deaf education

raising our deaf son, Ellis

 Today Chris and I were on our first parent panel. We were asked to come to a regional meeting that the State Dept of Ed sponsors for those who are service providers for children with hearing loss. There were people in the room from all over eastern Pennsylvania. Also on the panel was another mother of a kid from PSD; her daughter was in E's class last year. And a mother whose kid was in an oral program. All three kids represented are going into Kindergarten next year. It was a good experience. I hope we were able to be helpful.

I thought I would list the questions and the answers that we prepared. We didn't really follow them as a script, but it was helpful to write out something to organize our thoughts. And also, the usual caveats...this is what is good for our family, but I think there are some general thoughts that anyone going down any deaf educational path could find some benefit from.

1. Please share how the news of your child’s diagnosis was shared with you and what information and resources were given to you at the time of diagnosis.

We came to understanding of Ellis's diagnosis gradually. It took us awhile to understand what the "referred" meant after he failed his newborn hearing screen. We had an appointment with an audiologist at Temple Children's that was not helpful at all when E was 2 months. When E had a "no response" on his ABR, he said that didn't tell him how much hearing loss that he had. This audiologist only told us that E had "some hearing loss" and gave us an Early Intervention number to call for our county. It wasn't until E was around 7 months old and we transferred to CHOP did we get a clear diagnosis of profound sensorineural bilateral hearing loss. And we were already happily enrolled in an EI program. The audiologist at CHOP introduced us to hearing aids and was the first to suggest that he may be a candidate for a cochlear implant.

2. Describe your and your family’s feelings at the time of diagnosis and what type of support (if any) that you found helpful during this time.

I think it did help that we came to a gradual understanding of his hearing loss. We had no defining, black-and-white moments where a diagnosis was handed to us, the unsuspecting parents. But overall we were actually very calm and accepting. To us it didn't seem like a tragedy. All we saw was a healthy, happy baby, and walking through a children's hospital where babies are fighting for their lives really puts things into perspective. I think the Early Intervention support we received from PSD was the most helpful. Our home visitor became a vital part of our life those first couple of years, and we still keep in touch with her.

3. How was the Communication Opportunities shared with you and your family? Do you believe that all options were equally available to you and presented to you in an unbiased manner?

I do believe we were presented with all the options in a very fair way. When I first made the call to Montgomery County's Early Intervention, I was asked whether or not I wanted to sign. At the time, I didn't know not-signing was an option. I just assumed that all deaf people signed. We all remember Linda from Sesame Street, right? When presented with the question, I did ask for some clarification, and the woman gave me brief descriptions of the programs at Clarke and at PSD. I remember jotting down in my notes that she seemed to be nudging me towards Clarke. But still by the end of that conversation I couldn't fathom a reality of not-signing.

When we began our Early Intervention with a teacher of the deaf from PSD, one of the first things she did was to make sure we truly understood all our options. We had a tour of Clarke [oral school], of PSD. She gave us things to read. We really felt like we could ask her anything and make any decision we felt comfortable making.

4. When and how did you come to a decision of what communication option(s) you were going to use and do you believe you had access to qualified professionals in your choice of communication?

From the first day when hearing loss was even brought to the table, our commitment to Ellis has been that he have as much access to everything that might help him. We learned that if he is to have 100% access, that ASL must be available to him, and that he must continue to learn it as well as we would expect a hearing kid to speak. But we also want to give him the benefit of a cochlear implant. His right ear was implanted when he was 2yo and speech therapy and a high auditory access classroom at PSD are part of his IEP, in addition to instruction in ASL. In order to be truly bilingual, he must be allowed to develop to the maximum of his potential in BOTH languages. So that he may easily choose how he moves through his adult life. For us, we felt like we were limiting his life choices if we chose only one mode of communication. In our house, learning another language is par for the course, and ASL is no different.

