Page 33 of Unloved

He hands me my phone, as if he’s handing me my arsenal, and then proceeds to type into his.

The message shows up in our group chat and I realize we never communicate with each other outside of it. The three of us comfortable to be open and honest at all times.

His message shows up just as Samuel comes back with three empty bowls and spoons in one hand and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough in the other. It’s my favorite.

I read the message and simultaneously move closer to Rhys, giving Samuel somewhere to sit.

Rhys: No audiology talk for the rest of the night. I’m more interested in finding out what your favorite fast-food burger is.

* * *

My palms are sweating as Frankie and I sit in the audiologist waiting room together. Samuel wanted to be here and Rhys said if I needed extra support he could easily change his plans. Between that and the steady stream of text messages from Clem, Remy and Arlo, I was overwhelmed by the support, which seems like such a privileged place to be in.

I have no expectations for how today is supposed to go, but I’m anticipating it to be some kind of turning point. After an official diagnosis, I have to make plans, adjust to changes, grieve for the things I may lose, and try to be open-minded about everything that is still left to gain.

That’s the part I’m scared of.

I’d been through so much over the years, just trying to survive, just trying to feel worthy enough, but sometimes those insecurities got the better of me. Sometimes it all just feels a little too hard, and sometimes, when bouts of exhaustion hit, I really don’t even want to bother.

I felt like I was forever picking myself up off the ground, trying hard to remain positive, but why does one person have to try so hard?

A pregnant lady exits one of the rooms and looks across the few faces seated in the waiting area. She glances down at her iPad and taps at the screen. The electronic buzzer the receptionist gave me vibrates against my palms.

It’s my turn.

Frankie and I both rise and, as much as it pains me to do so, I put my hand out in front of Frankie to stop him from walking any farther. He tries to hide the hurt in his eyes when I turn to look at him, but he isn’t quick enough.

I offer him a sad smile. “I have to do this by myself.”

Despite knowing he doesn’t agree with me, he nods, his feet reluctantly standing still as mine move forward. I follow the lady inside a room that is set up differently to any I’ve ever been in.

The heavy door closes behind us, locking us in. The walls are covered with what looks like thick soundproof padding, which I’m assuming is to ensure no external noises impact the testing.

We both take a seat, either one of us on opposite sides of the desk. The audiologist offers me a warm smile before pointing at her name badge and sliding a piece of paper across the table for me to read.

Her name is Judy, and the list in front of me is all the ways we can communicate during the appointment and asks me to pick the one that suits me the most.

I already hate everything about this, but I do my best to cooperate so I can get the hell out of here.

“Any of these options are fine,” I say, pointing to the piece of paper. “Whatever is easier for you, works for me.”

This answer doesn’t seem to have the desired effect, and Judy’s face scrunches up a little. She grabs a legal pad and then places what looks to be a cell phone on some kind of stand.

The screen is facing me and the words appear on them the instant she opens her mouth.

Firstly, I just want to remind you, you don’t need to make anyone feel comfortable when deciding on which way to communicate. You don’t need to make your hearing loss easier on somebody else.

Unintentionally she’s hit the nail on the head. I often make myself more palatable to ensure nobody perceives me as different or difficult, I couldn’t do that anymore.

As you already know,the doctor has diagnosed you with sensorineural hearing loss caused by damage to your inner ear. Looking at your history, the trauma you sustained not only contributed to your hearing loss, it was combined with a genetic condition called Pendred Syndrome. There’s a likelihood you would’ve always lost your hearing, but not this early in your life.

There were many things I hated about being a kid in the foster system, but this right here is the biggest blow of them all. To not know your family’s medical history and be completely blindsided by the discovery, makes me hate my parents even more.

If there was any more proof I needed that I was brought into this world unloved and uncared for, this is it.

Judy scribbles on the legal pad as she continues to talk and the phone spits her words onto the screen.

We’re going to do a few different types of tests. They range in necessity and importance, but it’s good to cover all bases. I’ve written down the names of each one.

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