Unfortunately, Sophie had just turned fourteen and the trial was restricted to children under the age of ten. Were we too late already? Well, I was never going to accept that. My friend Dr Amanda Nutting knew and spoke highly of one of the surgeons doing the implants, Dr Rob Briggs, so I made an appointment to see him. He told me he could definitely implant Sophie on one condition: if she was part of the trial. How could we make this happen?
I also got the name of a surgeon in Western Australia who said he would be willing to do the surgery outside of the trial. I then made contact with the researcher, Karyn Galvin, and asked if Sophie could be included in the trial. I argued that her maturity and language capabilities would give them more information about the second implant.
Karyn wasn’t convinced, but she probably hadn’t come across anyone with my determination before. We called everybody we knew who could possibly help us with this. ‘I just know that two implants are going to be better than one,’ I said to Li. ‘Just like two ears are better than one.’
‘I agree. Mary, I trust you, but we need to talk to Sophie.’
Sophie wasn’t so sure. ‘You have to trust me, Sophie. It’s got to be better than no hearing in the left ear,’ I told her.
Li tried to convince her, too. ‘Sophie, there is so much you could gain if it works, and you would have lost nothing if it doesn’t work.’
After quite a few days of discussion, Sophie was reluctant and scared, but eventually agreed. ‘It better work, Mum,’ she told me.
To our relief, Karyn finally agreed for Sophie to be included in the trial and have the operation in Melbourne with Dr Briggs. Due to advances in cochlear surgery, the operation would be less invasive this time and the incision would be a small opening just above the ear. Only a small portion of her head needed to be shaved and bandaging would be minimal. She would stay in the hospital overnight and be out the following morning.
Surgery was scheduled for 27 November 2003. The thought of a three-month wait seemed interminable, but thankfully those months were full and exciting with end of the school year activities so time passed quickly.
It was nearly two years since Li had started to write his story. It had been a labour of love, and he’d enjoyed the process, learning so much from his highly skilled editor, Suzanne Wilson. Finally, fresh from the printer, his outpouring of words was reduced to a proper book length and we had an advance copy in our hands. Mao’s Last Dancer it was called, with the strapline: ‘From bitter poverty to the stardom of the West – this is the extraordinary true story of one boy’s great courage and determination’. Well, that got it in one!
It was such a thrill to see the cover with Li’s young eleven-year-old face set against the backdrop of his commune village – it moved me to tears. I was very proud of him. He’d worked so hard, stockbroker by day, writer by night, two jobs at once as always, and here was the result.
Publication was scheduled for October 2003 and a launch was held at the Australian Ballet Centre in Melbourne. What an occasion it was! Li was relieved that the book was finally published and I was relieved that now we would have him back. Little did we know that his life and ours were about to be catapulted into a whole new crazy literary world.
Well over 500 people attended the launch. Champagne flowed, and there was such positivity in the room. ‘What a lucky journey it has been for me. Ballet has given me a life,’ Li said simply to the audience. He went on to briefly mention the highlights of his journey, with loving mention of his family. ‘My life changed profoundly the minute Mary entered my life. She was the one who led me to the world of Western literature. Because of her I started reading and really working on my language skills. I’m a lucky man to have three beautiful children and a wonderful wife.’
Hundreds of books were sold that day and I remember Li being thrilled to sign many copies. To our surprise, that number would just grow and grow.
Then it was Sophie’s turn to shine, and she was able to end the year on a real high. We were particularly keen to see how she would go in her first tap and jazz concert. We didn’t know what to expect. She looked especially upbeat as we packed her Irish folk costume and tap shoes into the car. We arrived at the theatre and took our seats while Sophie went off backstage.
Suddenly there she was – our daughter, bursting onto the stage. Li and I gripped each other’s hands and I whispered, ‘Li, she’s at the front!’ I watched open-mouthed and captivated. Tap was different to ballet. She could really listen to the taps – her own and those of all the other dancers – and she could feel the rhythm. We held our breath as Sophie continued to weave in and out of the group. She was magnificent.
‘What a miracle! Who would have thought,’ I whispered to Li.
‘Wow, Tom! Wasn’t she amazing,’ I said after the applause died down.
‘Mum, sometimes you don’t give Sophie enough credit,’ said clever Tom.
That gave me pause for thought. I really needed to relax and enjoy these moments when Sophie showed how far she had come.
And then it was time for her surgery. Sophie was dreading it, so I had to be positive even though I was nervous about the outcome. We didn’t know if there would be any benefit at all. What if something went wrong?
The operation loomed large in Sophie’s mind; after all, she was fourteen now and very aware of the procedure. While she had agreed, she was still hesitant the night before her operation. I took her hands and looked into her eyes. ‘Darling, remember, hearing with two implants will hopefully give you better sound. Maybe even better direction. Noisy classrooms might not be as difficult for you . . .’
‘You don’ know tha’, Mum,’ she said.
She went in overnight at the Eye and Ear Hospital. She looked so vulnerable when she came out of surgery, with half of her face swollen. ‘We have to be strong for her, Mary,’ Li said, as he held my hand tight. Dr Briggs told us that everything had gone really well and she would be fine to go home in the morning. I stayed with her that night.
We took it slowly over the next two weeks then returned to the hospital two weeks later for Sophie’s new implant to be mapped and switched on. The result was not an instant moment of hearing, but she did hear soft beeps. My heart rejoiced. Surely things could only improve from here.
She had to take the first implant off for a while so the sounds to the new implant could be recognised. ‘It’s the same theory as the lazy-eye syndrome,’ the audiologist explained. Sophie needed sounds in that ear to stimulate the use of the new implant.
‘I canno’ hear!’ she would shout in frustration.
‘Remember, it could take three to six months. You just need to persevere, darling,’ I said to her.
She wasn’t happy, but I kept pushing. Sometimes she would push right back.
When she put the new cochlear implant on, she received an annoying faint sound. ‘It’ awful, Mum,’ she would say.
‘Just listen with it for five minutes and I’ll give you five dollars,’ I’d say cheekily.
She would mostly give in, although not for the money. She would close the door to her bedroom and put it on, saying she needed a quiet space as the onset of unclear sounds was quite overwhelming. She would leave it on while reading a book, to help her get used to it. ‘If I like it, I keep on,’ she told me.