I do think we were given excellent resources and opportunities. The Mont Co EI and then preschool division bent over backwards to make sure we had just the IFSP/IEP we needed for our bilingual approach. Even though it was a little outside the box for them. PSD also offered us a lot of extra opportunities that weren't "on the books," such as a Deaf Mentor program and the shared reading Program, where a Deaf adult would come into our home and help us learn how to read children's books to Ellis in ASL.

5. As parents of children who are deaf or hard of hearing, we need to learn quickly how to embed language learning into our home environments. What tools/skills did you and your family learn during the early intervention years to support your child’s language learning at home and in their community?

ASL was crucial. Ellis didn't get a CI until he was 2yo. Before then the hearing aid he had didn't give him an language benefit. If we hadn't signed, he would've had no access to language in those crucial 2 years. Because of signing, we have seamless communication if the technology fails. There was actually a time when the processor on his CI and his backup CI both failed simultaneously. It was crazy and it took a long time to figure out. And then they have extra time getting a replacement with a processor, because it has to be programmed.

It's great to have more than one modality for language if technology fails. There is always language, be it ASL or spoken English. We never lose. It's always win. Language is the goal.

6. Please share with us any advise you believe would be helpful to another family who will be on this journey after you.

Another mother brought up the good point, that it's up to the parent to be an expert in everything at the IEP meeting. To really understand what's going on so as to be a good advocate for the child. And then I thought one step further, it's great to do this for the sake of your child. And hopefully it will show them how they can gradually take ownership of their own advocacy, so that they can stand up for what they need.

But we brought to the table to answer this question was this: Talk to Deaf adults. They're lovely people, and they want to tell you that being Deaf doesn't limit them from doing the things they want to do. They want to show that being deaf isn't scary. No matter which mode of communication of avenue of education you choose, there will always be deaf adults on the other side. Talk to them. They will give you a more wholistic picture of your child than just the speech banana your audiologist gives.

In a previous post I talked about our difficulties finding an interpreter for church, and I mentioned some of the reasons why we think it's important to have one. Let me just say: thank God for the men in our church. Here's why.

We recently changed churches. When we moved from the 'burbs to the city we were much closer to another church in the same denomination. So it seemed to make sense to make a move. We were worried about what would happen with all the work we'd done with our session, but decided to at least visit the closer church to say 'hi, we're in the neighborhood.'

Well, let me just tell you. They were all over Ellis. We soon discovered that two members of the congregation have ASL in their background. One of them helps lead the singing, and within a few Sundays of our visiting started translating the songs as she was leading the singing. The other teaches Ellis's sunday school class, and she too immediately began using ASL wherever she could.

Completely on his own, the pastor started using what few signs he could pick up during the week in his sermon. I think he must have picked up the sign for "life" when they came for dinner one night. The next Sunday he was using the sign whenever he said the word. And he's added to his vocabulary since then.

He's also started asking the whole congregation to sign "Amen" at the end of every prayer, and he's asked us whether we would teach everyone how to sign the Lord's Prayer so we can do that together, too.

And I've noticed that as I'm translating hymns and such for Ellis in the pew, people behind me are trying to follow along. And some people are even turning around to be able to see and follow.

And the session at our old Church? They contacted the new church and offered to help out with the transition. They even had several joint meetings with our family and reps from each church's session.

So, yea. Like I said. Thank God for the men in our church.

Amid all the searching and learning we've done since we discovered Ellis was deaf, the biggest issue for us, the elephant in the room, always was what to do about church.

Anyone who knows us well knows that we take church very seriously. J and my own experiences growing up in the church were typical of what we call "covenant children". We believe that our children are Christians, and ought to be treated as such, until they prove otherwise. That means that children are taught at a very young age to participate in every aspect of public and private worship.

But what about Ellis? We are used to seeing young children sitting in the pews with their families at church. We know they don't understand a lot of what is going on, but we expect they will absorb what they can, and as they grow older they'll continue to grow in their understanding. But Ellis doesn't absorb a Hearing worship service the same was as Hearing children do. Most obviously, he doesn't hear the words we're singing and reciting. And he doesn't hear the sermon.

