I was stone deaf for 39 years – hearing for the first time was a miracle

I was born profoundly deaf and had a happy early childhood. Wearing a phonic ear box – an old-style hearing aid strapped to my chest – helped me get a sense of the environment around me.

Sounds were still very indistinct, and from the age of two I lip-read because I couldn’t hear words. It was like being under water and trying to listen to the world.

To me, it was completely normal. Only at school did I realise how cruel people could be. Teachers would throw chalk to get my attention, pupils spat at me on the bus, and I wasn’t allowed to join an after-school club because I’d "hold the others back".

My differences became painfully obvious, but my family and friends always stood by me.

Deafness was part of my identity, but I struggled to accept the news that, aged 16, my sight was going too. I'd fainted one day, prompting doctors to mention Usher Syndrome, a genetic condition that affects hearing and vision, sometimes gradually leading to complete blindness. It was my worst nightmare. I became paranoid, constantly looking for symptoms.

Even so, life carried on. I had relationships, drove a car, and got a job I loved in disability rights. By now my ear box had been replaced by more discreet hearing aids, but the ‘under water’ sensation was the same. I accepted the fact I’d never hear.

Aged 29, my fears were confirmed when I was formally diagnosed with Usher Syndrome, and registered blind. As my sight deteriorated, I started to knock into objects and trip over. By this point, I could see straight ahead, but my ‘tunnel’ of vision was slowly narrowing, affecting my spatial awareness.

Emotionally, I’d been strong all my life, but this new challenge of being deaf blind filled me with an overwhelming sadness. "We love you the way you are," friends and family would say, but over the years my depression lingered.

ANOTHER OBSTACLE

Then, walking in the Peak District one day, I stopped to take in the view of green rolling hills. "I can still see," I thought. What was I doing, wasting time feeling low? From that day four years ago, my attitude changed and I focused on what I could do to make my life better.

Cochlear implants had been mentioned years ago, but as it involved risky surgery and because I’d felt confident with my deafness, I hadn’t been keen. Now, knowing I was also going blind, I felt ready to have the operation and give myself a chance of hearing. It was exciting but daunting.

On 24 February last year surgeons performed an eight-hour operation, which involved drilling holes in both sides of my skull and inserting 22 tiny electrodes into the shell-shaped part of my inner ear – the cochlear. All being well, each electrode would take in sound and convert it to signals that would go to my brain, enabling me to hear.

The month after surgery was the most petrifying. With the implants not yet activated, and because I wasn’t able to wear my hearing aids, I was immersed in complete, terrifying silence. What kept me going was other people’s kindness. My friend Tremayne created a playlist of 39 songs for when I could hear – one for each year of my life. It was so touching.

THE BIG MOMENT

Finally, the day arrived for the implants to be switched on, and for me to learn if the surgery had been successful. Sitting in the audiologist’s office, waiting for the electrodes to be activated, I felt sick with excitement and worry. At last, the button was pressed, and in that split second, the world around me seemed to come alive.

‘I’ll say the days of the week,’ the audiologist lady said slowly, sending the sounds bouncing off the walls. Muffled chatting in the corridors, the whirr of the computer, and the loud, high-pitched sound of her voice overwhelmed me. I could hear, and my entire life had changed. ‘Smile!’ my mum said, and I looked up to see her filming me. We cried with relief and happiness.

Alone in my house the next day, I marvelled at everyday noises. I’d assumed when the TV and radio were off there’d be silence, instead the ticking of the clock, chirping of the birds outside – even my breath – buzzed in my ears. I listened to music for the first time ever. The sensations were incredible.