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Franky’s Story, Part II

Wednesday, May 6th, 2009

After Franky had recovered from his surgery, he began speech therapy. His speech therapists used a strictly audio-verbal method. This meant that they required children to develop speech and comprehension independent of cues like lip-reading or hand signals.

For some children, this works successfully. However, for Franky, it was a frustrating and fruitless process. After many long therapy sessions, he could still only elicit minimal sounds and had almost no comprehension.

We found a new therapist. She tried the same methods, still with few results. And so, one day, she suggested that we consider Cued Speech.

Cued Speech is a series of a hand shapes and placements that indicate phonemes, or sounds. Cued Speech, unlike American Sign Language, is not a language at all. Theoretically, the same hand shapes could be used for a variety of different languages.

Cued Speech is used in conjunction with language to help listeners comprehend language. Cued Speech provides listeners with verbal cues, helping them distinguish between phonemes.

Cued Speech has been successfully used with profoundly deaf children, as well as children with autism or other disabilities. Through Cued Speech, children without hearing have learned to speak and understand English and have been successfully mainstreamed. The same system is also used to help the speech of children using hearing aids or cochlear implants.

Although Franky already had hearing, his ability to distinguish between different sounds was not well-developed. Cued Speech would provide him with clear signals, helping him to distinguish between phonemes.

And so, we began our journey with Cued Speech. Franky’s speech therapist taught Mom how to correctly use the hand signals. She began to use it with Franky during his speech therapy sessions. Meanwhile, we began to use it at home.

Franky began to progress slowly, but steadily. Franky had a wonderful affinity for lip-reading; Cued Speech allowed him to use it. Slowly, Franky began to learn to speak and comprehend.

When a job change forced us to move a state away, we once again began the search for a speech therapist. We found one who was willing to support our use of Cued Speech, although she was not personally familiar with the system. Franky’s speech and comprehension continued to improve.

Because Cued Speech is based on phonemes, Mom was able to teach him phonics, alongside of other elementary subjects. Soon, his reading ability surpassed his speech, and he began to use his reading ability as an aid to his speech comprehension.

Now, six years after he was implanted, Franky is rapidly acquiring language and comprehension. The journey is not over. Franky’s progress can still be frustrating and daunting. However, the child we live with today is far far different than the Franky of two or four or six years ago. When we look back, it is encouraging to see how far Franky has come. We can’t wait to see what is in store for him, thanks to the miracles of cochlear implants and Cued Speech.

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Germs Be Gone

Friday, May 1st, 2009

We are a family of clean freaks. In our house, hands are washed before eating dinner, after eating dinner, before working on the computer, after touching dirty laundry, before handling food, after unloading groceries . . . and on and on and on.

We also love those handy waterless cleansers. Pumps can be found in the cars, in purses, in backpacks, and in pockets. Whenever we’re out and about, we use Purell and Germ-X religiously. On long marathon road-trips where even the handles in public restrooms are suspect, they have been the life-savers.

One day, though, the subtitle on one of the bottles caught my eye. “Kills 99.9% of bacteria.” Most common illnesses aren’t caused by bacteria, though, but by viruses.

A Great Debate began in our household over the waterless cleansers. Were they completely ineffective? Had we simply been imagining their cleansing powers? Or were they as effective as soap in warding off those creepy germs?

None of us bothered to research the answer. We simply added a disclaimer as the Purell made its way around the car. “Remember . . . this isn’t actually doing anything.” We like to cover our bases.

The recent onset of swine flu has brought questions about cleanliness and germs to the forefront of everyone’s minds. A cough or a sniffle in a public places now inspires looks of rage and panic. Teachers are carrying around bottles of Lysol. People are washing and disinfecting themselves and their children with a vengeance.

It would be nice to know if those waterless cleansers worked.

So, I spent some time this morning searching for an answer. This is what I found:

The answer, it seems, lies partly in the alcohol. According to one article on Healthunit.com, “Alcohol kills bacteria and most viruses.”