The most obvious solution is to find an interpreter to translate the content of the service. If Ellis can't understand everything that's fine. Neither can hearing children. And that's not the point, anyway.

Fortunately, our session was very receptive to the idea of hiring an interpreter. But they had to work through a lot of issues, first. Like whether or not the interpreter themselves needed to be a Christian, and if so then what kind? (The issue of who leads worship is a huge discussion in Evangelical Christian circles). And then there were practical issues, like where the interpreter would stand so that they would be accessible to everyone, but not distracting to anyone.

And then there was the actual search. We asked everyone we knew whether they knew any interpreters, or any good sources for interpreters. We contacted agencies, we scoured the web, and we followed endless friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend rabbit trails. Still, we just couldn't find anyone who fit the session's criteria. The problem was that any interpreter that was themselves a Christian wanted to be in their own church on Sunday! Duh.

So we kind of gave up, to tell the truth. We found a wonderful woman who was able to meet with us once a week to help us work out the difficult stuff-- like the Nicene Creed, so we could interpret those ourselves, in the pew. She also worked through the Children's Catechism, the Lord's Prayer, and the Apostle's Creed with us. Awesome. It gave us a measure of confidence we lacked before. But still. That's not enough.

The issues are much broader than mere communication. The issues here are cultural, too. But I'm going to save that for the next part of this post, soon to follow.

E09

Ellis runs ahead of me in all his four-year-old boy vivacity. As I lumber along with the baby on my back, lugging our little bag full of snacks and water bottles, I watch him, waiting for the moment, just before he disappears around the corner, when he'll turn around and make eye contact. I wave him down signing WAIT FOR MOMMY! but he's already plopped down on the park bench and signs WAIT. As I get close, up he pops again, and I watch the back of his head bounce, jump, and dash along.

Cut to later. Ellis is picking up his fifteen-month-old brother. Again. He adores his brother, but sometimes his love is a bit too lavish. I kneel down, fully intending to affirm his love, but to talk with him about more appropriate ways to express it, while firmly prying his arms away from the baby, who is screaming his head off. Ellis drops to the ground, flailing and squeezing his eyes shut.

Four years ago, when we learned that our brand new baby was born profoundly deaf, we knew our experience as parents would be different. We got a kick out of being able to vacuum in the same room as a sleeping baby. We cheered at his vocabulary of ASL at such a young age. We stomped the floor to get his attention.

However, I feel like it's only been this year that I've really begun to get a glimpse at what it means for Ellis to be deaf, and deaf in our hearing family. I've started to see how he settles himself socially. Personally, I'm starting to see the particular ways I fall short as a parent. True, nobody is a perfect parent, but I'm speaking of the ways in which I struggle as a Hearing Parent of a Deaf Kid.

The primary aspect of this unique experience is communication. We are settling into the bilingual dance between spoken English and ASL. Two years ago Ellis got a CI. He's doing pretty well with it, his receptive language is stronger than expressive. I can talk to him without signing through the simple aspects of our routine and that works out fine. He doesn't like to wear it at home. We don't press him to, but, I will admit, I may or may not have bribed him with chocolate milk to wear it at home sometimes. He wears it at school or usually any other time when we're not home. He is most comfortable with ASL, and that is the language we use with him primarily, even if we are speaking, too. This is especially true in discipline situations, where I need to use whatever language we have to its fullest, and since ASL is his preferred language, that is what I use.

From the beginning, we've pursued our education in ASL vigorously. We've taken classes, lived in the dictionary, had Deaf Mentors. But we are far from native signers. We get by. We can communicate fairly effectively with our four-year-old: we can read books in ASL and talk to him about the world around us.

I have found lately, though, that my ASL is starting to fail my parenting needs. It's taken me awhile to figure out what the matter is, because I know the signs and how to use them, but somehow I'm failing to communicate. I think there is a Deaf presence that I don't have. I'm not really sure how to describe it. A way of using my body that transcends the actual signs, that enters into his space, meets it, communicates with it. Connection is a key part of my parenting philosophy and to be so defeated by the basic communication that I need to make it happen is beyond frustrating. It has deeply discouraged me in these past few months especially.

