Ryan Perkins
The clock in my office ticks faintly, a sound I didn’t know I missed until a few years ago. I often find myself glancing at it when my last patient of the day has left, marveling at the clarity of its rhythm. For 52 years, I lived without that sound, the world muted and contained within the confines of my own determined mind.
I’ve lived in London, UK, for decades now, its constant hum both a backdrop and, in recent years, a revelation. Losing my hearing at seven was a sudden and jarring shift, the result of an accident followed by severe inflammation. The silence was overwhelming at first, a cocoon of isolation. My parents, however, were determined that I not be defined by it. I learned sign language and mastered lip-reading, skills that allowed me to excel even when others doubted I could.
Teachers initially recommended I move to a special school, but I refused. My grades were proof that my hearing loss didn’t limit my intellect or drive. My childhood in silence made me ambitious, perhaps to compensate for the distance it created between me and others. It was hard to be avoided by classmates who didn’t know how to relate to me, but I adapted. Books became my refuge, and by the time I left for university, I knew I wanted to study medicine.
Specializing in ENT felt natural. In London’s diverse community, I’ve helped countless patients with hearing loss, guiding them through treatments, hearing aids, and the occasional surgery. Yet, for years, I ignored the possibility of helping myself. That changed six years ago, at 59, when I decided to undergo a cochlear implant procedure.
Hearing again was both thrilling and disorienting. The sounds of the city I had only felt through vibration were suddenly alive. The rush of buses, the murmur of café conversations, even the calls of street vendors felt like new dimensions to life. But it was music that truly transformed me. Each morning now begins with a Beethoven symphony—rich, commanding, and alive. London’s chaos fades as the music reminds me how far I’ve come, from silence to sound, from isolation to connection.