We Will Not Wait and See: Why Can’t We Do Temporary Fittings for Temporary Losses?

“If my child’s hearing loss is temporary, why don’t audiologists let us borrow hearing aids?”

A parent asked this in a group recently, and it stopped me in my tracks—not because it was outrageous, but because it was such a good question.

Their child had fluid in the ears. They went through the usual steps: waiting, nasal spray, eventually ear tubes. But even after the tubes were placed, the child still seemed to miss things. They pushed for more testing and discovered mild to moderate hearing loss. Once the child was finally fit with hearing aids, it was like a light came on. She was thriving. But it didn’t have to take that long.

Even when hearing loss is temporary or mild, the brain doesn’t wait. Language development is time-sensitive, and it depends on consistent, clear access to sound. When a child only hears parts of what’s said—because of fluid, ear asymmetry, or background noise—they’re not just missing language. Their entire nervous system is affected.

Fluctuating hearing loss creates an ongoing sense of unpredictability. Imagine being in a world where sometimes you hear things clearly and sometimes you don’t—and you never quite know when or why. It’s like walking into a room where the lights flicker constantly. Over time, that unpredictability can lead to anxiety, hypervigilance, or withdrawal. Kids who miss environmental cues may feel unsafe. They may not hear someone calling their name, a question asked, or the sound of others laughing. They may seem inattentive or disconnected—not because they aren’t capable, but because they’re living in a world that’s distorted and harder to decode.

And here’s something people rarely talk about: even with ear tubes, many children lose the acoustic reflex—the body’s natural ability to dampen loud sounds and protect the ear. The tube bypasses the normal mechanics of the eardrum, which can make loud environments overwhelming and reduce the ability to filter speech from background noise. So even if hearing thresholds test “normal,” these children may still be unprotected, and still struggling in ways that aren’t being acknowledged.

So again—why do we wait? Why not offer a supervised, flexible hearing aid trial when hearing is known to be fluctuating or access is clearly reduced? Why not let the child’s brain experience full, stable input during this critical time—input that supports not just language but also emotional regulation, sensory stability, and a sense of safety in the world?

We don’t wait to address vision problems or mobility concerns. We don’t tell a child to “hang in there” and hope their balance improves on its own. But with hearing, we delay support. We let kids fall behind, miss out, or become anxious and dysregulated—then act surprised when they need speech therapy, reading remediation, or behavioral support later.

We need to stop treating hearing aids as a last resort, and start seeing them as a temporary bridge—a tool for the developing brain, a way to protect access during vulnerable periods. Even if the child no longer needs them later, that early access can change everything.

Because if we don’t intervene early, it’s not just language that’s at risk.

Some children go on to develop auditory processing disorder (APD), or even hyperacusis or misophonia, where everyday sounds feel overwhelming or emotionally triggering. Others may have had undiagnosed hearing loss all along—hidden just beneath the surface. And just like sand on a beach, shifting back under the pull of a wave, we sometimes don’t see the hole until it’s already been carved out. Only later do we realize that the signs were there all along.

Fluctuating hearing loss is not benign. It leaves marks—on the brain, the nervous system, and the spirit.

I’ve been working with audiologists not just across the U.S., but also in South Africa, Australia, Ireland, England, and Canada, helping them learn how to support children with normal-to-mild hearing levels using carefully programmed low-gain hearing aids. This isn’t traditional hearing loss management. It’s access-based support—designed for children whose brains are trying to learn language and manage the world, even when their hearing isn’t consistently reliable.

I also work closely with FM systems and help parents, teachers, and professionals understand the importance of building self-advocacy into every part of a child’s daily life. Children should have as much control and ownership as possible over their own listening tools. That’s how they feel empowered—not different.

And yes, I offer full auditory processing disorder evaluations using a virtual model that reflects real-world performance. My protocol includes testing under both alert and fatigued conditions, speech-in-noise, dichotic listening, and more. I’ve built a model that covers all the core tests typically offered anywhere in the country—and beyond—and I’ve made it accessible from home. This isn’t just a test. It’s a window into how a child hears and copes in the real world.

And I can do this because I have licensure in all 50 states. That didn’t happen by accident. I spent three years of my life earning it so families across the country could access care directly—without begging for referrals or waiting for local providers to “get it.”

If you have a flexible audiologist, I’ll work with them. I’m happy to speak with speech-language pathologists, teachers, ENTs, or pediatricians—and I don’t charge for that time. I’m here because this deserves to be understood. I’m working to change national and international policy, because the gaps in care are costing children time, language, confidence, and mental health.

And if you’re in a resource desert, or if your local provider doesn’t understand this approach, you are not out of options. I can work with you directly within the U.S., and I’m happy to collaborate and brainstorm with families and professionals internationally.

This isn’t about committing to hearing aids forever. This is temporary, brain-based support that keeps the door open to learning and connection. It’s about catching children before they fall behind, rather than asking them to climb back up later.

This article is not formally referenced because it comes directly from 25 years of clinical experience, and from thousands of encounters with children—and adults—who have walked this path. If you’re looking for formal citations and supporting literature, I encourage you to visit my blog at drraestout.com/blog. The stories, strategies, and outcomes I share are grounded in lived reality, not just academic theory. And I will never leave adults out of this conversation—they were children once, and many of them were left unsupported.

Sometimes I’ve felt like a lone voice in the dark—a lone wolf, not because I don’t want collaboration, but because for a long time, no one else was answering. I wasn’t trying to lead. I was just trying to stop the harm. But over the past seven years, I’ve felt a shift.

More and more of you are reaching out. Phone calls. Emails. Messages. Sparks. More and more of you are carrying that light. And together, we’re not so easy to ignore.

So yes, I may still feel like a small voice, but I’ve also been a glimmer.
And now I know—I’m not alone in the dark.

We will not wait and see...

We will act.

We will protect access.

We will change the system—together.