On September 12 2005, Henry was 7 weeks old and had an appointment at the hospital to have a hearing test.

He had failed what was called an echo response test previously, this is a hearing test that all babies have in the first few days of their lives. I was told not to worry as this test can be inaccurate but that I would have to take him to a hospital to do another more definitive test just to be sure.  I wasn’t remotely worried. I was more annoyed than anything else that this was messing up his sleep routine for the day which would mess up my sleep that night.

The audiologists at the hospital checked him and decided to do a more in depth test. Again, no worries, just routine. I left Henry in their capable hands and put more money in the metre to avoid a parking fine. When I left everyone was smiley and chatty and the atmosphere was light.

When I returned, and it is something that will stay with me forever, the atmosphere had completely changed. No-one looked me in the eye, I took Henry back in my arms and I was ushered into a little room to one side.

“We have tested Henry,” said the audiologist. “He is deaf but, don’t worry, some deaf people are getting quite good jobs these days.”

I couldn’t quite process what the man was saying.

I asked if that would change, if his hearing could get any better. “Hearing never improves, it only declines” was his answer.

I asked if he could be mistaken, if we should test again, “No. It won’t change. He is, without doubt, deaf.”

The man was right, Henry is profoundly deaf. That means, unaided, that if an ambulance siren is right next to him, he will still hear nothing. Drums at a concert that we find deafening, all Henry will feel is the thrum of the beat in his chest, nothing through his ears.

Being told my precious tiny baby was deaf felt like being put in a lift and pressing free-fall.

I took Henry back to the car and on my journey home, all I could think of was that he might never be able to share a joke, he might feel isolated, lonely, bitter and frustrated.

Over the next few weeks we tried to gather as much information as possible. His profound deafness was confirmed, we were told he would need hearing aids straight away and, if they didn’t work, there were these things called cochlear implants that might help.

We met a distant relative, a teenage girl who was also deaf. She used sign language, she was in year 11 at the time and she came to have lunch with us.  She confirmed all the fears I had for Henry. We had to communicate with her through her mother. We asked her lots of questions, her mother translated them into sign language, she signed back and her mother told us the answer. This was not the way I wanted Henry to communicate, to have to rely on me all the time. It took all the fun out of the conversation. When this girl went on the train, took a taxi or went into a shop she would write notes to people and they would write back, but there was no rapport, no joke, no connection.

In the first few weeks of being told Henry was deaf, I went to countless appointments and called numerous people; friends of friends, parents, professionals, you name it I spoke to them. The name Auditory Verbal UK kept coming up. I went to see them when Henry was three months old. By this time he had been fitted with hearing aids but, because he was growing so fast, they didn’t last long and would start buzzing in his ears. He had to have new ones fitted almost on a weekly basis. The fittings were painful for him and the hearing aids themselves seemed only to irritate.

As time went on it became increasingly clear that hearing aids were not going to be enough for Henry and when he was 14 months old he had his left ear implanted. At this point we started regular visits to Auditory Verbal UK.

They told me that their children were not only acquiring listening and speaking skills quicker than the average, these children were actually catching up their hearing peers and were often matching their abilities by the age of four.

Auditory Verbal UK train parents to make every situation a listening opportunity every waking moment of every day in that child’s life. Going to the park, sitting down to dinner, getting ready to take a bath, going to bed, playing, cooking, reading, absolutely anything that Henry did they trained me to make meaningful in terms of language.

It was hard work, I didn’t really think it would work at first but it did. By the age of four, not only was he matching his hearing peers, he was ahead of most of them.

Henry, aged 13, is now at a mainstream school and has lots of friends. He recently starred as the Artful Dodger in a performance of Oliver! And impressed everyone with his singing.

It will always be harder for him to hear in a busy place, virtually impossible in a noisy restaurant, he will always have equipment on his head that he may be embarrassed about when he is older, but he will be able to express those frustrations, explain them and hold his own in any conversation. And that is because of Auditory Verbal UK.

In fact it would be quite nice to stop him talking sometimes. But the thing I find most miraculous is that now he will have the same opportunities any hearing child. The world is his oyster and Auditory Verbal UK gave that to him.

- Katie, Henry's mum