Your Voice
Dylan.
Moving to Watford, a small town just outside London, while not ideal, was the best thing for Gemma and I. If we hadn’t, I don’t know how we would have survived. I would have had to get some crappy job that paid minimum wage and slowly, day by day, destroyed my soul. I guess I was pretty fortunate that my dad’s best friend and my godfather, Phil, decided to help me out. Gemma was only just 15 when we were forced to leave our home and our friends behind, but she didn’t make a fuss. I could hardly believe how calmly she accepted the news when I told her we had to move.
Our parents’ house had been huge. A six bedroom house with two sitting rooms, two bathrooms and an en-suite. Even if I’d been able to work in the local town, we still wouldn’t have been able to afford to stay there after our parents died. I wished I could do more... All I could do was look after Gemma.
I was beyond grateful that Phil had helped me. While he hadn’t been able to give us a place to live, he’d given me a job as an assistant to one of the minor creative directors at Gordon & Green Advertising. It was a pretty mundane job, but as it was in London, it paid better than it would anywhere else. And even though advertising wasn’t something I was specifically interested in, the experience of working in a large company was priceless. We moved to a small terrace house in the quiet side of Watford and Phil acted as our referee, which was awesome. There were so many things that I was grateful to Phil for. The house was about 20 minutes from Gemma’s school by car, so it wasn’t too bad, and about a 15 minute walk from the station into London. We rented the house, as we could nowhere near afford to buy one. It was quite a step down from our parents’ house – it was a small 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom house with a small kitchen-slash-dining area and a medium sized sitting room. It wasn’t much, but we didn’t need much. Gemma was at school most of the day and I was either at work or uni, so at the end of the day, we were only in the house to sleep. Most of the money I made from work went to rent and travel expenses – train tickets and petrol money.
Once we moved to London, I took two years out to get settled and used to the new place and the new job, and then I applied for university. I had applied when I was 18, along with all my friends at school, but I deferred and then rejected my offers. I couldn’t very well go off to university and leave Gemma on her own. But I reapplied when I was 20 and got accepted to do a business management degree at Kings College. Due to me having to work, I could only do the degree part time, so it would take six years, but I was okay with that. Well, I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I needed to work and take care of Gemma.
Gemma had just started her A-Levels. It was kind of scary to think how much she’d grown up in the last year. But I guess we both had. But while I’d had to face the real world of 9-5 work and commuting and all that, she’d had to struggle through changing schools. And now she was starting sixth form, I could hardly believe it. Sometimes it amazed me to look at my little sister and realise she was nearly an adult. But it hadn’t only been losing our parents that forced her to grow up, but the actual accident too. Not only had Gemma, who had only been 14 at the time, lost her parents, she’d lost her hearing, too. She’d sustained a serious head injury in the accident and while that healed within a few months, the doctors told us that her hearing loss would be permanent.
It took a lot of adapting. Gemma and I attended sign language lessons. We picked it up fairly quickly, but that was mostly due to the fact that we had to. If we didn’t learn it then Gemma wouldn’t have been able to communicate except by writing everything down, which was just a massive inconvenience. The few months during which Gemma had to rely on using a pen and paper, or her mobile, to reply to me or anyone else, was beyond frustrating for her, as well as the people she was communicating with. I grew to be patient and wait for her to write or type her reply, but when talking to her friends at school, I knew they would get bored quickly. But still, she soldiered on and I couldn’t have been more proud of her. I knew she couldn’t be finding any of it easy, but she didn’t complain. She seemed to accept everything pretty well. And while she did mourn for our parents, and her ability to hear, she was very good at being proactive and approaching what life threw at her with a smile on her face. It was something I admired greatly about her and hoped I could learn to do.
We paid for the sign language lessons with some of the money our parents left us, which was useful, though the majority of it, we saved. And we didn’t touch the money we received from their life insurance. We needed a buffer, just in case. By the time Gemma was 15, we were both fluent in sign language. Since our parents died, and Gemma lost her hearing, we grew a hell of a lot closer. Especially once we learnt sign language and could communicate effectively. I was the only person in her life that knew sign language and so if she ever needed to chat without having to write everything down, I was the one she talked to.
However, when Gemma was 15, we discussed the possibility of her getting a cochlear implant. I could tell she initially loved the idea but once she started investigating online and discovered the cost, she changed her mind. We went to see a doctor anyway to see what our options were. The NHS would cover the actual implantation of the device; however we’d have to pay for the assessment and the rehabilitation, which was about £20,000. We’d received double that from our parents’ life insurance, but Gemma was still hesitant. I just wanted her to be happy and I could see that getting the implant, while possibly not enabling her to hear as well as she used to, could bring back some normality to her life. And I wanted that for her so desperately.
