Chapter 7 - The Sound of Light
Ten days later, the rain was falling softly against the large glass windows of Dr. Harrison’s pediatric audiology suite.
Today was the day.
Ruby sat in the oversized red reclining chair in the center of the room. She was wearing a pair of bright purple overalls, her small feet swinging back and forth.
Dr. Harrison sat on a small rolling stool in front of her, holding a small plastic box. Inside the box rested two tiny, custom-molded pediatric hearing devices—crafted in a vibrant, shimmering pastel pink that Ruby had personally chosen from the color chart during our first visit.
“Alright, Ruby,” Dr. Harrison said, his voice warm and gentle. “These are your new super-ear devices. They’re going to sit right behind your ears, and this soft little piece goes right inside. It might feel a little ticklish at first. Ready?”
Ruby looked at me. I was sitting in the chair right next to her, holding her left hand tightly.
“I’m ready,” Ruby whispered.
Dr. Harrison carefully reached up, sliding the tiny pink device over the back of her right ear, gently seating the soft silicone mold into her ear canal. Then he repeated the process on her left side.
He pulled out an iPad, connecting wirelessly to the digital processors inside the devices to calibrate the sound levels based on her specific audiogram frequencies.
“Okay,” Dr. Harrison smiled, looking up at Ruby. “I’m going to turn the power on now. It might sound a little bit bright at first.”
He tapped the screen.
Beep.
A subtle, soft chime echoed through the devices.
Ruby’s entire body froze. Her eyes opened ridiculously wide, her pupils dilating as her head snapped around toward the window.
Outside, a light drizzle of autumn rain was tapping against the glass panes.
Ruby’s small hands flew up to her ears, her mouth dropping open in utter, breathtaking astonishment. She looked at the window, then at the ceiling, then slowly turned her head to look at me.
“Mommy?” she whispered.
Her voice sounded different to her—crisp, full, clear.
“Hi, sweetie,” I said softly, keeping my voice at a completely normal, gentle conversational volume from three feet away.
Ruby gasped, a sound of pure, unadulterated wonder escaping her chest. “Mommy... your voice is so loud! It’s right here!” She touched her chest with her hands.
“Can you hear the rain on the glass, Ruby?” Dr. Harrison asked softly from the side.
Ruby turned her head instantly toward Dr. Harrison, her eyes bright with tears. “I hear it! It sounds like tapping! Like small tiny feet!”
She scrambled off the examination chair, running over to the window, pressing her nose against the cool glass. She stood there for a long moment, listening to the gentle pitter-patter of the rain, the hum of the air conditioner overhead, the rustle of Dr. Harrison’s paper notepad—a whole hidden world of sound suddenly flooding into her senses, rich, vibrant, and alive.
Then, she turned around and looked at me.
“Mommy,” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, her wide hazel eyes shining with a profound, beautiful clarity. “Were those sounds always there?”
Tears finally spilled over my eyelashes, running down my cheeks, but I was smiling so wide my face hurt.
“Yes, baby,” I choked out, dropping to my knees and opening my arms wide. “They were always there. But now you can hear every single one of them.”
Ruby threw her small arms around my neck, burying her face into my shoulder. I held her close, feeling her heart beating steady and strong against mine.
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In that quiet medical room, listening to my daughter’s joyous laughter echoing off the walls, I knew that no matter what legal battles lay ahead in court, no matter how much toxicity Malcolm and his family tried to spew, we had already won the only battle that mattered.
My daughter was no longer living in the dark. She could hear the world, and more importantly, she knew she was loved beyond measure.
