To be honest, I couldn’t wait to show her off to my relatives. My uncle Jock – Neil George’s older brother – had organised a McKendry family reunion for our last day in Australia. We were to have a real Aussie family barbecue in Kalinga Park in inner Brisbane, and I was so looking forward to it. It’s a large park along a creek, lined with huge eucalyptus trees.
It was a nice sunny day, not yet too hot, and we all brought food, drinks, folding chairs and picnic rugs. It was wonderful to see Dad’s sister Auntie Carmel, her husband, David, and their girls, Shauna and Megan, as well as Uncle Jock’s wife, Auntie Marg, and my cousins Cathy, Jenny, Terry and Libby. I remember how proud Jock was to have us all there together. I was happy to have Li and my little girl with me. Sophie wore tiny black Clarks shoes, pink shorts and a pink T-shirt. She looked so cute, running around happily with all the other children. Li was charming and chatted to everyone easily. He was translating for Niang and Dia, who looked like they were in their element – another large, noisy family get-together. And babies were a universal language.
We hadn’t been together like that since we were kids. It was so special to spend rare time with the family, especially when introducing Li and his parents to everyone else. It made me happy and proud to be able to introduce them and Sophie to a happy Aussie family gathering.
Our ten-day visit to Australia was over rather quickly. We’d said our goodbyes to the clan at the park. Everyone was grinning stupidly but choked up at the same time.
I didn’t know when I would see my dad again. Though he’d given up smoking by now, he wheezed a lot and of course he still had his big beer belly. It concerned me that he seemed to tire more easily these days. He shook hands with Li. ‘Look after your girls, Li,’ he said. ‘I love them more than the world.’
Mum stood to one side, calm and elegant as ever, but sad, too. Then both sets of parents offered each other a handshake and I noticed the way Neil George and Dia gently clasped each other with both hands as if sealing the friendship. Such a lovely moment! I held Sophie up as we got into the taxi, saying, ‘Wave goodbye, Sophie! Bye-bye, Grandma, bye-bye, Grandpa. Love you!’
And, watching all the hands waving, Sophie did her cute wave and blow-kiss back, and we were gone.
As soon as we landed in Houston, we were back to rehearsals for the Christmas season of The Nutcracker. I was to dance the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy with Li as my Prince. We were totally exhausted, as Sophie again was experiencing some dreadful jet lag and wouldn’t go to sleep. In desperation we took turns to drive her around the neighbourhood at 3 a.m. in the hope of getting her to sleep. It was brutal for the first few days just getting back into swing of things.
My concern at Sophie not reacting to the balloon was getting stronger. I did watch her more closely, but I still refused to believe anything was really wrong. Nevertheless, I made an appointment to see our paediatrician on our first company-free day.
Our worries were only increased a few days later, when Annie was visiting with baby Nina. The children were playing together on a blanket on the floor when Li came in the front door and the screen door slammed loudly behind him. We all jumped – except Sophie. Little Nina was about to burst into tears, but Sophie didn’t even flinch.
‘She didn’t react to that noise. I’m going to do it again,’ Li said worriedly. Sophie was sitting with her back to the door as, once again, Li let it slam loudly. No reaction.
When we went to our appointment, Li told the doctor what had happened. The doctor didn’t seem worried. ‘Are we back to that again?’ he exclaimed. ‘As I said to you before, Sophie is being brought up in a bilingual family, so her language acquisition is bound to be a bit slow. I think an auditory brainstem response test would be a waste of time and money.’
Again I felt reassured, but Li continued to insist on a proper hearing test – an ABR test. In the end, the doctor begrudgingly wrote the referral. We booked the first available appointment, which was six weeks later. In the meantime, we began testing her hearing. ‘Sophie! Sophie!’ we’d call. Sometimes she’d turn and sometimes she wouldn’t, so we still weren’t sure.
I was more positive than Li. ‘See, she turned this time. I think she’s fine,’ I’d say.
I told my Mad Mothers group that I was going to have her tested. ‘Why?’ they all asked, because Sophie seemed just the same as their children of around the same age.
Before we knew it, Christmas was upon us. Ben arrived on the doorstep on Christmas Eve. He couldn’t wait one more night: he’d bought Sophie a pink battery-powered Barbie car. I’d never seen anything like it. ‘Ben, you’re outrageous!’ I told him. He was delighted when Sophie drove the car around the verandah with the biggest smile on her face.
We went to Ben’s for Christmas lunch the next day, as had become our annual tradition, but Li and I had a performance of The Nutcracker the following day so we tried not to eat and drink too much. There was a big Christmas tree and presents for everyone – a fun day with Ben playing Santa Claus.
Then the six weeks had passed and it was time to take Sophie for her hearing test. ‘I still think we are being overzealous about Sophie. This is totally a waste of time and money,’ I said to Li as I strapped Sophie into her car seat.
‘I hope you’re right, Mary, but we need to know for sure,’ he replied.
When we arrived at the hospital, we were chatting away in the waiting room and having fun with Sophie. She looked so beautiful in her little red shoes and cute denim skirt embroidered with flowers and matching jacket – yet another outfit that Ben had bought her in Italy. How could there possibly be anything wrong with her? I was her mother. I would know.
The specialist arrived and explained that Sophie would be given an anaesthetic. She was to be put to sleep before the sensors were placed on her head for the ABR test. These sensors would send sounds over 100 decibels to her brain. Normal conversation is about 30 decibels so this was pretty loud – like a motorbike or a jackhammer. It was all quite alarming.
‘Won’t that wake her up, doctor?’ asked Li, looking more than usually worried by now.
‘No, no. She won’t hear anything,’ said the specialist, ‘but we’ll be able to record any reactions from her brain sending nerve signals to register the sounds emitted.’
It sounded awful – poor Sophie! – but I was confident the results would give us peace of mind.
Li went in with her and laid her gently on the little bed. She seemed incredibly calm and he stroked her head while the specialist put a mask over her face and a needle in her arm. Then the round glass cover that was part of the ABR testing equipment was lowered over the bed, with her inside it. Poor darling. I was glad she was asleep.
We were guided into a little room with a glass window so we could see Sophie, lying there peacefully. ‘She’s a sleeping beauty,’ I whispered to Li.
Li didn’t respond. He wore a worried face. ‘She’ll be fine,’ I added, squeezing my husband’s hand. ‘Just you wait and see.’
No one came to talk to us, but I was not particularly anxious. A little anxious about missing rehearsal, but not about Sophie.
The test took about an hour, and though Sophie would need another two hours to fully come out of the anaesthetic, the doctor returned to us at the end of the testing. We both stood up straightaway, waiting to hear the good news. ‘How is she, doctor?’ asked Li anxiously.