regardless, one thing that particularly caught my attention at the event was the amount of people who were wearing glasses, kids included.  And though this analogy is obviously flawed, it made me think that if Alex is wearing assistive tech, is it really THAT fundamentally different than all of these people with glasses or braces?  Now, of course there ARE real differences.  Glasses are practically a fix.  You put them on and you’re ready to go.  With hearing aids / implants, therapy is basically required to teach children like Alex who weren’t born with hearing to learn how to use their sense and get them “caught up” with the hearing children who did.  Glasses are also very common on little kids, whereas hearing aids (let alone cochlear implants) aren’t.  Still, it lends a lot of credence to a common experience I’ve read from many different parents, and that’s that though their children’s peers are often curious about the implants, a simple “these help me hear” explanation suffices and that’s that.

It’s probably a coping mechanism and reach in general to say that an implant is similar to a pair of glasses, but it still brings me some comfort because there ARE some parallels there, the biggest of which is that a person with glasses who’s practically blind without them isn’t defined by them.

Anyhow, it was a nice little family event.  I was telling Shannon that it’s going to be very interesting to see what’s going on with the family at this point next year.  Maybe Alex will be a few months into his hearing journey by that point?  We’ll see.

Later that day I ran out to grab a pizza (our appetites have officially returned, which feels good) and grabbed our mail on the way out of the driveway.  In it was a letter from the hospital containing the official ABR report from Alex’s last test (this was the test where the audiologist doubted the auditory neuropathy diagnosis from a prior test).  I anxiously opened it to see if there was any new information – she may have collaborated with the other audiologist to compare notes, as I know that what gets sent to doctors / professionals is much more detailed information than the write-up that they send to patients.  But there wasn’t!  The write-up indicated that no signs of auditory neuropathy were observed in EITHER ear.  Again, this isn’t really news, but it was somewhat comforting to see that written out on the official report.  A little bit of hope.

We have another meeting coming up with Buffalo Hearing and Speech which we’re assuming will consist of yet another ABR, so maybe at that appointment it can be hammered out either way. We’re still really hoping it isn’t AN because that would mean that Alex might get some benefit from the hearing aids he should receive within a month and, more importantly, give Alex a better chance of not having any other associated health issues.

Speaking of appointments, Alex has a pediatrician appointment tomorrow.  I’m looking forward to asking a few questions to our awesome doctor and hoping to walk out with a clean bill of health that I can then report to the Early Intervention evaluator that’s coming over on Friday.

Emotionally, it’s still a roller coaster.  It’s easy to get caught up in both the lows as well as the highs (though a “high” is just feeling relatively normal).  The Facebook group I mentioned has been a great source of information, comfort, and realism.  What’s great about it is that there are tons of great uplifting and happy stories, but at the same time there are also real stories about the occasional sadnesses involved.  A great example was a mother asking the board about what they said to their kids when they got to the point where they’d ask why the other kids didn’t have to wear “ears” or when they’d be able to take theirs off.  Leaving my techno-phile hat off and ignoring my belief that that’s all going to go away given time, I appreciate those stories because it gives us a hint as to what we MIGHT be in for and it also makes the happier stories all the more real and graspable.  Needless to say, I’m now a big believer in the power of support groups.

Alex is also helping us to keep our heads up by being a good little guy in general.  We’ve gotten a few laughs out of him and he definitely likes to smile at us, which I like to interpret as his faith that we’re going to do everything we can to help him kick as much ass as possible in this world.  There’s always just a little bit of sadness with each of these moments, though, because you can’t help but wonder WHY any of this is happening to such an innocent and happy little dude.  I often feel bitter that Alex is our last child and we can’t even enjoy him and the completion of our family as much as we would be in the alternate universe where he was completely fine.  That isn’t to say we don’t love him as he is now, obviously, but there are very few moments when we’re not thinking about the whole thing and worrying about what’s coming up and if we’re doing everything that we can for him.  It pisses me off that we can’t enjoy this time to its fullest.

All of that said, we’re definitely doing better.  We’re smiling a little bit more and depressed a bit less, though there’s always that underlying sadness present.  I think we’ve come a long way in a few weeks.  Getting rolling with Early Intervention this Friday could go either way.  I’d like to think it will make us feel better because it’ll feel like now we’re actively doing something for Alex, but it could also be a reminder of the long road ahead of us that we didn’t choose.  We should hopefully get closure on which way Alex is going to go within a few months (hearing and mainstreaming or visual / ASL / deaf school) which should also be a big help in getting us moving down the path of what’s best for Alex.

