fragile [PREVIEW ONLY]

Chapter 2

By the end of fourth period, I was seriously considering faking an illness to get out of the rest of the day at school. I have the same thought every day, if I'm honest, but it's just a matter of when it pops up. Usually I make it past lunch. Today was not one of those days.

I walked into the cafeteria late, as usual, and grabbed a turkey wrap. The lunch lady smiled at me as I punched in my student ID number to pay for the food, and I forced a friendly grin back at her.

Rebecca. Lunch lady Rebecca. She was one of the nicest people in the school, always giving me a friendly greeting no matter how shitty the day was for either of us. I couldn't help but wonder if she knew I was deaf, but somehow I don't think Rebecca would care. She'd give me the same smile no matter what. Basically, she represented the good in society for me. At least there was one decent person left in a world of assholes.

Good luck, Rebecca, with carrying that burden.

Being the only deaf kid in school meant that I spent a lot of time in solitude. No one ever expressed an interest in getting to know me - not since elementary school when I was some kind of novelty to the other kids - and most people seemed to think I was mute as well as deaf.

To a degree, I am. It's not that I can't speak, it's that I never had the opportunity to learn how. My vocal cords work, I assure you, but seeing how someone forms words is a lot different than hearing how those words should sound in real life. I used to try, but I gave up when kids would tease me for saying things wrong. My voice always sounded funny, and - like I said - people sucked.

I've been deaf since I was a baby. That's right, I could hear once upon a time. Not that I really remember what that was like. Born premature, I suffered permanent damage to my inner ear. Apparently, this was caused by a severe lack of oxygen when I was born. They used mechanical ventilation to help me breathe because my tiny little lungs couldn't expand on their own, and I spent a lot of time in neonatal intensive care. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only problem I suffered. Nope, I just had to catch pneumonia. If you didn't know, infants already have a weakened immune system for the first year of life, which meant I was royally screwed. Once I recovered, thankfully, I was screened for hearing loss and my parents were given a checklist of things to 'look out for' should further hearing loss occur.

It did.

When I was 2 months old, I was diagnosed with progressive hearing loss. As I got older, my hearing continued to disintegrate, which was wonderful for my early life development as you can imagine. My parents tried hearing aids, but - by the time I was 2 years old - my hearing deteriorated to a point where my audiologist discovered that the hearing aids were no longer helping.

He suggested cochlear implants, which are tiny little electronic devices that would do what my damaged inner ear doesn't. Hearing aids just amplify sounds, but - if your inner ear can't pick up anything, no matter how loud it is - that doesn't really help. That's where the cochlear implant stepped in to save the day. It completely bypasses the damage in your inner ear and sends signals straight to your brain.

Pretty cool, huh?

Unfortunately, my parents couldn't afford the procedure, which could run anywhere from $40,000 to $100,000. Their insurance wouldn't cover it either, meaning I was out of luck. However, my mom discovered that I was eligible for Medicaid and that - thanks to a new law in 2004 - Medicaid was required to cover cochlear implants. She was desperate to have a 'relatively normal' daughter, and she hated learning sign language, so she got me signed up for Medicaid. My dad, on the other hand, refused to consent to the surgery. He really didn't like the idea of his daughter going under the knife to have some doctors 'screw around with her head', as he put it, and my mom caved.

No cochlear implants for me.

My mom brought up the idea at least once a year since then, but my dad always refused. Neither of them really wanted to learn sign language to communicate with me, so beyond a basic course taught at the local community center, they didn't. I went to special classes during elementary school that helped me learn ASL - American sign language - and my mom joined a playgroup where she went once a month to talk to other hearing moms of deaf children while the kids played. I liked it, and I made a few friends, but when my dad found out he pitched a fit.

He didn't want me to associate with other deaf kids, because he didn't want to raise some kind of 'weirdo' who couldn't communicate with 'real people in the real world.' He was worried that I'd rely on sign language 24/7 instead of improving my lip reading skills, which he thought were more important for my survival. I'm pretty sure he expected my hearing to recover some day, as if it was something that could just...grow back, or he was holding out for doctors to invent some pill that would fix my 'problem', as he put it.

Remember how I said people suck? My dad sucks more. He's an asshole, if you haven't already noticed.

I'm not upset that I never got cochlear implants. To be honest, I'm not sure I would want them now. Being deaf was part of my identity, just like being blonde, having green eyes, or being absolutely terrible at kickball. I hated it when people apologized for my deafness, like it meant I was less of a human being, because that's absolutely not the case. I had a normal childhood. I played tee-ball when I was little, went swimming at the lake with my cousins, obsessed over Harry Potter, and swooned over Sebastian Stan.

I never wanted apologies, I wanted to be treated like I was the same as everyone else. Lack of hearing didn't change that.

I mean, sure, I'm different, but who isn't? Does what make you different from everyone else make you less of a living, breathing human being?

Answer? No.