So alcohol-based hand cleansers will protect users from common colds and other nasty germs. However, if the cleanser doesn’t contain at least 60% alcohol, then it may be ineffective.

Additionally, the article on WebMD noted that the most effective weapon against bacteria was a product called chlorhexadine gluconate (CHG). Benzethonium chloride worked most effectively against viruses. According to WebMD’s article, alchohol-based cleansers were less effective than CHG or the benzethonium choloride, though cleansers that contained ethyl alcohol still killed significant numbers of viruses.

We’re going to continue carrying those hand sanitizers around. Not that we had stopped.

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Franky’s Story, Part I

Wednesday, April 29th, 2009

Franky was born into a world of silence. Stark, empty silence. He couldn’t hear our clamoring voices as we held him for the first time. He couldn’t hear the piano notes that drummed endlessly under the fingers of six older siblings. He couldn’t even hear his own cry.

Franky’s only access to the world of sound for the first three years came as he pressed his head up against walls and furniture and people. His only connection to our noisy world was through the pulses he felt a as he pressed his forehead against the piano or the floor in an attempt to feel sounds and voices.

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At first, Franky’s deafness went unnoticed. Adopted as an infant, Franky was diagnosed with a number of issues that  never manifested themselves. But at the age of one, Franky didn’t make normal noises. He didn’t try to mimic his older brothers’ words. He didn’t try to call for his mom. The only sound he could make was a piercing scream.

His inability to hear took a toll on other areas as well. At one year of age, Franky could barely crawl. He didn’t learn to walk until he was two. He was extremely shy around strangers and terrified in crowded situations. As the first suspicions began to dawn upon Mom, an ENT told her that Franky probably simply had fluid in his ears.

Surgically inserting tubes into the ears of young children is a fairly common procedure that is frequently used to solve hearing-deficiencies. But Franky had tubes put in his ears twice and even wore hearing aids for a time.

Nothing worked. At three years old, Franky still could only make the simplest gurgling noises. Words like “Mama!’ and “Dad!” were huge milestones. And there was no solution in sight.

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So Franky went to a specialist. At three years old, Franky was diagnosed with profound deafness. For three years, he had been unable to hear the sounds around him. Hearing is measured in decibels. Franky could only hear sounds above 135 decibels. Sounds like jet engines and gunshots were the only sounds accessible to him.

A choice had to be made. We could help Franky succeed in the deaf community, using American Sign Language to communicate with those around him. Or we could give him access to the world of sound through a cochlear implant and slowly teach him to speak English.  Both paths require tremendous work. Both have passionate advocates.

We felt that, as a deaf user of ASL, Franky would only ever be able to communicate with others who used ASL. Studies show that ASL users, on average, only learn to read at a 4th-grade level, since ASL and English are entirely different languages.

ASL users also find it difficult to mainstream themselves. If Franky was given access to the world of sound, though, he could learn to speak and understand English. He would have the ability to communicate with everyone around him, unhindered by language barriers.

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Ultimately, we chose for Franky to be a part of our world, a world of hearing and sound and speech. And so, after months of testing, at four years of age, Franky underwent surgery at the University of Michigan. A tiny wire was implanted into the cochlea of his right ear.

The wire communicated with a device that Franky wore on his head. Theoretically, Franky now had total access to the world of sound. He could hear a pencil scratching across paper, the sound of a bus down the street, and the sound of Mom’s voice.

But the journey was far from over.

Franky’s Story, Part I is the first part in a series of blog posts detailing our family’s journey through deafness. Part II will be published on Wednesday, May 6.

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Woking In A Winter Wonderland

Saturday, December 13th, 2008

Our family packed up yesterday morning and headed up to our Michigan home. It was lovely drive filled with vibrant conversations, music and talk radio. Glen Beck and Rush Limbaugh helped us digest bailout woes, naughty Chicago politics and the potential outcome of the Steeler – Raven game  (not that I care about the latter).