Just keep swimming.

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Putting my Money where My Mouth is

I’ve always loved technology.  I still have very fond memories of playing with the family’s TI-99 console back in the day with my dad and how much excitement I got out of going to the local Big Lots with my mom and sisters where she’d let me pick out a game for our Atari (and maybe a model airplane, if I was lucky), and endlessly fiddling with our various home PCs.  Way back when, we had a monochromatic monitor with a simple, cursor-based word processor.  I didn’t love writing, but I loved playing with the thing.  The power of these devices, of course,  is a complete joke compared to what most of us now carry around every day in out pockets.

As I got older, most of the money that I earned working at the local pizza joint was piped into upgrading the family computer to soup-up my video games, then later into buying my own computer that I pieced together.  I went to college and majored in Computer Science, and today my profession is that of a software engineer / architect.  Buying a new piece of tech still brings me that childlike joy.

Because of my love and experience with tech, I feel like I have a pretty good pulse on how quickly it moves and what’s coming down the pipe.  There’s a guy out there by the name of Ray Kurzweil.  He wrote a fantastic book called The Singularity is Near.  The basic premise of this book is that technology is advancing at such a rate that computers will eventually be able to build faster and smarter versions of themselves, which will then go on to build faster and smarter versions of themselves, etc.  Basically, there’s a tipping point where computers will flat-out be smarter than humanity, at which point we’ll generally see some serious shit as every complex problem that exists in the world gets solved by rapidly-improving AI.  I think the projection was that this will all go down in 2040 or so.  I happen to think that the premise is inevitable, though the timeline feels either too aggressive or too incredible to accept.  Pick one.

I bring all of this up because it colors my perception of Alex’s hearing loss and what the future will hold in the context (AND THIS IS IMPORTANT) of what sort of opportunities he will have to be able to hear this world if he wants.

At this point, we’re not sure if Alex is even going to be eligible for any sort of cochlear implant (which would be necessary given his 90db hearing loss).  It seems pretty sad to us that our biggest hope for him at this point is a pair of relatively invasive surgeries that, if successful, will still require him to wear a very conspicuous apparatus on both sides of his head, but I find it amazing that this technology exists and has helped as many people as it has who want to hear or restore some of their hearing NOW.  In five years or ten years… these things will not look the same, or sound the same.

I have little doubt that within ten years a fully-implantable implant will be available for Alex that will perform better than whatever he might be implanted with today (if we’re lucky enough to be eligible for that option).  I actually brought this up to the ENT at our first meeting, who rightly said “But if it’s working, why go through another surgery?”  A perfectly valid point.  My mind at that point, though, gravitated toward “He’s right.  At that point, we’d wait until he’s 17 or 18 years old to get the best out there prior to college and take advantage of less traumatic / invasive operation methods and make sure that he’s the driver of that choice.”

Before I get off the topic, a cool note that the ENT brought up – Cochlear (one of the big three manufacturers of cochlear implants) implanted a few users with a very interesting design.  The internal portion of the implant includes microphones, which means that even when the user takes off the external piece of the apparatus, they still have some trace hearing through the internal part.  Essentially, it’s completely invisible hearing.  This implant also allows the external apparatus (the part that looks like the hearing aid and wire that leads up to the head) to be used, which allows the user to hear much better than using the invisible hearing mode.  Though the invisible hearing isn’t nearly as good, it’s still amazing to me that users would have the option of being able to do things with SOME hearing such as sleep, go swimming, etc, all without the clunky visible pieces.  Even cooler –  these folks were implanted eight years ago.  God knows what they’re testing behind closed doors today.

A like-minded friend of mine made an astute observation that I hadn’t considered, and that’s that the baby boomer generation is greatly helping to push money and resources into development of hearing aids / implants as they age.  Alex’s condition is clearly not a blessing (at least to us, no offense to the Deaf community intended!), but the fact that it affects as many people as it does makes it a high-visibility issue that researchers from different fields as well as assistive-technology companies are racing to address in increasingly innovative ways.

My dad was recently over at the house – he’s worn hearing aids for years.  I appreciate the hell out of the man, and I love getting his perspective as a guy who’s worn hearing aids for years and is generally well-researched.  He’s re-iterated many times that his hearing aids have VASTLY improved since he first began with them.  It’s great to hear that reinforced from a guy who lives in that world and has actually seen (heard) the benefits.  It makes it all more real.