Gemma did eventually decide that she wanted the implant. My guess was that something had happened that made her want her hearing back, but she didn’t give a reason to me, all she said was that she wanted it. And so we broke into our savings and paid for it. It was crazy how much money vanished in the blink of an eye, but the expression on Gemma’s face once she was able to hear the world around her a few weeks after the surgery. Although she told me that it wasn’t the same as hearing naturally, she was still overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of sound. She cried in the doctor’s surgery once the implant was activated. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly as my own eyes watered a bit. I just wanted to be able to do anything for Gemma and while I couldn’t do that because I didn’t have the money available, I did what I could.
The difference the cochlear implant made was amazing. It took a lot of getting used to and Gemma still needed sign language a lot of the time, she could hear if I called her from the kitchen or if the phone was ringing. After almost a year of her not hearing anything, it still almost brought me to tears when she responded to my voice. I could tell the improvement in her on a day-to-day basis, too. I hadn’t realised how withdrawn she’d become due to losing her hearing. But once she’d got used to the cochlear implant, she was back to her bubbly, upbeat self. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw her listening to music or watching television.
Over the summer holidays before starting her A-Levels, Gemma had a lot of free time and it seemed to suddenly occur to her that I was still single. She started badgering me about the fact that I hadn’t had a boyfriend since we’d moved to Watford. Even before we’d moved, I hadn’t had a boyfriend before, but I did show some interest in guys. It wasn’t like I’d become completely oblivious to guys, but my priorities had changed. There was a guy at work who was pretty cute and had flirted with me almost daily, and there were a couple guys at uni who caught my eye whenever I saw them in the union, but I wasn’t really that bothered. I think before my parents had died, I wouldn’t have even considered looking away, but now…now I had responsibilities. I had to work, keep good grades at uni, and provide for Gemma. I had to do the grocery shopping, drop her to and from school. I didn’t have time to date. I couldn’t afford to put anyone at the top of my list. My priorities were: 1) Gemma, 2) university, 3) work. I didn’t have time for a fourth, let alone bumping a guy up to the top of my list.
But I was okay with that, I’d accepted it a long time ago. When my parents passed away and I was granted custody of Gemma, I knew that I wouldn’t have time to work on my love life. And in all honesty, I didn’t really want to. I don’t think I’m all that much of a catch anyway. Between sharing my time between Gemma, uni and work, I think my boyfriend would just be pushed the side lines. So that was fine. It was better me being on my own, I didn’t need the added stress of being in a relationship. I really didn’t…
Our parents’ house had been huge. A six bedroom house with two sitting rooms, two bathrooms and an en-suite. Even if I’d been able to work in the local town, we still wouldn’t have been able to afford to stay there after our parents died. I wished I could do more... All I could do was look after Gemma.
I was beyond grateful that Phil had helped me. While he hadn’t been able to give us a place to live, he’d given me a job as an assistant to one of the minor creative directors at Gordon & Green Advertising. It was a pretty mundane job, but as it was in London, it paid better than it would anywhere else. And even though advertising wasn’t something I was specifically interested in, the experience of working in a large company was priceless. We moved to a small terrace house in the quiet side of Watford and Phil acted as our referee, which was awesome. There were so many things that I was grateful to Phil for. The house was about 20 minutes from Gemma’s school by car, so it wasn’t too bad, and about a 15 minute walk from the station into London. We rented the house, as we could nowhere near afford to buy one. It was quite a step down from our parents’ house – it was a small 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom house with a small kitchen-slash-dining area and a medium sized sitting room. It wasn’t much, but we didn’t need much. Gemma was at school most of the day and I was either at work or uni, so at the end of the day, we were only in the house to sleep. Most of the money I made from work went to rent and travel expenses – train tickets and petrol money.
Once we moved to London, I took two years out to get settled and used to the new place and the new job, and then I applied for university. I had applied when I was 18, along with all my friends at school, but I deferred and then rejected my offers. I couldn’t very well go off to university and leave Gemma on her own. But I reapplied when I was 20 and got accepted to do a business management degree at Kings College. Due to me having to work, I could only do the degree part time, so it would take six years, but I was okay with that. Well, I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I needed to work and take care of Gemma.
Gemma had just started her A-Levels. It was kind of scary to think how much she’d grown up in the last year. But I guess we both had. But while I’d had to face the real world of 9-5 work and commuting and all that, she’d had to struggle through changing schools. And now she was starting sixth form, I could hardly believe it. Sometimes it amazed me to look at my little sister and realise she was nearly an adult. But it hadn’t only been losing our parents that forced her to grow up, but the actual accident too. Not only had Gemma, who had only been 14 at the time, lost her parents, she’d lost her hearing, too. She’d sustained a serious head injury in the accident and while that healed within a few months, the doctors told us that her hearing loss would be permanent.
