So - after over two years of deliberation and consultation the guidance is out - and the decision is a great one. All severe and profoundly deaf children in England and Wales are now eligible for bilateral implantation while adults with the same level of deafness are eligible for one (and a second in certain situations).
The legislation doesn't apply here in Scotland though (not unless you're post-meningitic that is) so there is a little more protesting to be done but it is a champagne decision.
Read more at 2ears2hear.
I was diagnosed with Pneumococcal Meningitis in mid-April 2006 and was left profoundly deaf as a result. I was 20 months old. I received my first cochlear implant on June 15th 2006 and a second on September 23rd. This is the story of my progress.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Friday, January 02, 2009
Christmas highlights
So a belated Happy New Year to one and all from one of the internationally renowned New Year party cities... where we stayed home and watched a hilariously poor movie before retiring at a sensible hour.
Highlights from the seasonal period...
When fibs are Good
The morning after the tree went up, Tom woke up shortly after 5am, convinced it was Christmas. Bad enough as this was, we had had a particularly late night that had left us all 'tired and emotional'. Nik resolved to combat a similar occurrence following on Christmas Day. So we got tardy with the advent candle and Tom cheerfully retired on Christmas Eve thinking there were two more sleeps 'til Christmas.
He woke up at 8am on Christmas morning to refreshed and recently caffeinated parents. A win-win example of 'when its ok to bend the truth' surely?
We're all Scottish now
My office is deep in tourist Edinburgh on the Royal Mile. Popping out to the shops for useful things, such as milk or 'something for dinner' is nigh on impossible. Tartan towels, tam-o-shanters and kilts however...
Nik and Tom met me from work on Christmas Eve with the intention of picking up a last minute present or two. Having hit on a good idea that could, remarkably, be obtained from one of the plethora of tourist outlets, we wandered in. Immediately Tom announced 'I would like a kilt!'. Tom is not an unusual 4 year old in that he has a lot of needs and desires which he likes to share with us and, as you might hope, we don't readily succumb. Being an only grandchild on one side of the family coupled with a life-threatening illness makes you the subject of quite enough generosity without parents joining in.
I responded with a rather fuzzy 'I don't think this shop has any your size and, besides, Christmas is coming (no mention of 'tomorrow' note - I was fully with the program by this stage)'. I must learn to be more explicit.
The enterprising shopkeeper overheard, of course, and quickly proved Daddy to be talking nonsense by revealing the range of cut-price children's kilts. Anyway... I challenge you to resist temptation when you know how cute and ripe with comedy potential the result is going to be.
Tom wore his kilt all Christmas day, removing it only to don his much-requested 'supersuit' for about 5 minutes. I think he found it quite liberating.
And yes, there are some stitches to take out so that it hangs properly. We have mothers so we have been told of our gross error.
And finally...
We have a clear case of parent favoritism going on at the moment. Undeserved of course. Tom finds me irresistible and I am his very best friend - to the exclusion of mummy in quite harsh terms. Mummy who does most of the fretting, looking after and day-to-day mundane stuff. It all counts for nothing when party daddy is available.
The cruelest line thus far - 'I love all of daddy, I only love mummy's face.'
Highlights from the seasonal period...
When fibs are Good
The morning after the tree went up, Tom woke up shortly after 5am, convinced it was Christmas. Bad enough as this was, we had had a particularly late night that had left us all 'tired and emotional'. Nik resolved to combat a similar occurrence following on Christmas Day. So we got tardy with the advent candle and Tom cheerfully retired on Christmas Eve thinking there were two more sleeps 'til Christmas.
He woke up at 8am on Christmas morning to refreshed and recently caffeinated parents. A win-win example of 'when its ok to bend the truth' surely?
We're all Scottish now
My office is deep in tourist Edinburgh on the Royal Mile. Popping out to the shops for useful things, such as milk or 'something for dinner' is nigh on impossible. Tartan towels, tam-o-shanters and kilts however...
Nik and Tom met me from work on Christmas Eve with the intention of picking up a last minute present or two. Having hit on a good idea that could, remarkably, be obtained from one of the plethora of tourist outlets, we wandered in. Immediately Tom announced 'I would like a kilt!'. Tom is not an unusual 4 year old in that he has a lot of needs and desires which he likes to share with us and, as you might hope, we don't readily succumb. Being an only grandchild on one side of the family coupled with a life-threatening illness makes you the subject of quite enough generosity without parents joining in.
I responded with a rather fuzzy 'I don't think this shop has any your size and, besides, Christmas is coming (no mention of 'tomorrow' note - I was fully with the program by this stage)'. I must learn to be more explicit.
The enterprising shopkeeper overheard, of course, and quickly proved Daddy to be talking nonsense by revealing the range of cut-price children's kilts. Anyway... I challenge you to resist temptation when you know how cute and ripe with comedy potential the result is going to be.
Tom wore his kilt all Christmas day, removing it only to don his much-requested 'supersuit' for about 5 minutes. I think he found it quite liberating.
And yes, there are some stitches to take out so that it hangs properly. We have mothers so we have been told of our gross error.
And finally...
We have a clear case of parent favoritism going on at the moment. Undeserved of course. Tom finds me irresistible and I am his very best friend - to the exclusion of mummy in quite harsh terms. Mummy who does most of the fretting, looking after and day-to-day mundane stuff. It all counts for nothing when party daddy is available.
The cruelest line thus far - 'I love all of daddy, I only love mummy's face.'
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