Getting my feet back on the ground – all of this could of course be a moot point for Alex’s immediate future.  We probably won’t know if Alex can take cochlear implants for months, and even if he can, we don’t know how well his body will react.  Even if his body reacts well to them, the implants are only part of the equation.  Therapy and hard work is the other, larger part.

Overall point… it’s been wonderful and comforting to see what these technology-driven implants are capable of affording the young and old alike and to think of how much they’ll improve in the coming years.

Shannon and I recently joined a Facebook group of about 2000 parents of children with implants.  The stories and videos they put up are mind-blowing.  Kids singing in tune.  Stories of mainstreaming children with little to no issues.  Playing in the school’s orchestra.  Speaking with no sort of affect.  Videos of kids saying their first words only a few months after implantation.  Stories of honor roll, wonderful social lives, sports, music… the list goes on.  It’s been great to look at the results as well as the support system that’s in place in that group, as well as the sheer number of folks posting within.  These aren’t isolated superstars, they’re a large segment of kids with loving parents who fought through the surgery, dealt with the processors falling off, and got through the therapy to get their kids over the mountain that Shannon and I are staring in the face right now.

It’s all both inspirational as well as terrifying.  If the tech gives us an opportunity, Shannon and I will do whatever it takes to get Alex the therapy he needs to get the best results possible for his brain to wire itself up for hearing / speaking.  If we get the miraculous results that some of these folks are getting, then as time goes, the implants will get smaller and better, perhaps to the point that they’re always on, invisible, don’t need to be charged, and are either as good or better than normal hearing one day.  Perhaps the enormous amount of stem cell therapy being researched for hearing loss will give Alex a purely-biological option.  It’s terrifying because this is all building up a great amount of hope that could be squashed and send us down the path of devastation again.

If there’s a greater power steering any of this, I’ve considered that perhaps it decided to put my faith and interest in technology to the test by taking Alex’s hearing from him.  Granted, that’s a bit jerk-y of said power to do, but the thought has crossed my mind.  Hence the title of this entry.  Though it’s true that if we’re lucky enough to be able to go down this road (and yes, I know how odd it is to call it “lucky”) that our family’s dedication to our new addition and elbow grease will be more important to his success than the implant, it can’t be denied that the implant is still necessary to allow Alex to hear our voices in the first place, and it WILL improve, just as braces lead to invisiline and thick coke glasses lead to lasik.  It’s a huge component of Alex’s potential hearing future.

If… IF we can get the implant early on, when language development is key, I see a future for Alex where his disability melts into the background of his life in all ways and that the combination of hard work, technology, and familial dedication will overcome that mountain that was put in front of him.

We just need the chance.

First Meeting with Early Intervention

Just a few small updates.

I met with Early Intervention for the first time yesterday.  The way it works is an initial service coordinator comes out and basically explains what the next steps are at a high level.  They are:

  • An evaluation has to be performed.  This evaluation is basically what enables your child to participate in the program.  We were told a few times that Alex’s hearing loss diagnosis was probably enough in itself, but as part of the necessary boilerplate (this is a government-funded program, after all), an evaluation still needs to be done.  The evaluation itself is apparently only going to take about an hour or so, and they’ll be looking for other potential issues Alex might be having.  Tummy time was mentioned a few times, neck strength, motor skills, that sort of thing.  Knock on wood, we’re not too nervous about Alex physically.  He feeds well, he sleeps well, he smiles, he makes eye contact, and he’s picking weight up.  Our pediatricians haven’t noticed anything at this point either.
  • The next step after the evaluation (and I’m told that we’ll actually do this the same night of the evaluation which may be because Alex’s should be pretty easy) is to formulate a starting plan.  That’s probably where we’ll say “speech therapy, Buffalo Hearing and Speech intervention program,” etc.  Shannon and I are looking forward to this piece, because that’s going to be the blueprint for Alex’s immediate future.  A large component of that is going to be having a specialist go to our house and give us some guidance on how to best interact with Alex.  Really looking forward to soaking all of that up!
  • Once the formal evaluation write-up gets to the Early Intervention folks, the plan essentially activates, gets funded, and away we go.

I had mixed feelings about the meeting itself – this is still so new and fresh that it was tough to realize that this was real – my kid’s in early intervention.  At the same time, it’s somewhat empowering.  The coordinator I spoke with was very sweet and supportive, and she emphasized a few times that Shannon and I will be in the driver’s seat.  We’re going to have a team of people working toward getting Alex whatever sort of help we can, and we can change the plan as we go along and learn more about our little dude.  We’ve got ’em for three years.

