When You Realize What You Were Missing

My daughter is deaf in one ear, diagnosed at 14 months with mild/moderate loss. Got her first aid at 26 months. Took her first booth test somewhere around 3 years old. At that point, her hearing level had dropped from moderate to profound loss.

It’s hard for those of us with normal hearing to understand what profound hearing loss means. I didn’t really get an inkling until those first booth tests. I sat in the booth with my daughter, but several feet away. She wore headsets to listen to the instructor. The doctor would ask her to point to cards with pictures on them. When the doctor asked for the airplane in the good ear, my daughter pointed without hesitation.

In the bad ear…nothing. The doctor would gradually raise the volume, to the point where I, sitting a few feet away, could hear the doctor as clear as day even through the headsets, while my daughter sat unmoving, waiting for the instruction she could not hear.

That is profound hearing loss.

Still, the loss didn’t seem to impact my daughter much. She can’t localize sound, and if you talk in her bad ear she will not hear you, but those were the only major issues. She has a hearing aid for the bad ear, but has been saying for some time that it doesn’t help at all.

So we are trying out a new type of hearing aid, called a cross or crossover.  This consists of a microphone on her bad ear that pipes the sound over to the good ear, so she is hearing both sides on one ear.  Eventually, the brain learns to discern which sound comes from which ear, and it helps with sound localization, as well as hearing sound and speech from the bad side.

When we first put it on my daughter, her eyes got big, and she yelled, “Everything is so LOUD!” For the first time in her life, she was hearing the world as I do. She was stunned and delighted, excitement shining from her face. The funny thing was that every time we put the aid on, she started yelling instead of speaking normally. That seemed counter-intuitive, until I figured out that she probably thought she had to speak louder to be heard over her louder world–much like we yell over a TV up at high volume.

While excitement was her first reaction, a different feeling surfaced a few days later. “Mommy, I’m a little sad.” I asked her why. “Because I never realized how different I am.” I asked what she meant. “I never knew how much I couldn’t hear that everyone else could.”

Sometimes it’s hard when you finally realize what you’ve been missing.

So I whispered into her aided bad ear, “I love you.”

It piped over to her good ear.

And her smile shone out and her eyes lit up.

Maybe she realized that she’s not really missing the things that matter most.


  1. Beautiful post, compassionate and caring. You’re a blessing to your daughter. I cried when I read this as I reflected on my own childhood experiences as a hearing aid wearer. I was never deaf enough to be a part of the deaf community but always knew I was different. It’s a gift to be allowed to acknowledge it and still feel loved.

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