The Language Lane

Although it’s only been a week here on the blog, it’s been four weeks for us since Tucker was admitted to hospital and our lives changed forever. Today, he turns three months old! It feels surreal that this time last month, we were just hours away from a heartbreaking tragedy and yet this morning, we’re enjoying a slow Sunday, soaking up every moment with our smiling, cheeky boy.

But the shock of it all still lingers. There are moments we look at each other and ask, “What the heck just happened?” That’s what we mean when we say we’re still trying to process. It’s going to take some time to wrap our heads around the fact that the Tucker we have now isn’t quite the same as the Tucker we had four weeks ago. Watching him continue to develop new skills is incredible, but it’s also somewhat heartbreaking. Sometimes, amidst the day-to-day of appointments, feeds and naps, we need reminders of just how serious things were, to appreciate how far we’ve all come.

When Lindy, our amazing social worker from QCH, gently reminded me this week that Tucker had sepsis just weeks ago, it hit me all over again. Hearing that word took me right back to that PICU room. The fear, the helplessness, the uncertainty in those moments were paralysing. We have to keep reminding ourselves: it’s only been four weeks. No wonder we feel so raw. We’re learning to be kind to ourselves, to sit with the emotions when they arise, and to accept that this emotional rollercoaster of fear, confusion, hope, joy is all part of the healing.

We’re thrilled to share that we’ve officially been discharged from Hospital in the Home (HITH) and are stepping into outpatient life! Tucker was such a trooper when they removed his PICC line (you won’t believe us when we say he smiled and giggled through the whole thing). The nurses from HITH really felt like family, they were all so invested in Tucker’s recovery, and we’re endlessly grateful for their care.

Now that we’ve said goodbye to daily hospital visits, we’re entering a new phase of care. A phase that’s less about acute treatment and more about long-term support. Because of the complexity of Tucker’s illness and its lifelong impacts, we now have ongoing outpatient care split across Logan Hospital’s Paediatrics team (monitoring for developmental delays and meningitis after-effects) and QCH’s Hearing Clinic for his profound hearing loss. We’ve also started working with external allied health professionals across a range of specialties. Discharge might mark the end of one chapter, but we’re quickly learning it’s only the beginning of this next one.

One of the most important parts of this next chapter is supporting Tucker’s language development. We’ve just started the process with Hearing Australia to trial hearing aids. These will hopefully stimulate the hair cells in the cochlea and perhaps even give Tucker access to some sound. As we mentioned in our last post, we’re also exploring cochlear implants. While these could give Tucker access to the hearing world, they won’t restore his hearing. Even with implants, Tucker will still be a profoundly Deaf child. We don’t yet know if he’ll be eligible, but scans in the coming weeks will help determine that. We’re in the best hands with QCH’s Hearing Implant team and we’re listening to their expertise to help us make this huge decision.

Our next steps involve lots of therapies – from occupational and physiotherapy to ensuring Tucker has rich access to language, both through Auslan and, hopefully, spoken English. Language is how we connect, understand, and express ourselves. It’s not just about those adorable babbles or first signs, it’s about laying down the critical building blocks for learning, belonging, and identity.

We know the early years are a critical window for language development, and we want to give Tucker every opportunity to thrive. That means ensuring he has rich, consistent access to language – be that through Auslan, spoken English, or both. Language is how we share love, laughter, and belonging, and we want Tucker to have all of that.

We’re just beginning this part of the journey, but already we’re falling in love with Auslan. It’s more than a way to communicate, it’s a doorway to culture, identity, and community. We’re excited (and a little nervous!) to be learning it together with our family. Tucker is so lucky to have so many people in his corner ready to help him connect to the world around him.

I remember so vividly the moment we first heard the words “profound hearing loss.” Everything felt like it shifted. But little by little, we’re learning that different doesn’t mean less, it just means discovering a new world with Tucker.

We’re embracing Auslan not as a backup plan, but as a vibrant, expressive language that is an essential part of Deaf culture. Whether Tucker accesses sound through cochlear implants or not, our commitment is simple: Tucker will always have access to language.

As we carry all this new knowledge and the weight of future decisions, we’re holding onto the joy in front of us. Amidst all the appointments and unknowns, Tucker is thriving! He’s back to his happy, giggling, chubby self. You honestly wouldn’t know he was so gravely ill. He’s doing everything a 12-week-old should be doing, and every day we feel lucky – even on the hard ones. We get to rock him when he’s unsettled. We get to play peekaboo. We get to see his face light up when he sees us. There were moments we didn’t know if we’d get to do any of that again.

This whole experience has been a steep learning curve, one we know will continue for years to come (and yes, watching 20+ seasons of Grey’s Anatomy has come in handy when navigating the medical world!). But we’re taking things one day at a time. The future feels too uncertain to plan too far ahead. All we can do is make the best decisions for Tucker, one moment at a time.

If you’re reading this as a parent just beginning this journey, whether it’s hearing loss, meningitis, or a diagnosis that’s turned your world upside down, we see you. We’re still new to this, but if sharing our story helps even one person feel less alone, it’s worth every word.

Even on the hard days, his giggle reminds us what we’re fighting for. His life is already filled with joy, and if the past few weeks have taught us anything, it’s that joy and grief can live side by side.

Thank you to everyone who has reached out with kind words, prayers, support, or shared similar stories. To those who’ve connected us with the Deaf or cochlear implant community, we see you and appreciate you more than we can say. If you’re reading this and feel called to reach out, please do – we’d love to hear from you. We’re only just starting to find our way, but we know we’re not alone.

Walking The Language Lane, one step at a time,

Tyler and Corrie