Another thing that I was happy to learn is that we’re probably less than a month away from getting Alex hearing aids.  Now, we still don’t know if Alex has auditory neuropathy or not, which comes into play.  If he DOES have it, then it’s likely that hearing aids wouldn’t do anything for him except for make white noise sound louder.  However, if he doesn’t, we could expect that Alex would at least be able to hear a little bit more than what he can do now.

A recurring vision that I’ve had is that I’m sitting in my chair in our family room, looking at Alex’s back (he’s facing the TV, maybe playing with some toys or his sister).  I call his name or make a loud sound and he turns around.  That sounds incredible to me right now.  We don’t have any sort of high hopes for the hearing aids, but any possibility that they might be able to help Alex at all feels like major progress.

We’ve been diagnosing and testing for what seems like forever.  Though it feels like we still don’t have any traction walking down any particular path, it feels good that we’re going to at least start walking.

Other notes… the hospital called our ENT and stated that they didn’t want to try to get an MRI performed on Alex until he hits six months.  Though that’s no surprise and didn’t feel like any sort of major setback, it’s somewhat disappointing that we won’t know if we have the option of cochlear implants for that period of time.

We still don’t know what’s up with the auditory neuropathy.  We have another appointment setup with Buffalo Hearing and Speech and we’re somewhat assuming that they’ll perform yet another ABR to look specifically for AN, but who knows.  If nothing else, that appointment should be informative so we can learn a bit more about their two programs (one that’s based around using hearing technology to boost listening / speech skills for mainstreaming and one that’s more of an ASL route but uses total communication that would include any hearing capabilities).

I’m tempted to write about how the family has been doing in general, which is definitely BETTER, but I’ll save that for a later post.

Some Clarification

I’ve gotten a few notes from my past few posts, and just wanted to take a stab at clearing the air quickly.

At this point, what I’m writing is very emotionally charged.  I know that I’m saying dark things, but the reason I’m doing this is to document the journey I’m on and being real about it.  I mean no offense to anyone involved in the Deaf community, and I understand their perspective that there’s nothing wrong with them that needs to be fixed, they’re just different.  I find that perspective to be very reassuring.  I apologize to anyone who takes offense at my visceral reactions to what’s going on with Alex and would hope that they would understand that all rationale is generally out the door when you’re talking about your children, but again – my goal is to document the journey, and that will almost certainly involve change.  I want it all here as an honest representation of that journey.  I initially thought I would write just a private journal, but decided to publish it in the hopes that, along the way, it might help someone else in some capacity or let our friends and family know what’s going on and how we’re doing.

On another note, if I seem gung-ho on cochlear implants at this point, it’s because they represent the ability for myself and Shannon, as parents, to give our child all that we can.  We know that it might not work.  We know that if it does, it’s not a “cure” for his hearing loss.   We’re not squarely on that path yet.  Alex’s viability as well as the testing that can be performed to see how well he might take to them will absolutely be major considerations, and we’ve been very happy with what we’ve heard about the Total Communication / ASL Early Intervention route as well.  Our happiness or love for our child doesn’t hinge on him getting cochlear implants, just as we know that his love for life and identity aren’t dependent on them (or any other medical device) either.

I hope this gives some clarification on where I’m coming from.  So far, the story has been written in a pretty bleak way, but that’s because this is all still very fresh for me.  Believe me when I say that Shannon and I have had many conversations about how we can’t wait to look back on this period and roll our eyes at ourselves for worrying so much about our beautiful son.

Introduction, Part Three

Continuing…

After the ABR where we discovered that Alex was functionally deaf, Shannon and I were obviously distraught to the core.  His “out of the box” hearing was practically non-existent.

One of the last kindnesses the audiologist gave us was to refer us to a new ENT whom she referred to as “THE guy for cochlear implants around here.”  She even called their office for us on the spot and arranged an appointment; she got us in something like four days later, which is apparently miraculous because this doctor is very sought after.

She also gave us a quick background on our two basic options that we’d have at this point – we could try for a listening / speech approach, or we could go the ASL route.  No decisions were or have been made at this point because we don’t have enough information to make an informed choice, but I’d be lying if I said that we didn’t ask more questions about the hearing / speech approach.  Apparently most of the kids that go through that program have great success in mainstreaming (that is, going to typical schools and basically being brought up to be a part of the hearing world), which was good to know.