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All the while I planned my menu for our soiree Saturday night. I was delighted to see the results of heavy snowfall as we inched north. Winter parties are best blanketed in billows of snow.

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Our arrival home was full of adventure.   My husband, much to his delight, had to plow our drive with his beloved New Holland tractor just so that we could drive into our garage.

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The house was uncomfortably chilly. We set our thermostat at 48°; thus, it takes several hours of brilliant fires and savory cooking to break the chill. Cooking and baking were only punctuated by a quick  cross-country ski adventure and a few photo ops.

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I utilized my wok to saute vegetables.

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I threw in the remaining Cilantro chicken  from a previous night’s dinner, together with tortillas, cheese and salsa.

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Then we enjoyed delicious quesadillas, fresh fruit, and a glass of Charonnay.

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I relish the constancy of life up here: the rythmn of nature, the fellowship with friends, inviting fires, and the township’s snow plow that never fails to flatten our mailbox.

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Sage Advice

Wednesday, December 3rd, 2008

The year was 1993. We had just begun home educating our children. It was exciting and, yet, terribly frightening. We considered ourselves “settlers” as opposed to the giants that had braved the frontier before us: the Farris family, the Moore family, the Swan family, and the myriad of “pioneers” like them. Those stalwart family warriors had braved the battle that allowed us to now, more easily, choose to homeschool our children. However, we were without close comrades in our endeavor. We could look to no other family or individual in our immediate life to seek an example, counsel, or help on this issue. Our friends and family thought that we had definitely stepped over the edge.

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God is gracious. Within months of beginning, He brought a lovely person into my life – Jeannie Cornish. I initially contacted her through our mutual piano teacher. She had agreed to help me with curriculum choices. I was immediately drawn in by her enthusiasm and love for her family and her husband. She was passionate about educating her children. She was passionate about her relationship with her husband. She was passionate about her walk with God.

Jeannie would prove to be a dear friend and a mentor that I would lean on continually as we home-educated our children over the next 15 years. She not only helped us with the academics of home education, but she enthusiastically brought to light social  and moral issues that our young children would face as they matured. Her insight would allow us to wrestle with issues early,  and prepare for controversy that we would face later.

The most interesting factors about my friendship and mentoring relationship with Jeannie were found in our differences. Our children were not the same age. They  were not playmates. We attended different churches and walked in different circles. Most importantly, she was a pioneer and I was merely a settler in the homeschooling movement. Our choices were broader and easier. Yet, she was passionate about helping us to make the most of our decision to home educate our children. She zealously encouraged us to implement ideas and alternatives that were unavailable to her when she began to homeschool her children.

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Jeannie was impassioned and enthusiastic, full of wisdom. However, she was gentle, kind, and non-judgemental. She was selfless in desiring the best for our family as we embarked on this adventure of homeschooling.

Her family eventually took a different path. Her chidlren attended traditional schools in the latter years of their education. Yet, our hearts were on the same path. We desired God’s best for our children. The Cornish’s two oldest children are adults now. They are lovely and successful. Most importantly, all three of their children have hearts for God and His Kingdom.

Although we have lived in different states for years, Jeannie and I continue to follow each other’s lives. God blessed me with a mentor when I needed it so dearly and He also gave me a lovely friend in the process. Thank you, Jeannie!

I encourage others to seek wisdom and friendship through mentoring relationships. Sage advice is always helpful. It works for me! For other great ideas, visit Works for Me Wednesday.

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“Then [the older women] can train the younger women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind, and to be subject to their husbands, so that no one will malign the word of God.” Titus 2:4-5

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Happy Thanksgiving!

Thursday, November 27th, 2008

“All I have needed Thy hand hath provided;
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!”

Have a blessed Thanksgiving!

