Spin the wheel and place your bets...

And so it goes...

Nicky received a phone call yesterday that left us both delighted. The fact that it also struck a particularly raw nerve makes it worthy of comment here. Another family in the CICS club that we have come to know had just been through their bilateral implant appeal hearing. Their son, deafened by meningitis at the age of eight and implanted (on one side) for a year and a half or so, has been given the go-ahead by their local PCT (Primary Care Trust). A PCT, by the way, that shares a border with ours but, hey, there are no prizes for proximity in this particular lottery.

The news that one more deaf child will benefit from bilateral implantation is an event to be celebrated but we would have to be supremely altruistic not to feel a pang of frustration at the astounding randomness of it. The weight of evidence is not greater in Derbyshire than it is here and I'm pretty certain their case didn't differ too much from ours. How can I be certain? Because we spoke at great length in the days leading up to the hearing and shared everything we had used ourselves with them.

Wait, it gets better.

A family in the South of England got a bilateral implant for their daughter on appeal in autumn last year. Their PCT were persuaded by an excellent letter written by the mum, accompanied as it was by useful references and web links. The letter was reprinted in the CICS newsletter, hopefully so that it can be sent to the ever-dwindling number of recalcitrant (and/or broke) PCTs who still claim there is insufficient evidence.

I bring your attention to this one because the article that accompanied it contained lines such as this:

I've always thought that families who have a deaf child are a part of a bigger spiritual family. Jason, Nicky and Tom Broekhuizen are living proof of this belief, as if it wasn't for that late night phone call and all their insight I'm sure that the outcome for funding would have been different.

This is not an attempt to 'big' us up; any insight we have is simple research and the painful experience of going through the process. We families are all in the same boat and we will happily talk to anyone about our experiences. Its not even as if we're charmed in any way either ('natter to me and all your implant wishes will come true') as other families will testify. The point is, of course, that as close to the same case as makes no odds has been made to several PCTs with profoundly differing outcomes. This is not a stunning revelation but that doesn't mean that it is any less galling or any less absurd.

I have tried to understand healthcare legislation once or twice and it bored me to tears (you'd think it was done that way deliberately). I am sure, somewhere 'in the beginning', that there were some semi-solid reasons for allowing different PCTs to decide for themselves which services their citizens could have access to but didn't anyone foresee this sort of situation?

There's something basic about wanting to be treated fairly - some of my clearest of memories of school teaching are of kids protesting vehemently about perceived unfairness - and it is that injustice which keeps us fuming. If no-one in the country had access to bilateral implants it would undoubtedly be easier to accept. Undoubtedly we would be lobbying like crazy for parity with the US or most of Europe but it wouldn't be quite as 'in your face'.

I'm at a loss. What next then? Any ideas?

Bilaterals in the News

Bilateral implants have made the national news this weekend courtesy of this article in the Guardian.

The parents of a six-year-old girl who was born profoundly deaf are complaining to the Office of Fair Trading after the NHS refused to provide her with a second "bionic ear" implant, leaving them with a £30,000 bill for the operation.

Six-year-old Sarosha Byrne from Nottinghamshire will today undergo an operation to receive the cochlear implant to fully repair her hearing. But her primary care trust has refused to foot the bill in what her parents say is a postcode lottery affecting more than 3,000 children.

The case is now the subject of an OFT inquiry after her parents complained that Cochlear, the multinational company which makes the implants, is charging £5,000 more for the device in the UK than it does in other countries.

The cochlear implant costs £12,563 in the UK compared with £7,770 in Sweden. Parents here also have to pay £19,000 for the operation to insert it.

I’ve talked at length to Sarosha’s father Dominic on numerous occasions - that is the way of it when you join elite clubs such as ours. The circumstances of our children’s deafness and treatment have differences; Sarosha was born deaf and had her first implant four years ago whereas Tom lost his only a year ago and was implanted shortly after, but the similarities and shared challenges are more numerous. She is a shining example of what progress can be made through appropriate therapy (Auditory Verbal courtesy of those nice people in Bicester), good professional involvement and parental dedication as, we think, is Tom. In addition, many of our battles with the authorities have followed parallel courses.