Our nights were awful.  One thing that was particularly difficult was falling asleep, because the silence beforehand gives plenty of room for the mind to race.  To make things worse, Alex was still waking up once or twice a night to feed, so we had to go through the process multiple times per night.  Each time we woke up we realized that it still wasn’t just a nightmare that we were waking up from; our child was still deaf.

During the days, much research was done around cochlear implants, including how well they work, how they do with music, what sort of future-tech was coming up, etc.  Again, it was all a compromise, so it was all very difficult to feel positive about.

The day of our appointment with the ENT rolled around.  Our new doctor was definitely an improvement from the last guy – our audiologist had given us a heads-up that this would just be a very quick and cursory check, but our doctor answered almost every question we had accumulated at that point.  It was nice to be able to ask an actual professional questions and get real-world answers rather than reading clinical statistics from Google Scholar.  He seemed rather matter-of-fact about going with cochlears at that point, and most importantly, he said that if that’s the approach we were to take, he’d want to do so as early as possible.  The earliest he had implanted was eight months, but typically he could get them done by nine months.  The FDA currently recommends waiting until one year despite all of the studies that scream “THE EARLIER THE BETTER!”, but the doctor ensured us that he could petition and we’d have a decent chance of pushing it through.

Throughout the discussion, the doctor brought up the term “auditory neuropathy.”  I didn’t think anything of it at the time because it basically sounded like the medical term for “deaf” or “hearing damage brought on by damaged nerves.”  On our way out, the doctor mentioned that he wanted to line up an MRI if possible so he could get a better idea of what was going on with Alex’s ears.  A challenge with this is that it takes something to the order of 40 minutes to complete and requires the subject to stay very still.  No easy task with a squirming infant.  Typically, children are anesthetized, but he wasn’t sure if we could do it with Alex being this young.  Nevertheless, they would follow up and see what the MRI folks would recommend (we haven’t heard back from them yet, but I’ll share that info here when we do).

Later that night, we had our first social dinner outing since having Alex with Shannon’s best friend and her fiancee.  Though we weren’t sure if we would really be able to enjoy ourselves, it proved to be extremely therapeutic.  They asked questions about it.  They offered encouraging words.  They didn’t try changing the subject.  They obviously were interested in what was going on with Alex as well as our well-being.  Basically, it was fantastic, and it’s yet another reason that I appreciate that we have the two of them in our lives.  Yes, some alcohol might have helped as well, but it was great to feel somewhat normal for a few hours.

Again, this good feeling would be unfortunately short-lived.

Shannon brought up that the term “auditory neuropathy” sounded strange when the doctor had brought it up.  I told her my initial thought on it, which was that it was just a fancy term for “deaf.”  We went to sleep for the night.  Alex woke up at around 3:00 in the morning to be fed.  During that time, Shannon and I started looking up the actual term “auditory neuropathy,” which was also present on the ABR report we had received that day.

Our third drop straight into deep depression commenced.

Auditory neuropathy, as it turns out, is a SPECIAL type of deafness (you have to win the lottery to get this, it’s something like 1 in every 100,000 children will have it) with a few terrifying characteristics.

  1. Cochlear implants don’t always work with it, or they don’t work as well.
  2. Hearing aids flat-out won’t do anything for it except for rare cases.  Therefore, putting hearing aids on Alex prior to getting cochlear implants (if we were to go that route) would likely do absolutely nothing for him.
  3. It’s something that’s relatively “new” in terms of being diagnosed, so there isn’t a dearth of experience in treating it.
  4. Worst of all – auditory neuropathy is often accompanied with other issues.

That was the end of our sleep for that night.  We had gone from adjusting to a perfectly healthy baby to a baby with moderate hearing loss to a baby with profound hearing loss to, now, a baby who would potentially not even benefit from cochlear implants AND who was more at risk for having additional health issues.

The latest bit hit us the hardest.  This might be because we’d already endured the previous two hits, so we were already raw.  There was a lot of pleading for the evil to cease.  “Please stop.  That’s enough.  We can’t take any more.”  We began to make peace and accept that we could have a child who would simply not have hearing, and potentially have worse things coming on the horizon.  We’re still trying to make peace with this possibility.

