Most deaf children retain some hearing. With speech therapy and modern hearing aids, this residual hearing becomes an important complement to understanding spoken language. Nicoletta was not one of them. She suffered from profound deafness—zero hearing whatsoever. She lived in a world of absolute silence, the kind that hearing people and even partially deaf people find difficult to imagine. In such severe cases, only sight and vibro-tactile devices remained as tools for learning.
How Nicoletta Became Profoundly Deaf
Until age two, Nicoletta developed normally. Then, struck by high fever and vomiting, she was treated for seven days for what doctors called urinary tract infection. Afterward, she began showing motor problems and was admitted to a pediatric clinic with a diagnosis of acute post-infectious ataxia. She spent forty days hospitalized, losing significant weight. Her speech diminished day by day until it disappeared entirely. Slowly, inexorably, her hearing vanished too. Her mother remembered one of the last days in the hospital: the child suddenly walked on her own, but only when she thought no doctors were watching.
Inexorably the child stopped hearing, and her behavior changed.
Inexorably the child stopped hearing, and her behavior changed.From that moment forward, Nicoletta underwent a gradual transformation. It was understandable. For two years she had spoken and heard; she had lived a normal childhood. Now she was trapped in isolation, unable to accomplish anything, overwhelmed by frustration. This frustration sparked aggressive reactions—restlessness, destructiveness, apathy. She showed no interest in her surroundings, no emotional response to anything or anyone. She seemed to hate everyone, beginning with her own mother. The family began their grim journey from specialist to specialist. Each doctor offered a different diagnosis: deafness, aphasia, intellectual disability, language loss due to emotional trauma, autism. Each new doctor meant fresh trauma and increasingly violent reactions from the child. Finally, the renowned Professor O. Tosti of the Pendola Institute in Siena offered a different approach. Instead of another diagnosis, he suggested what he believed was the only path forward: have a speech therapist work with Nicoletta—someone with experience in communication disorders. A clearer picture was beginning to emerge: a child with acquired profound deafness and the relational disturbances that come with it.
The profoundly deaf live in a world of absolute silence, scarcely conceivable to those of us who hear.
The profoundly deaf live in a world of absolute silence, scarcely conceivable to those of us who hear.Nicoletta was not yet school age, so my work began with advice to her parents. Treat her as if she understands spoken language, I told them. Avoid overprotective behavior. Send her to kindergarten. Let her live a normal life at home and in the classroom. After a few months, things began to shift. I became increasingly convinced we were dealing with profound deafness.
From Drawing to Words
During this period, Nicoletta drew constantly—at home, at school, everywhere. She drew what she saw around her: family scenes, stories of outings, and especially animals. Drawing became our main channel of communication, my bridge to her. For a long time, I used this mode of expression she loved. Alongside drawing, Nicoletta willingly did early writing exercises and simple math preparation. But the moment she sensed that an activity was meant to encourage her to vocalize, she stiffened and retreated into hostility and aggression.
At six, Nicoletta joined my speech therapy class with five other profoundly deaf children. Those first days and weeks were difficult. Once she overcame her initial wariness of me, she became terribly jealous—no other student could sit near me. She still refused any exercise connected with voice, whether direct or indirect. But vocalization was essential. Help came from the "Voice light"—a device the school purchased on my recommendation. The other children were immediately interested and excited, and eventually Nicoletta too was drawn to the magic of the light that would illuminate. It was clear I needed her active participation. What good would a vowel or word be if she spoke only out of obedience, not desire? I needed to tap into what truly interested her, what sparked her curiosity. Only then could I channel her attention toward language as a tool for knowing and expressing herself.
I mentioned that Nicoletta loved to draw and was proud when other teachers came to compliment her work. She won numerous prizes and competitions. One morning, an idea struck me. Debatable, perhaps. But I was convinced the goal justified the means. I had spent years trying to get her to make a sound, and I was ready to give up.
For two years she had lived a normal life; now she was trapped in isolation, unable to accomplish anything, crushed by frustration.
For two years she had lived a normal life; now she was trapped in isolation, unable to accomplish anything, crushed by frustration.One morning Nicoletta drew a landscape with a beautiful tree in the center. She pointed at it insistently. As usual, she wanted to tape it on the wall. I made clear she had to say "albero"—tree. The usual refusal followed, and I refused to put it up. We parried back and forth for several minutes. Finally, her desire to see her masterpiece on display won out. She attempted to make the sound "a." It was barely an attempt—just the shape of her mouth moving toward the vowel. But for me, it was everything. I swept her into my arms. Only someone who has suffered through years of waiting, day after day, for one glimmer of hope, can understand my joy. From that moment, a new chapter began. Nicoletta's behavior changed, and each day she took a small step toward a new self—one willing to live with others, to live like her classmates.
She showed no interest in her surroundings, no emotional response, and seemed to hate everyone—starting with her mother.
She showed no interest in her surroundings, no emotional response, and seemed to hate everyone—starting with her mother.Language as Rhythmic Vibration
How did Nicoletta move from that first "a" to understanding spoken language and communicating orally?
