Today is my switch-on-iversary!

After the operation. Surely this doesn't count as a selfie?

This is the actual implant. It's tiny!

3rd November and 20th November 2023. Two dates that will forever live vividly in my memory. The day of the operation and the day of switch on. Now that a year has passed, it’s good to take stock and see what has been happening in the last twelve months. To think of all the challenges faced on a physical and emotional level. To ask myself, was it all worth it?

Even though I had had a severe hearing loss since birth, thanks to the huge support from my parents, this was my normality. In 2002, waking up profoundly deaf overnight lead to drastic life changes. Losing a fabulous job, losing friends and nearly losing my home lead me down some dark paths.

Sitting on a literal cliff edge, deciding if it was worth it to continue, it took a lot of personal courage and determination to come back from that moment.

It was also the very start of my CI journey, as that was when it was suggested I should apply for the implant. Going through the assessment process, it was decided that, even though my hearing loss would more than qualify, my ability to lipread meant that there would not be a discernible improvement in communication. Therefore, the implant was refused. Though this was challenged, it took two more attempts before the NHS finally agreed that it, would be in my best interest to have one fitted.

So, all sunshine and rainbows?

Not quite. Having a cochlear implant fitted requires an invasive operation that carries significant risks, not least death. The implant could not work at all; not all the electrodes may connect properly, leaving me with limited sounds; my brain may not ever understand the signals from the processor meaning I wouldn't understand speech; it was unlikely that I would enjoy music ever again as it could be too complicated for my brain to cope with; I may react badly to the implant necessitating its removal. This last one was worrying as the process of putting the implant in place causes severe damage to the hair cells, meaning that any remaining hearing would be destroyed. This is a one-way journey, no going back.

So, the risks are high and if it doesn't work, I’ll be left with no useful hearing at all and even the most powerful hearing aids wouldn’t help. I was already struggling every day but this would be even worse. Every evening, my eyes would burn from the strain of lipreading. In meetings, things would be missed or worse, misunderstood. Was I losing the respect of my colleagues as mistakes were made? Could I continue to do this job that I love if things got worse?

Despite all the potential risks, the possible benefits were huge. Theoretically, after maybe a year or two, I could understand enough speech that lipreading would be a minor thing. Whilst music wouldn’t be a part of my life anymore, communication would be easier, chatting with people would possibly be effortless and more enjoyable. A fair trade.

On the day before the operation, I decided to record a video diary, just to open up about my feelings at the time and to provide a touchstone for me to look back on. This was an unfiltered video and it’s unlikely that I'll share it with anyone. However, it is clear just how concerned and worried I was about the risks. Watching it took me back to sitting on the cliff, the emotions were so raw but honest. Is there a future worth having?

The operation was a success. 3 weeks later, came the switch on date. Sara, my wonderful wife came along for moral support. So glad she did as that was an intensely emotional experience. Hearing these strange beeps, almost appearing in my head was an experience that’s difficult to describe. Especially when, after less than half hour, they turned into an approximation of Sara’s voice. Imagine a loved one sounding like a Dalek with a heavy cold. Not flattering but true.

This gave us both hope that, at least the implant was operating well. Now it was up to me to put in the hard work.

Every day, these exercises consisted of listening to things. At first it was turning a tap on and listening to the sound it made. Then turning the shower on and seeing if there is a difference. After just a few weeks, these differences became more profound. At just 3 weeks, I could tell the difference between 2 people talking and detect their accents.

In the second month, I moved onto more advanced exercises like listening to audio books, whilst reading a real book. Listening to Sara reading a book and repeating what I thought was said. That sort of thing.

Every day the challenge was to do at least five hours of exercises. So, me being me, I did at least eight. The effort paid off. Here comes the sunshine and rainbows!

By month four, I tried listening to music I knew well. Everything from Sinatra to Adele. They all sounded slightly robotic, but recognisable. Encouraging.

On month eight, Sara and I attended an outdoor classical music event. Sitting just six feet from the three players, we could see every movement, every stroke of the bow, every pluck of a string. After just half hour, distinctions between the three instruments was possible. This was a completely new experience as, before with hearing aids, music was just one, strange, warbling sound. Now here were three distinct sources of complex, soaring, inspiring music. For the very first time, I understood the appeal of classical music.

Speech also improved dramatically. Every three months, there was an appointment at UCLH with the Audiologist and then the Speech and Language Therapist. There would be exercises to check progress as well as tweaking the “map” of what the processer produced. Each time, I would complain that I cannot hear that well and each time the therapist would say, “You’re doing incredibly well, it just takes time!”

By month nine, the scores on the tests showed a 97% comprehension rate with speech in a sound-controlled setting. In the real world, it meant that, finally, the majority of my comprehension of speech was via hearing rather than lipreading. A complete turnaround.

The impact isn’t just about speech, it's how confident I feel in any situation involving other people. Meetings were no longer something to dread. Casual conversations with colleagues and friends became easy and enjoyable. It got to the point that an invitation to a garden party where the majority of guests would be strangers, was a challenge to be enjoyed rather than something to be avoided at all costs. It was such a success that I even mingled with everyone. Me...mingling...ME!?

Perhaps the biggest achievement over the whole year came in September. An interesting discussion with a colleague lead to an experiment. We discussed how things were going and the fact I seem to be able to understand a few people whose voices I knew well, without lipreading at all. She suggested perhaps I should try making a voice call. Something I hadn’t done in decades. Just the idea sent shivers down my spine and butterflies doing cartwheels in my stomach.

That evening, I called my mum.

To say it was emotional was an understatement. At first, we just cried at the fact this was possible. Once we started chatting, the conversation flowed and I only had to ask her to repeat once in 20 minutes. Yes, it was hard work and the concentration levels were high, but it happened. A 20-minute voice call for the first time in over 20 years.

Looking back over the past year, it is difficult to picture just how much has happened in such a short time. Sure, things are not perfect. I’m still struggling in certain situations; the magnet keeps falling off the side of my head if I move it too quickly; some people still sound like a Dalek with a cold.

But the benefits are simply grand. Like a sky full of rainbows.

TLDR: The switch on is a year ago today and, while it's been challenging, the benefits have been fabulous.