Two days later, we went to Shannon’s mom’s house to spend the day.  It’s always been a boost to the soul to visit for a few hours – Taylor and Alex’s grammy and grampa love taking care of them and spoiling us.  It’s also nice to get out of the house occasionally, especially when you’re sending so many hours writhing in depression within it.  Shannon and I had a good discussion on the way over (as we usually do) about what sort of GOOD things the future might hold, and how that rational thought that we’d deal with whatever came our way and adjust our lives accordingly was worth holding on to even as we were bottoming out.

Upon arriving at the house, the kids were immediately spoiled.  The TV was tuned to Disney Junior, which contains most of Taylor’s favorite TV shows.  At one point, there was a show called “Little Einsteins” on.  It’s basically an educational cartoon that places a lot of emphasis on a few bits of classical music every episode.  While it was on, I was holding Alex, who was resting in my arms, looking innocent and beautiful.  Every time they played a little musical hook was like taking a knife to the heart.  He couldn’t hear this.  Even if he had cochlear implants, he probably wouldn’t hear it with the same fidelity that we could.  I broke down and cried silently on the couch.  I even received the added bonus of feeling guilty about doing it because I know that Shannon’s mom could probably see me, and I highly doubt that made her feel any better.  Certainly one of the lowest emotional moments I had had so far.  In my life.

I think that by this point I had lost something to the tune of 15 pounds in just over a week.

The following day we had another ABR with the hospital we had performed the first one with.  The main objective of this particular ABR was to get a good measurement of Alex’s left ear now that Buffalo Hearing and Speech had gotten a solid reading out of Alex’s right.  I held Alex again while Shannon waited in the hospital waiting room.  Before the audiologist began the test, I gave her an update (suspected auditory neuropathy, profound hearing loss), mostly to encourage her to tell me what she was doing as she went along without worrying that she was going to casually deliver horrific news to a dad who thought everything was AOK.

After about an hour’s worth of testing, we received some interesting news – she didn’t see any sign of auditory neuropathy in Alex’s left ear.  That was somewhat unbelievable, considering that auditory neuropathy is almost ALWAYS present in both ears.  She explained something about a wave V (I’ll try to get more detail on this as it unfolds in case it helps anyone else) and how it wasn’t exhibiting signs of neuropathy.  It might’ve been because it was smooth?  I’ll clarify later.  My hope didn’t skyrocket (or, at least, I won’t let myself admit it), but it was a potential win.  I eagerly asked her if she could re-test Alex’s right ear to scan solely for auditory neuropathy.  She agreed.  Flipping Alex over woke him up, but luckily I was able to get him back down again after about twenty minutes.

She couldn’t find any signs of neuropathy again.

The testing concluded and Shannon was brought into the room to discuss the results (I specifically asked for this to make sure she could hear everything the audiologist had to say as well as have the opportunity to ask questions).  She re-iterated that she couldn’t find any signs of AN, but she also didn’t have the report from Buffalo Hearing and Speech that might’ve shed some more light on what THEY had seen.  Again, I tried not to get my hopes up too much.  We had been told that Buffalo Hearing and Speech had the latest and greatest equipment, so maybe they were looking for something different than the hospital was.  Our souls had already been squashed three times in the past two weeks, so this the prospect of any hope just felt like a cruel setup.

The audiologist went on to answer all of our myriad questions.  She had previously been involved with the early intervention program, so we got to find out a lot of great information about the two tracks – one for auditory / verbal, one for ASL.  We discovered that the ASL track was actually more based on total communication (so ASL, speech, hearing, lip-reading, everything available) which made us feel better about that program.  It was pretty informative.  She was also kind enough to give us the opportunity to email her the ABR report stating that Alex had auditory neuropathy so that she could take a look, and she promised to get back to us with her input.  She did so a few days later and stated that she didn’t read anything on the report that would make her back her opinion out that Alex was free and clear of AN.

At this point, I think we’re basically caught up in terms of diagnosis.  We don’t know if Alex has AN or not.  Over the past few days I’ll admit that I have some hope that he doesn’t have AN on the basis of the latest ABR as well as a few things that we thought were odd that the audiologist agreed with – namely, that his OAE test was always coming back as negative.  With AN, an OAE typically shows as normal for a period of time and then goes to abnormal, but that takes a lot longer than the ten weeks that Alex had been around for.  Typing this, I can feel the letdown that I’m already setting myself for, but I guess we’ll just call it cautious optimism.

We haven’t heard back from our doctor yet regarding Alex getting an MRI (step one in determining whether cochlear implants would work for him).  We have our first early intervention meeting scheduled this week, but that’s just going to be boilerplate.

At least we’re moving.