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Don’t Fence Me In

Friday, November 14th, 2008

After the fractured fairy-tale weekend, the “boys” gated the road leading up to our home. It was bitter sweet. I love the look. It reminds me of Texas where everyone gates their roads, and I love Texas. However, it represents a new era in our lives. My dear neighbors (I only see some of these lovely people every 2 or 3 months) can no longer simply stop by for a visit. They must first phone us so that we can open the gate. So much for spontaneity.

So . . . do good fences, or gates for that matter, make good neighbors? I think not. Good neighbors are gifts, with or without the fences and gates.

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Mending Wall

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
‘Stay where you are until our backs are turned!’
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, ‘Good fences make good neighbors’.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
‘Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows?
But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.’ I could say ‘Elves’ to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me~
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”

- Robert Frost

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A Toy Story

Wednesday, November 5th, 2008

Our modern world contains an unlimited selection of toys. We could entertain our children ad infinitum and never see the same toy on any given day if cost and over-indulgence were not issues. So, we must choose – wisely.

Playmobil. That is my choice hands down. Playmobil consists of small, somewhat flexible, plastic figures centered around creative themes. Children spend countless hours building fortresses, furnishing homes and palaces, chasing pirates, corraling livestock, planning villages, and even manning modern hospitals. Playmobil unleashes children’s imaginations.

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Playmobil has longevity on its side. The German company has been around, in one form or another for years. Adults that enjoyed hours of play with these diminutive figures and their accessories during their childhood wait with bated breath to observe their little ones delight in Playmobil.

Playmobil is a bit pricey, but that is its only negative feature. However, the dollar-value is tremendous when you consider the hours of creative playtime it inspires. It is quite durable (my 5-year-old now plays with the figures my 21-year-old enjoyed as a child). It helps to develop fine motor skills and encourages development of communicative skills.

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My children begin playing with Playmobil when they are about four years of age and continue to enjoy it for six or seven years (until they are about eleven or twelve). The small pieces can be a safety issue for toddlers and a little frustrating for younger children.

Playmobil provides lovely, traditional playtime for children.

For other wonderful Christmas toys, visit Works for Me Wednesday at Rocks in My Dryer.

“When I approach a child, he inspires in me two sentiments; tenderness for what he is, and respect for what he may become.” – Louis Pasteur

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The Land of Counterpane

Friday, October 17th, 2008

Children have fabulous imaginations. Their little minds are always working overtime as creative juices billow forth with new and fantastic ideas as they enliven the world around them.

My young children may be left alone playing for only a few moments and yet create blanket hide-aways, intricate “school rooms”, restaurants complete with lovely menus, and trains ready to roll across the prairie. Give them a pair of scissors, a ream of paper and a gross of tape (which they always manage to find!) and the possibilities become endless. Last week I walked in to colorful 3-D barns, animals, cars and sunglasses. I am not certain any number of pamphlets, magazines or craft books could actually compete with a child’s imagination.

So, if you are not the creative type, follow your child’s lead. Don’t be afraid to let your children make a few messes (within reason. . .). Let them play utilizing a gift God has blessed them with -their imaginations. You can provide them with the basic tools and the safe environment for playtime. Then step back and just watch as their wonderful world comes alive.

For other great ideas, visit the Friday meme at Heart of the Matter.

The Land of Counterpane

When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay,
To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant land of counterpane.

- Robert Louis Stevenson

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Airwaves

Tuesday, October 14th, 2008

I have this awful habit of scheduling airplane flights that depart at the crack of dawn.  This is complicated by the fact that ten or eleven of us travel together (always!). Then, throw into the mix the fact that my absolutely wonderful husband is usually not himself and becomes quite uptight when we are traveling via airwaves . . . all of this creates a recipe for unbelievable disaster.

Fortunately, God has been merciful and nothing has occurred thus far to deter our family from making our flights. However, we have had a few precarious moments . . .