It's not all a total big Fail. We do get along, after all. We do connect. I give him as much physical presence as I can. I give him as much language as I can. And we are a happy family. But sometimes I look at my hearing friends with their hearing kids--parents and children who speak the same native language--and wonder at the ease of it all. To just talk, effortlessly.

He shuts his eyes. Bam. Communication stops. He glances away from me, focusing back to his play. Communication stops. Sure, he might pick up more than I think peripherally. But it is unnerving to have the eye contact lost. The conversation could just be small talk about his play, but it is lost mid-sentence. Is my signing that weak? Do I not have the persona to indicate that I'm talking to you? Ellis seems to think that I can only hear him if I'm looking at him. He screams my name while I am driving until I glance back giving him the visual acknowledgment that I hear him. (Dang! We need a mirror!) He also thinks that if I don't acknowledge him the split second he says my name that I must not hear him, so he repeats it at blood-curdling volumes, until I can turn to him. I'm rambling a little. This summer has been a roller-coaster. My nerves feel shot from his screaming my name, though it's getting a little better.

He's changing socially. We were at a birthday party with all hearing kids, kids he's known since infancy. Another guest, another little boy, ran up to Ellis, hi! what's your name? Ellis didn't know what he said. How much do I step in to intervene? Do I translate for E? Let it go and watch him slip into isolated play? Do I go through the conversation for the bazillionth time? oh, hi. His name is Ellis. He can't hear you, so we talk with our hands. can you say 'hi' like this? Some kids get into it. Some feel awkward and back away. Bless the little British kid at the park the other day who made fast friends with E despite his curious quality.

How do I balance it all? As a mother I want to protect him from all this. I want to make a world that fits him perfectly. I don't want to have to teach him how to negotiate through languages and worlds. I wish I had more to offer him. Yet at the same time, he's doing a pretty good job. Sometimes, I just have to stop and let go. Let him run ahead, trusting that he'll turn around. After all, I am not in control. The God who gave me Ellis also has Ellis perfectly in His arms.

I've gotten some fun movies of Ellis recently. These are taken roughly around eighteen moths post CI activation.

In the first, Ellis is fingerspelling the title to his bedtime story--and saying the letters as best he can (though he's not wearing his CI in this one, because he's going to bed). He loves to spell out the title of the books before we read them. Bedtime story is 98% of the time in ASL, because his CI is off for bed by that point. Every once in awhile, he wants it on. Anyway, he's just picked up the letters' spoken names, it's not something we've been working on in particular, though I'm sure they've done it some in school. We usually do say the letter when we sign it. Here is Ellis signing "A Pocket for Corduroy."

Ellis's favorite thing right now is counting. Here he is counting his cars with Daddy. I was trying to take the video surreptitiously, so sorry if it's not the clearest.

And, of course, what's a blog without a little politics? Hey, E, who's the new president?

Ellis's school offers a service called the Shared Reading Program, wherein a Deaf person comes to your home and helps you learn how to read a book in ASL to your child. We signed up just before the holidays. At first one of E's teachers, who was also our Deaf mentor awhile ago, had been coming.

It's been a great experience so far, a huge boost to our ASL skills. One of the biggest

This blog is in honor of our 3 year old son, Ellis, who was born congenitally, profoundly deaf. I've been blogging a bit about it here and there on my my personal blog. But as we have gotten to know more about Deaf culture and even CI culture, we've decided to create some space devoted to our experiences. All the previous blog entries have been imported here, so we are picking up where we left off with my former blog, "Moot Thoughts and Musings."

Briefly, Ellis was born in June 2005 and failed his newborn hearing screen. This came as a bit of a surprise, since we're a hearing family with no history of hearing loss. As soon as we realized what was going on and got hooked up with early intervention, we began to sign with him, to seek out Deaf adults to learn from, and to become involved in our local School for the Deaf. When Ellis was two we made the difficult decision to get him a CI. He has one CI in his right ear and does pretty well with it. He attends preschool at the local Deaf school, where he is part of a bilingual classroom. He gets instruction in spoken English and in ASL. He signs very well, if I do say so myself. He also gets weekly speech therapy sessions at our local children's hospital, and we totally heart our therapist.