With great care and individualized pedagogical attention, I began the work necessary for articulate speech. I compensated for the lack of acoustic input through sight and touch. I placed great importance on rhythmic patterns—helping Nicoletta feel vibration through physical contact with various instruments and objects. Movement became vibration; vibration became rhythm, with pauses creating the pattern. Language too is rhythmic vibration. Almost without realizing it, Nicoletta would climb onto a vibrating cube I had designed and "feel" language.
To hold her interest, I worked with what surrounded her—the experiences she and the other children naturally shared, the things Nicoletta spontaneously drew. Under each drawing I wrote the word, preceded by the subject. She copied it as she had from the beginning of school, but now she began to watch my lips closely. She felt the breath and tiny explosions, the phonetic vibrations that surely recalled those first pleasant vibration experiences. Lip-reading was beginning.
She had to be treated as if she understood normal language, without overprotective behavior.
She had to be treated as if she understood normal language, without overprotective behavior.Then came a period of waiting—necessary so Nicoletta could exercise her visual and imitative attention—before spoken expressions began to appear. I did not worry about precise pronunciation. Spontaneity was paramount. Correcting her harshly might have sent her back into that silence and psychological muteness far worse than deafness itself.
During this delicate phase, I worked closely with her mother. She continued the work at home, helping Nicoletta understand that language was a means of communication. She taught her to regulate her voice naturally, using it in everyday situations when the child felt the desire to express herself.
The curriculum I followed in class was the standard first-grade program for hearing children. The method was holistic, applied to both writing and spoken language. My experience showed me that for a child with profound deafness, reading and writing hold special importance. As the scholar Cardano said, the deaf speak through writing and listen through reading. For the deaf child, written language supports the entire structure of verbal language, allowing them to build linguistic and cognitive competence. The child gradually enriches vocabulary, slowly organizes sentences with logical meaning, and uses written language as a bridge to understanding speech.
I realize these things are simple to describe but difficult to execute. The real challenge is not getting the deaf child to pronounce a phoneme—that can be done through precise technique. The problem is helping them organize sentences with logical-semantic coherence. This work happens during the school years and takes different amounts of time for each child.
She refused any exercise connected with voice, whether direct or indirect.
She refused any exercise connected with voice, whether direct or indirect.Moving into a Regular Classroom
Nicoletta still faced one more obstacle: joining a class of hearing children. We addressed it at the start of her second year, and I asked myself many questions. How would Nicoletta react? Would my daily specialist work be enough? The question was discussed at length with her mother and then with a meeting of parents and teachers. Only her mother had no doubts. She believed total inclusion was premature but saw partial integration as beneficial. Her daily experience with Nicoletta showed her that language misunderstandings still occurred frequently. Total inclusion would be dishonest, and it would harm the child. Magda was firm: "It would be deception to send Nicoletta to the hearing class if she is not ready. She might fall back into negativity. It is wrong and harmful to base this kind of integration on love for our children, telling ourselves they are like the others while promoting them indiscriminately from class to class."
Every day a small step formed a new personality, one willing to live with and like her classmates.
Every day a small step formed a new personality, one willing to live with and like her classmates.We decided that Nicoletta would attend the speech therapy class and be partially integrated into the parallel hearing class taught by Signora Graziani. The two of us worked in perfect harmony, avoiding confusion and learning difficulties for the child. We discussed the work regularly, clarifying doubts and sometimes lightening tense situations. Nicoletta went to her hearing classmates with calm and enthusiasm. When Signora Graziani left, the partial integration continued through fifth grade with Signora Brunetti, who often said: "I hardly notice I have a deaf child in my class. I treat her like the others, I teach her like the others. Of course, I work a lot at the board so she can use her eyes to make up for what her ears cannot hear. She is pleasant, cheerful, intelligent, and everyone wants to sit next to her."
During this period, Nicoletta began attending the Rehabilitation Center "Medaglia Miracolosa" in Viciomaggio in the afternoons. I can say that without this center's invaluable contribution, we would not have reached where we are today. We were approaching middle school with positive assessments from two teachers at Porta Bluia, confirming that partial integration was working. This makes it unnecessary to discuss Nicoletta's socialization in detail—our entire effort, aimed at giving her the tools of communication, never lost sight of the ultimate goal: to speak with others, to live with others, without limits.
Art School and Beyond
Nicoletta was enrolled at the middle school in Badia al Pino, where she was fortunate to find cooperative teachers. We worked together with genuine enthusiasm, inspired by her demonstrated intelligence and will. She lived her difference naturally within a group that had accepted her.
Without the child's active participation, I would have achieved nothing.
Without the child's active participation, I would have achieved nothing.Throughout middle school, Nicoletta continued at the Rehabilitation Center in Viciomaggio, which allowed her to narrow the gap separating her from her peers. After finishing middle school, she was enrolled in art school and was regularly promoted each year. She earned her diploma with a score of 50/60.
These academic results would mean little if they were not matched by Nicoletta's maturity. Anyone can see her serenity, her balance in accepting her handicap, her ability to live with and like her peers. She is happy with her "Marcello," with whom she shares a love of nature, of animals, and of a clean and honest view of life.