Womb with a view: ‘Having a baby cost me my hearing’
Being a parent means making sacrifices – but for Jo Berry it went far beyond exorbitant childcare and lost sleep
ididn’t take it seriously when I first noticed I was having trouble with my hearing. I was 30, interviewing celebrities for a magazine, spending my nights at movie screenings or at home with my husband, Steve. Who cared if I had to have the subtitles on the TV and the volume up louder on the radio? Or that I had to ask people to repeat themselves?
Even the test that confirmed I was slowly losing hearing in both ears didn’t worry me. Deafness was a long way into my future, the consultant assured me. Then, as I was leaving, shiny new hearing aid in hand, he said something, almost as an afterthought, that changed everything. ‘It’s possible that being pregnant and giving birth may make your deafness significantly worse.’
I didn’t press him for more details – I wasn’t thinking about having a baby anytime soon. So I left his office and muddled along with my slightly dodgy hearing, even consigning the aid to the back of a drawer after I found it hurt to wear it.
Since the consultant hadn’t explained how a pregnancy could affect my hearing, I pushed my diagnosis of otosclerosis – where the bones in your ear that transmit sound no longer move as they’re meant to – to the back of my mind. It affects one in 200 people, twice as many women as men. I didn’t know the increase in oestrogen that goes with pregnancy could – and would – make my world become a lot quieter.
By the time I was 35, with my diagnosis almost forgotten (I was in denial), I was thrilled to discover I was pregnant. My hearing hadn’t worsened so I convinced myself that it was all going to be fine. After all, the consultant had only said pregnancy might affect it. At night, however, as I lay in the darkness feeling my baby move, I started to get really scared. How would I still be able to do my job if I couldn’t hear properly? And, more importantly, what would it mean for me as a mum?
Of course, when I held my beautiful baby boy for the first time, I didn’t care about anything else. But, over the next few weeks, I noticed my hearing was getting worse. I could hear Danny’s cries at 4am when he was in a cot beside me but, when I was in a different room, I couldn’t. As the months went by, the volume on the baby monitor I took everywhere went up and up, and I noticed that the hearing in my right ear had deteriorated so much that if I covered my left ( good) ear, I could barely hear anything at all.
When no one was around, I’d try little tests to see how bad it really was – seeing how near to the kettle I had to stand to hear it boiling, that sort of thing – then break down in tears, thinking that one day I wouldn’t be able to hear Danny’s cries at all, his mischievous laugh, or his silly jokes.
By the time Danny started nursery, tests revealed I had only 30% hearing in my right ear, and 65% in my left. While I cringed with embarrassment every time I had to say ‘pardon’ to a playground mum ( people get annoyed very quickly when they have to repeat themselves or, even worse, tut and say, ‘It doesn’t matter’), Danny took having a hard-of-hearing mum in his stride, and I love him even more for it. From the moment he could walk, he always stood on my left side, knowing that’s where I’d hear him best. He’s 12 now and has become my translator, interpreting muffled station and airport announcements. Neither he or Steve has lost their patience when they’ve had to repeat things, or looked embarrassed when I talk too loud (because I can’t hear myself properly). It’s a lot for a young son to take on and every day I regret that Danny is affected by it.
I didn’t tell anyone else for a long time – after all, I’m not going to die of it – and because deafness isn’t a visible disability, many friends and colleagues didn’t know. It was stupid and isolating of me, really, as I’ve since found out some mums thought I was rude because I didn’t always answer them, while others decided I wasn’t fun as I didn’t chat that much on nights out. Noisy pubs are a nightmare, so I wasn’t that upset when they stopped inviting me, even if it meant I often found myself alone in the playground.
Happily, recent surgery to my right ear has made a huge improvement. Ageing and future hormone changes like the menopause won’t help, but I just have to look at Danny – yelling at his computer, laughing with friends or explaining away his aversion to vegetables – to know it’s all worth it.
I’m so lucky I can still hear (over 11 million people in the UK have hearing loss), and have such a supportive family. All I need to do is remember that each day I can hear Danny speak is a gift – even on days when he tells me one of his truly terrible jokes.