We started talking soon after Tom was first implanted; the Byrnes’ had been fighting for bilaterals with a different Primary Care Trust (PCT) and we compared notes frequently. Back in August of last year we were even interviewed for the same Times article – a postcode lottery piece that was written as a follow up to this successful appeal but wasn’t published. Now their story is being told but with a few extra frustrating and painful chapters.

Cochlear’s pricing structure is not geared to rip off private patients like the Byrne’s and ourselves. In the UK, Cochlear’s main customer by an overwhelming majority is the NHS – it is them they’re dealing with. Does the health service know about this huge price differential between the UK and elsewhere? Is there an explanation to offer? Are they doing anything about it or just leaving it up to people like Dominic and Shamim?

There is, of course, a double whammy. Sarosha and Tom were turned down for second implants for a smokescreen of reasons around how ‘unproven’ bilateral implantation is. Apparently, there isn’t the proof that hearing out of two ears isn’t better enough than hearing out of one (except when it’s treatable by relatively inexpensive hearing aids). Excuse me for sounding facetious – I just need to shorthand my way to the point. The reality was budgetary; the amount the (NHS) Implant Team charges the (NHS) PCT for a second implant isn’t much less than they charge for the first (in the region of £30,000 for the first year) partly, one must presume, because of the cost of the device. So the inflated cost contributed to the initial refusal and then has to actually be found because you're the dedicated family who reads the evidence and knows what counts and what's at stake.

We didn't choose Advanced Bionics because of the price - when the device is given via the NHS, as the first was, the decision is made based on everything but. As it turns out we chose a company who made it considerably easier to afford the second implant than Cochlear but we'll still be cheering on the Byrnes' in their fight. The manufacturers have a role to play in the drive towards increased access to bilateral implantation. Their costs feed into the dreaded QALY equation and could well tip the balance.

Of course, the NHS has an even bigger part to play with its internal market and inefficiencies but that's for another day.

Rant over.

Tom media watch

For those of you who get a kick out of seeing Tom mentioned around the web - or maybe that's just me - the local paper - The Nottingham Evening Post - namechecked him in this follow-up article to the Guardian piece (hope the link survives - they can be a little flaky).

In a slightly more exclusive publication, The Ear Foundation's Spring Newsletter, Tom has made the front page. Admittedly, it's the back of his head but they did take lots of photos of him and Nicky which are featuring in their Steps Together resource material. That shouldn't be the only reason you decide to purchase this incredibly useful pack, fabulous though the pictures are.

Tom's Year

On Sunday it will be a year since Tom was admitted to hospital suffering from pneumococcal meningitis. Although incomparable with that time, this past few weeks has been, understandably, tough for us.

This video is our attempt to show what astonishing progress Tom has made since then. He is walking so well now, tackling steps without help and running everywhere in the way toddlers do. If you see this video through to the end (apologies, it runs to seven minutes or so) you'll see how much he's talking too.

He is our inspiration - nothing will stop this boy.






Tom's Year on Vimeo

Just like PC Plod!

‘Motorcycle man!’ Tom declared, staring at the object of his suspicions.

‘Racing car man?’ he further enquired, uncertain now as the Motorcycle Man had not responded as expected.

The target of this curiosity continued to stare straight ahead, impassive behind sunglasses. Tom’s assessment was not far off and my slightly hushed assurance that he was probably right didn’t quell his curiosity. He needed to hear it from the horse’s mouth.

He decided to press and the burly, potentially toddler-eating Hell’s Angel continued to ignore him. Quite sensibly, given that the said gentleman was on a Derby-Nottingham train rather than a Harley, a review of the evidence was required.

‘Motorcycle man!’

‘Sunglasses on, motorcycle jacket’

‘Man’s got long hair. Man’s got a beard! Man’s got a nose!’