We're still working out a few design aspects to this blog. But we're happy to have you begin reading!

Though I almost never post on my wife's blog, I almost always read through the comments she gets re. d/Deaf issues. Mostly I tend to stay away from commenting, because I have a tendency to take things personally, whereas she is much more measured in her responses. However, I feel like taking this opportunity to reiterate for those not familiar with our story, some of our reasoning about the CI.

It seems that most of the negative reactions to Ellis' CI center on the accusation that we are doing what is best for ourselves, and not what is best for Ellis, because:

1. We made a decision on his behalf, without his knowledge or consent
2. The decision we made significantly alters his experience of being
d/Deaf; which is to say, we have interfered in the development of his
sense of self.

The irony here is that if we really had done what was best for ourselves-- that is, if we had made what for us would have been the easy decision, then Ellis would not be implanted. From the get-go, we had the following concerns about the CI:

1. If we implant him, will we get lazy and stop signing to him?
2. Will he be 'classed' or even rejected by the d/Deaf community?
3. Will bilingualism really work, or is it a fantasy that we can give him
the best of both worlds?

Here was the argument we made to ourselves about these concerns: every one of these worries is really a worry about our own commitment and our own sense of who Ellis is now and who we want him to become. The truly selfless thing to do would be to put aside our own anxieties and our own pride in his d/Deafness and choose the thing that will give him every opportunity to be successful in either or both worlds, as he chooses.

The fact of the matter-- and this comes from years of research, training, and experience as an educator of ESL students, is that there is no substitute for acquiring language at a young age. If a child misses the opportunity to learn language at a young age, it is almost impossible to catch up. Not that many haven't done very well, but they can never equal the ease and skill of the early learner.

To not implant Ellis, but to wait until he is an adult, would leave him at a disadvantage should he decide to keep the implant on. His choice would therefore not be between the best of either or both worlds. It would be between the ease and familiarity of deafness and the labor and discomfort of hearing. Not really a choice, is it?

(A deep breath) I can already hear the critics. They've stopped reading already, and they are already preparing their rants about how the devil parents have ruined their son, made him into a moron (?) etc. Maybe we did make a mistake. Shoot, we've made plenty of those already in the two years of his life and we expect to make a few more.

Thank goodness that Ellis doesn't have to be ruined by them, though. For all the talk here about identity, sense of self, etc., I have to say that our view of Ellis's personhood is limited neither by his deafness nor, should he have been born otherwise, his hearing. I hope that Ellis is a full enough person that whether he hears or not, whether he thinks of himself as Deaf or not, he finds a way to live an honest and honorable life in whatever circumstances he finds himself.

There is no way to save him from suffering. There is no way to avoid limiting his choices in some fashion, try though we might. In the end, whether hearing, deaf, blind, paralytic, male, female or neuter., we all have the same basic choices to make about how we will live with respect to our limitations. The choices that Ellis makes in this respect will determine the quality of person he is, and whether or not he merits our respect (he will always have our love).

UPDATE: (Mom here) We just want to clarify that by "acquistion of language" we don't mean, that in order to have Language he needs a CI. He already has a language: ASL, but a CI will help learn English more easily. Sorry. We gotta run, or I'd try to make this clearer.
Dad meant by "acquisition of language" the acquisition of English, treating ASL as a given, since that is already part of our lives.
In other words, BIlingual.

I wanted to post a link to a blog that I guest blogged on yesterday. Amy and I have had some exciting conversations and we wanted to share some our dialogue, which we did on her blog. It's been an incredibly encouraging to me as a parent, yet unsure how my crazy kid's life is going to go. :-) I'm totally pumped, writing the blog entry and VIDEOchatting later. How exciting!!!!

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