At one point in the meeting, amid all the opposing views, Dr Jenkins looked me straight in the eye and said very calmly and simply, ‘I can give her hearing.’ My heart skipped. In those simple words I saw hope and a better future for our daughter. I completely understood what he was saying. If he believed he could give her hearing, then I would be able to teach her language.
Despite our countless arguments and indecisions over the past weeks, Li and I walked out of that meeting in agreement. With one exchanged look, I knew instantly that he’d come to share my view that indeed we had nothing to lose, and maybe, just maybe, everything to gain. We were finally going to ask Dr Jenkins to go ahead with an implant for Sophie.
It would take a few weeks for testing and the final assessment. In the meantime, Li started checking our medical insurance to see whether the procedure and the implant device might be covered.
The Methodist Hospital was responsible for making the final decision on cases that were difficult to determine. Sophie’s case was one of them, and I went to see the hospital’s in-house audiologist, Louise Loiselle, to see what the problem was. ‘The guidelines are that if there is any residual hearing that is responding to amplification with hearing aids, doctors won’t operate,’ she informed me.
I was furious as I felt this policy was unfair.
The test was simply to decipher syllables, and I knew Sophie would do well. All she had to do was pick up the difference between shorter and longer sounds. Through repetitive training with Linda and me, her ability to determine the difference between sound and silence had improved. But it was not language and it had taken two years to get her to this point.
I was like a dog with a bone. I refused to let a black-and-white interpretation of the guidelines block the opportunity of surgery. ‘Regardless of what the tests say, I’m not going to stop here,’ I told Louise firmly. ‘If I have to, I will fly Sophie to Los Angeles or even Australia to have the operation.’
We went to as many people as we knew who could help us argue our case. Eventually, to our surprise, the hospital relented and approved Sophie’s case. We never really found out exactly why. Maybe there was an element of fear – of the negative publicity if we went elsewhere for the operation. With Li’s high profile in the city, there was sure to be publicity.
However, the operation would only proceed if we signed an indemnity stating we understood the risks, giving us no legal recourse against the hospital if the operation wasn’t successful. We had considered the risks and signed it.
Then Li got word from our medical insurer that the $40 000 operation was not covered by our policy. We were doing it outside of the eligibility criteria of the hospital, so we ended up mortgaging our house to pay the cost.
Finally in October 1993, with all the pieces in place, we just had to wait for the big day. From the time the surgery was scheduled, I made myself stay calm. Sophie was so intuitive about my feelings and would pick it up the second I showed any anxiety.
A month beforehand we had another meeting with Dr Jenkins to discuss the operation procedure. Li and I both went along with Sophie. Dr Jenkins showed us the implant and demonstrated how he would cut into her scalp around the ear to insert it.
‘She will need her head shaved in that area, and there’ll be quite a lot of stitches,’ he said. Then we would have to wait three weeks after the surgery for the implant to be mapped to see if it worked. ‘There is always a risk with surgery, but the main risk you need to know about is infection. You can avoid this through good care of the wound,’ Dr Jenkins told us.
I could sense Li’s unease at this point, so I reached out and held his hand. Dr Jenkins then went on. ‘There are other risks, such as she may react to the anaesthetic or the electrode is not placed in exactly the right spot. There is also a small chance of problems with the nerves in the face and some dizziness. But this is rare. Looking at Sophie’s X-rays, I’m fairly confident the operation will all go to plan.’
I could hear Li taking a deep breath as Dr Jenkins talked about the possible nerve problems in her face, but we had been through the nauseating decision-making process many times and it was now time to act.
The operation would take three hours. Li drove Sophie and me to the hospital once Pat had arrived that morning to look after Tom. We had decided there was no point in Li staying and worrying. Work would help take his mind off Sophie’s surgery, at least a little. ‘Mary, should I stay?’ he asked. I could see that he was reluctant to go.
I urged him to leave. ‘Just go, darling. You’ll be late for class. I’ll see you later with Tom.’ The plan was for him to collect Tom and come to the hospital in the afternoon. I was trying to keep everything normal for Sophie, as though this was just another appointment.
Ava Jean was already at the hospital to meet us. We walked into the admission room and met a nurse who had a small gift for Sophie. It was a special doll. Sophie smiled and was very pleased with her gift. The doll had a bandage around its head and under the bandage was an implant. Sophie kept trying to take the bandage and implant off, but the nurse was insistent and took the doll away every time she did this and put the implant back on its head. Sophie soon got the idea that in order to keep the doll, she needed to leave the implant and bandage on. The nurse started gesturing to the doll and then to Sophie, trying to help her understand that she was going to have an implant like the doll. Sophie started looking very worried as it began to dawn on her. Luckily, it wasn’t long before she got her sedative, and soon after that she was wheeled away.
11
Waiting for Sophie to come out of surgery felt like an eternity. The operation took over three hours, and then there was a further one-hour recovery time. Ava Jean stayed with me the whole time. She was an enormous comfort as we either sat or walked the corridors or drank coffee.
‘Darling, we’ll be praying for the surgery to go well. Call us when it’s all done,’ Mum said when I rang her. I could hear the apprehension in her voice.
I had never felt so anxious in my life. This was a different kind of anxiety to pre-performance nerves – Sophie’s future lay in the surgeon’s hands, and so did mine and our family’s. What if Li had been right about the risks? How would I ever live with myself if anything went wrong?
Finally, Dr Jenkins came out of the operating theatre. ‘Hi, Mary. The surgery went well. Everything was straightforward,’ he confirmed.
‘Thank you. Thank you, Dr Jenkins!’ I was so relieved.
He led me into the recovery room, and there she was, lying against the pillows. Half of her head was covered in white bandages. She looked so fragile and vulnerable. I rushed to her side and stroked her face, smiling as best I could as I looked into her eyes. Slowly she tried to open them. ‘It’s all right, darling,’ I said, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me. ‘I love you so much, you brave girl!’
I sat down, and held her hand and showed her the doll with its own bandaged head. I put it next to her, and then she drifted off back to sleep. I felt emotional and elated. ‘I must ring Li and my parents.’ I told Ava Jean. Of course, each of them was just as relieved as I was that Sophie had made it through surgery.
With all the bandaging, Sophie couldn’t wear her hearing aid, so she could only read my face. In her half-dazed state she noticed the drip in her arm and was quite troubled by it. ‘It’s okay, darling,’ I said, nodding and smiling. Thank God for the doll! It became the centre of attention. I kept showing it to her and saying what a good doll it was to keep the bandage on.