It was the last one that broke the alleged biker’s stony resistance. His ‘chick’ started giggling at ‘long hair’ – he held out until his (pierced) nose was listed and a smirk broke briefly across his face before ‘cool’ was restored. Satisfied, Tom turned his attention elsewhere.

‘Just like PC Plod!’ he shouted down the corridor at a group of police officers and, after correctly identifying one as a police woman, began to berate one of them.

‘Policeman put your helmet on!’

I glanced over at the biker; he seemed relieved that he’d got off so lightly. The young policeman was busy trying to explain to my toddler son (who has a thing for appropriate attire) that he couldn’t get through the train door with his helmet on. This didn’t wash; he wisely gave in and donned his helmet.

God grant me the serenity...

The anniversary of Tom’s meningitis is approaching and hilariously ordinary days like these keep happening. Unfortunately, what also keeps happening are the recurring memories and the late evening conversations where positive comparisons of then and now (then being PICU and the immediate aftermath) give way to fears for the future and a nagging inability to put the good advice into practise by having that serenity to accept the things we cannot change. We’ve got the next bit sorted; nothing is more important to us than, courageously or not, changing the things we can -Tom’s progress is testament to that. Sadly for us, though we also know the difference it doesn’t always help.

It was never going to be an easy month, this one.

Easter - the aftermath

The washing machine is grinding to a halt after its fourth run of the day; the toy Dyson lies where it was abandoned on the rug; a rapidly deflating McDonalds balloon bumps limply across the floor at the slightest breeze and Tom, not before time, sleeps soundly in 'the racing car bed'. The house is quiet and the Easter Holiday weekend is at an end. The tornado that is the Family Smith has passed on and we can rest again.

I make it sound more dramatic than it was; these old university friends of mine and their three delightful children were no different to any family of five wired on a heady cocktail of Fanta and their youngest's body weight in chocolate. And Tom adored them. He followed the older ones round, he directed questions to them and understood what they said back. Tom laughed with Ellis and Rhianna and, as part of a joint project with the latter that will be worth a couple of credits in delinquent school, coated much of the shed in chalk. He chased and was pursued; he tickled and guffawed and generally had a ball.

And so did we.

The weekend was exceptional merely in its ordinariness, the sort of weekend families have together, and it couldn't have come at a better time for us. So, in the style of all the therapy sessions we subject Tom and ourselves to, here are our 'take home messages' from the weekend.

1. The house of the Golden Arches is a perfectly acceptable, nay ideal, restaurant of choice for an Easter Sunday lunch with four under-10s.
2. An hour-and-a-half long bedtime tantrum is par for the course and not, as nagging voices in the backs of minds will have it, in any way exacerbated by Tom's deafness. It's exacerbated by chocolate.
3. Staying off the topic of work isn't always the best course of action on holiday weekends, particularly not when one of said friends is an Occupational Therapist who, in a few short minutes, came up with some excellent suggestions for helping Tom with his still-slightly-suspect balance. Tom was discharged with unseemly haste from the out-patient physiotherapy and while I don't doubt there are far more needy cases in their long, long waiting list, this experience sits in the 'not good' half of our NHS experiences pros and cons list.
   

So there you go Smiths - there's your mention. You are deserving of so much more though - this weekend has been a much needed shot in the arm for us all. Thanks.

Easy like Sunday Morning...

Here's a little movie Tom and I made the Sunday before last. I'd like to pretend that it's the kind of things we get up to every weekend. It makes me out to be quite the dynamic, funtime dad. Participatory food preparation in the kitchen followed by amusing games.... it's all educational play in our house.

Yeah right.

The closest we get to fancy kitchen action most Sunday mornings is slumping in front of 'Big Cook Little Cook' re-runs. I don't know what got into us that day - a combination of good sleep and those poppy seeds we were chomping on. Rest assured, normal service has since been resumed.

If any of Tom's speech therapists watch this; I really didn't help him out too well with the questioning about the breadmaking did I? Sorry Katherine, Jacqueline and Tanya. I will do better next time.






Sunday Morning Movie on Vimeo