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14 Tishrei 5765 - September 29, 2004 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family


Have a Heart
a true story by C. Ofek

MAZEL TOV

Elisheva stroked the soft fuzz of hair on her day-old baby's head. Her other children had been to visit and now she just sat cuddling this new gift, thinking about the name they would give her. She heard someone calling her name and wondered who wanted her. A nurse in starched white uniform was standing by the door with a pile of forms. What was this all about? Elisheva put the baby down gently into the bassinet and hurried to the door.

"Ah, just the person I was looking for. Your daughter seems to have a problem."

Elisheva went white. Her legs trembled and her heart pounded. Ribono Shel Olom! What happened? They hadn't said a word in the delivery room that things were not all right. The nurse was businesslike and authoritative.

"We did a routine hearing test on your baby in order to rule out sensory-neural hearing loss. Your baby did not respond, so please bring her back in a month for a repeat test," she explained, coolly thrusting the necessary forms into Elisheva's shaking hands. The letters seemed to move on the page in a macabre dance. She was to come back in a month... thirty days of unbearable worry.

"The chances are that my baby is deaf, that my baby cannot hear." The words echoed inside her aching head day after day. She had never felt so low after a birth before. Actually, she had been called back to the clinic for `failed' tests before now, especially when one of the children had a cold or was teething; both conditions seemed to affect their hearing. But this was different, a congenital neural hearing loss was not to be compared to the conductive hearing loss of older children.

Throughout the endless month of waiting, Elisheva conjured up visions of her baby wearing hearing aids, of faulty speech which led to slow mental development. How was she going to cope? The house was completely neglected, the children were sent off to neighbors. Elisheva was weak and depressed.

"What's happened to you?" asked the neighbors who were accustomed to her ready radiant smile.

"Oh, it's nothing. I must still tired after the birth," she answered dismissively. She wasn't in the mood for gossip when friends came in to wish her Mazel tov.

"You know, nowadays, medicine has improved by leaps and bounds and they can provide a person with almost perfect hearing," her husband said, trying to comfort her. But Elisheva thought of all the extra time she would have to devote to this baby and how a handicapped child can disrupt a whole house. She tried to delve into the family's genetic makeup, of someone having a hearing problem, but there was no history of deafness in either of their families.

She sent the children shopping, refusing to go out to meet anyone, and stayed brooding between her own four walls. Telling her not to worry was as futile as telling her to stop feeding the baby. Every time she changed the baby, she turned into an amateur diagnostician, trying various sounds and noises, but the baby remained blissfully unaware, sleeping through most of her antics. She took down the activity center, suitable for a six-month old baby, in order to elicit some response, but Baby slept most of the day, as newborn babies do. Elisheva needed moral support and involved her mother.

"Mommy, do you know what a resonance test is?"

"No, I have no idea. When you were small, they didn't do those tests yet."

A month later, in fear and trembling, both parents took the baby to the audiology clinic in the hospital, an unfriendly uninviting place. Never had Elisheva been so worried about a hospital visit.

One of the technicians came towards them and asked, "Is the baby asleep?" as she vigorously pulled back the blanket in which she was wrapped. Obligingly, the baby opened her eyes, wide awake now.

"You'll have to get her to sleep. We can't do the test unless she is asleep," stated the technician.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" asked the bewildered mother. She refrained from asking, "And why did you wake her up so carelessly?"

How was she to make a baby who had been asleep for over four hours fall asleep promptly again?

"A pity you didn't know about that," remarked the technician, blinking with affectation, as she rustled off in her white uniform. Elisheva now recognized her as the one who had brought her the news about the baby's possible hearing loss.

"Let's push the carriage up and down the corridor," suggested her husband. Impatiently they walked backwards and forwards, but the baby was determined to stay awake. Their appointment had been for one o'clock, an awkward time, as the children were waiting for their lunch.

"We're closing in about half an hour," a young nurse informed them, encouraging them to get this obstinate baby to sleep.

"It doesn't depend on me at all. Why didn't anybody let us know that a baby has to be asleep for this test? We live out of town and organizing a trip like this was a major operation. I think we'll have to leave it for another time."

"Well, remember that we can't give you another appointment for another three months," remarked the technician, rubbing salt onto their wounds. Elisheva did not know how she could cope with this uncertainty for another three months.

At ten past two, they made their way to the hospital gates where a kind volunteer driver offered them a lift. They were sitting in the back seat of the car when Baby suddenly closed her eyes; she was asleep. Her husband urged her, "Come on. Let's see if there's anyone still around and get this test over and done with."

Elisheva was sure that all the clinic staff was surely halfway out of the hospital gates, but there was no harm in trying. They both felt calmer now, knowing that they were in the hands of Hashem. The driver promised to wait for them.

Inside the hospital they were greeted by a young technician whom they had not seen before. "Mazel tov," she smiled at the exhausted parents and at the sleeping little bundle in Elisheva's arms. "I'm due to leave right now but this test doesn't take long." She introduced herself, "My name is Tirza. I just want to tell you before I do this test that it is a routine check on newborns. However, sometimes there is some water in the ear or the baby moves involuntarily so that we cannot get fully accurate results. If you have no history of deafness in the family and if the birth was normal, there is really nothing for you to worry about."

"Everything is fine!" Tirza announced even before the test was completed. She identified with the mother who was worried out of her mind. And a few moments later, "That's it. Your baby has excellent hearing."

Elisheva had never heard sweeter words in her life. As they left, they thanked this pleasant, dedicated young woman for her inimitable help.

"The main thing is that everything is alright. May all your problems always be solved so simply," she said heartily.

As they left the room with Elisheva clutching her baby in relief, they met the technician who had first noticed the `problem.' The same person who had spoken with such conviction without bothering to explain the difficulty of accurately testing a newborn.

"Ah, yes. The tests seem to be in order," she said, glancing at the forms.

Elisheva nodded, not trusting herself to speak. An unbidden thought came to mind. They can do wonders nowadays to improve impaired hearing. But what can they do for an impaired heart, a heart which is deaf to the troubles and feelings of others?

 

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