It took a lot of adapting. Gemma and I attended sign language lessons. We picked it up fairly quickly, but that was mostly due to the fact that we had to. If we didn’t learn it then Gemma wouldn’t have been able to communicate except by writing everything down, which was just a massive inconvenience. The few months during which Gemma had to rely on using a pen and paper, or her mobile, to reply to me or anyone else, was beyond frustrating for her, as well as the people she was communicating with. I grew to be patient and wait for her to write or type her reply, but when talking to her friends at school, I knew they would get bored quickly. But still, she soldiered on and I couldn’t have been more proud of her. I knew she couldn’t be finding any of it easy, but she didn’t complain. She seemed to accept everything pretty well. And while she did mourn for our parents, and her ability to hear, she was very good at being proactive and approaching what life threw at her with a smile on her face. It was something I admired greatly about her and hoped I could learn to do.
We paid for the sign language lessons with some of the money our parents left us, which was useful, though the majority of it, we saved. And we didn’t touch the money we received from their life insurance. We needed a buffer, just in case. By the time Gemma was 15, we were both fluent in sign language. Since our parents died, and Gemma lost her hearing, we grew a hell of a lot closer. Especially once we learnt sign language and could communicate effectively. I was the only person in her life that knew sign language and so if she ever needed to chat without having to write everything down, I was the one she talked to.
However, when Gemma was 15, we discussed the possibility of her getting a cochlear implant. I could tell she initially loved the idea but once she started investigating online and discovered the cost, she changed her mind. We went to see a doctor anyway to see what our options were. The NHS would cover the actual implantation of the device; however we’d have to pay for the assessment and the rehabilitation, which was about £20,000. We’d received double that from our parents’ life insurance, but Gemma was still hesitant. I just wanted her to be happy and I could see that getting the implant, while possibly not enabling her to hear as well as she used to, could bring back some normality to her life. And I wanted that for her so desperately.
Gemma did eventually decide that she wanted the implant. My guess was that something had happened that made her want her hearing back, but she didn’t give a reason to me, all she said was that she wanted it. And so we broke into our savings and paid for it. It was crazy how much money vanished in the blink of an eye, but the expression on Gemma’s face once she was able to hear the world around her a few weeks after the surgery. Although she told me that it wasn’t the same as hearing naturally, she was still overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of sound. She cried in the doctor’s surgery once the implant was activated. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly as my own eyes watered a bit. I just wanted to be able to do anything for Gemma and while I couldn’t do that because I didn’t have the money available, I did what I could.
The difference the cochlear implant made was amazing. It took a lot of getting used to and Gemma still needed sign language a lot of the time, she could hear if I called her from the kitchen or if the phone was ringing. After almost a year of her not hearing anything, it still almost brought me to tears when she responded to my voice. I could tell the improvement in her on a day-to-day basis, too. I hadn’t realised how withdrawn she’d become due to losing her hearing. But once she’d got used to the cochlear implant, she was back to her bubbly, upbeat self. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw her listening to music or watching television.
Over the summer holidays before starting her A-Levels, Gemma had a lot of free time and it seemed to suddenly occur to her that I was still single. She started badgering me about the fact that I hadn’t had a boyfriend since we’d moved to Watford. Even before we’d moved, I hadn’t had a boyfriend before, but I did show some interest in guys. It wasn’t like I’d become completely oblivious to guys, but my priorities had changed. There was a guy at work who was pretty cute and had flirted with me almost daily, and there were a couple guys at uni who caught my eye whenever I saw them in the union, but I wasn’t really that bothered. I think before my parents had died, I wouldn’t have even considered looking away, but now…now I had responsibilities. I had to work, keep good grades at uni, and provide for Gemma. I had to do the grocery shopping, drop her to and from school. I didn’t have time to date. I couldn’t afford to put anyone at the top of my list. My priorities were: 1) Gemma, 2) university, 3) work. I didn’t have time for a fourth, let alone bumping a guy up to the top of my list.
But I was okay with that, I’d accepted it a long time ago. When my parents passed away and I was granted custody of Gemma, I knew that I wouldn’t have time to work on my love life. And in all honesty, I didn’t really want to. I don’t think I’m all that much of a catch anyway. Between sharing my time between Gemma, uni and work, I think my boyfriend would just be pushed the side lines. So that was fine. It was better me being on my own, I didn’t need the added stress of being in a relationship. I really didn’t…
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ahh, so i'm super excited for this story!doing a cowrite with one of my favourite writers on mibba is just epic :)
hope you guys like this story, let us know what you think!