The Daily Nusz

Kevin and I had a bit of a scare.   With Savannah.

Nearly three weeks ago, Savannah developed a cold.  Boogers, watery eyes, sneezing, cough, blah, blah, blah.   She gets better.  Well, except for the lingering cough.  Two weeks go by.  Still coughing.  All the time.  We give her a dose of cough syrup prior to bedtime, then when we are awoken during the night by her incessant coughing we redose her so she can make it until the morning.   Other than that, there is no fever and she is eating and sleeping well.  Last Wednesday we decide that two weeks of coughing is enough so I take her to the pediatrician.  She examines her, murmurs about a bacterial infection but mentions the potential for this to be the onset of allergies, and leaves me with a prescription for an antibiotic.  We diligently administer the medicine.  Her final dose was two nights ago.  Still coughing, but marginally better.

Last evening, Savannah was placed in time-out approximately two minutes after Daddy came  home.   She was asked to clean up some toys.  Several times I directed her to do so.  Zero compliance.  Therefore, she was told to spend time in her room until the mood struck her to clean up some toys.  She comes downstairs and cleans up the toys.  Soon, she is given another directive.  No compliance.  In fact, she won’t even look at me or answer me when I speak to her.    As Kevin is standing in the kitchen watching our interaction play out, he states, “She can’t hear you.”  I stop.  I think.  He’s right.  She’s not being defiant.  She can’t hear me.  She can’t hear me as I call out to her to wash your hands/clean up the toys/give that back to Declan.  

We put Dec to bed and play some little games.   As she’s sitting on my lap, I instruct to repeat what Daddy says.  If Daddy says, “I love pizza”, you say, “I love pizza.”  She seems to understand.  He walks around the corner and makes a statement.  She sits quietly, grinning.  Waiting for Daddy to say something.  He calls louder.  Nothing.  Louder.  She excitedly says, “I hear Daddy!”, but can’t repeat what he said. 

A few minutes later, she is playing with Daddy.  He is standing holding her hands while she tries to “climb” up his legs.  I am sitting a few feet behind her.  I ask, “Savannah, do you want a snack?”  (the girl loves her snacks).  Nothing.  I call out, “Do you want a doughnut?”.  Nothing.  She’s giggling over her game with Daddy.  But I’m only about three feet away.  Why can’t she hear me?

Next, we play the “telephone” game.  I whisper a phrase in her ear, she whispers it to Daddy.  I feel encouraged, because she gets most of it correct.  I’m consoled, and as we put her to bed I can’t help but whisper in her ear.  She responds appropriately.

This morning, Kevin and I agree that I will call the doctor and get her seen immediately.  I remind myself that she speaks normally, she is learning her letter sounds at the appropriate pace, and she can, in fact, hear.   Just maybe not well.  She enters the bathroom with a sleepy expression.  I direct a comment towards her, but she doesn’t answer.   A few minutes later, Kevin leaves the bathroom and she stands in front of me as I comb her hair.   Her face is down, and she cannot see me in the mirror.  I ask her what she wants for breakfast.  Silence.  I try again.  Nothing.  I tap her shoulder, and she looks at me.  I ask her again, and she tells me that she wants a waffle and a banana.  I’m beginning to feel panicky.

Kevin leaves for work, and I start researching ENT (Ear, Nose, Throat) doctors in our area.  I call one.  They tell me to leave a message for the nurse, and she will call me back within 2 hours.  Too long.  I call another, and they cheerfully give me an appointment for 2:15 pm today.  Great.  I make a few more calls; to my MIL (to watch Declan while I take Savannah to the doctor because it’s during naptime), my healthcare insurance company, and the pediatrician.  Finally, I call my close friend Kelly, whose daughter has recently turned into a whiney monster due to a double ear infection.  I tell her of my concerns, and she exclaims, “Kate has been like that too!  She keeps telling me to turn up the TV, turn up the radio, etc.”  That made me feel much better.  Maybe it’s a 3 year old thing?   But then I remember that Kate’s got a double ear infection.  Of course she can’t hear, the poor thing.  Savannah, with the exception of her residual cough, is fine.  She just went to the doctor’s a few days ago!  My spirits plummet again.

Finally, it’s 2:15 and we’re at the doctor’s office.  The doctors walks in, greets us briefly, and immediately tips her head to look in her ears.  He says, “When was her last ear infection?”  I say, “Never.  She may have had one when she was 18 months old, but I only figured it out because I got one too.  She was never even treated with antibiotics.”  He says, “Well, she’s got two now.  Her ears look bad.”

I seriously wanted to hug the man.  That’s like, the best news ever.  Totally explains why she can’t hear.  She’s not going deaf.  I’m not going to need to learn sign language.  We’re not going to have to educate ourselves about hearing aids, surgical options, or cochlear implants.   She needs some strong antibiotics and a bit of time.

He states that he wants her to have a hearing test just to see what her current hearing levels are.  Savannah complies, and I can see that she’s not responding to the auditory stimuli that she’s supposed to be responding to.   The audiologist sticks some little thingys in her ears and points to a computer screen.   There is a flat line where there is supposed to be a sharp peak, indicating that her eardrum is not vibrating at all, proving that the fluid is so high in her ears that eardrum has no room to move.  Once the infection is resolved and the fluid is drained, her eardrum should be able to vibrate again, and we can get our Savannah back.  The Savannah that does what’s asked of her the first time.  Well, maybe the second time.

But for the next couple of days, before her meds start to work, wait until she’s looking at you before you speak to her.  The poor child can’t hear a thing.

Kevin and I feel very grateful tonight . . .