For instance, one time, my 11-year-old son decided to travel with a 50-caliber spent machine gun shell in his backpack . It was a souvenir from a tour of a fabulous aircraft carrier, the U.S.S. Nimitz. It actually made it through the screening undetected on one leg of our trip. Thank goodness for the expertise of TSA. However, it did not go unnoticed on our route back home. It actually created quite a stir.

My husband had already passed through security with all but two of our children. I was left to deal with the agent who was screaming “SUPERVISOR! SUPERVISOR!” and pointing frantically at my guilt-ridden cute young son while waving the shell in the air for everyone to see. The supervisor turned out to be an understanding (much more so than I was by this point) motherly figure and let us through without an arrest. Of course, I confiscated the shell and I will hold it in my possession for YEARS to come.

The last flight we enjoyed together was just a few weeks ago. We needed to be at the airport at 5:30 A.M. Now the convenient aspect was that we were in San Diego, a mere 15 minutes from the airport. So I rose at 3:00 a.m. This should have provided us with plenty of time to return the rental cars and arrive with our 15 pieces of luggage (we were traveling light) at the ticket counter on time. Everything was going along beautifully.  I had even printed our boarding passes the day before and was feeling quite on top of my game. My husband was tolerating things well at this point. The children were groggy and cooperative.

After we dropped the cars off and loaded our kids and luggage into the airport shuttle, we sat back to enjoy the ride. Here is where things began to fall apart. The shuttle pulled up to a curb from which we could see the entrance to the ticket counter through the wires of a high fence. The driver pleasantly informed us that they were no longer allowed to pull up directly in front of the entrance. I definitely heard groans from the older male contingent of our family.

We unloaded the 15 pieces of luggage, multiple backpacks and carryons and propped up our sleepy kids next to this pile. My husband instructed my 14-and 15-year-old sons to find luggage carriers. They arrived back quickly with two such carts and we proceeded to pile the luggage onto these. We only had to repack the carts two, three or maybe four times. At this point the ten of us began our hike: this included a walk, an elevator ride, a hike over a bridge, another elevator ride, and a final walk to the ticket counter.

It all sounds so simple now . . .and actually would have been except that the luggage careened off the carts just as the boys were moving it onto the elevator. I tried to help by pushing the “open” button. But guess what? It was actually the emergency call button. So my husband proceed to toss (actually, I think he threw ) the luggage into the elevator. All the while, the airport security officer could be heard over the speaker asking “Do you have an elevator emergency?”. I informed the officer of my mistake, assuring her of our well-being. I never alluded to the fact that we were mentally unstable at this point.

Once safely in the elevator, my husband told me that he would control the elevator as I was obviously experiencing “problems with buttons” at the moment. I complied.  Eventually we made it to the ticket counter and the gate.

See – smooth sailing and only sweet memories now.

Come to think of it, the problems on this excursion didn’t hold a candle to our spring ‘07 vacation. Our van was packed completely the night before our early morning airline flight. We were ready. Nothing would get in the way of a very early, smooth departure. Nothing except an auto thief. While we were peacefully sleeping and dreaming of a beautiful family vacation, some sinister individual (or two)  ripped out our door lock and tried to hot-wire our van.  Unsuccessful, they destroyed the steering column and ignition. They took off with a duffel full of diving equipment and an Ipod, never to be found. Needless to say, this was an unpleasant turn of events.  Fortunately, my husband is quick-thinking and called on nearby relatives to drive us to the airport. I am certain that they were thrilled to be part of our early morning crisis. We, once again, made our flight.

Now, I would like to share my secret to peaceful, early morning departures. I bath and dress my little ones for travel the night before our departure. This allows me to quickly and gently roll them out of bed. I put their shoes and jackets on, fix their hair a little and off we go. They are in no condition for even a quick breakfast at this time of the morning. I pack healthy and fun treats in their backpacks for later. This has worked well for me for years.

If you would like to read about more helpful, fun tips visit Works for Me Wednesday at Rocks in My Dryer.

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