Big
My implant battery beeps orange! It didn’t charge through the night.
I roll out of bed, take off my pajamas and detach my insulin pump. I throw it onto the bed and quickly pull on jeans — leaving them unzipped so I can reattach my pump and tuck it into a pocket. I rummage in my room for my backup cochlear implant battery. Once found, I secure it onto my implant and place it around my left ear. I hook my hearing aid onto my right ear. Now I can hear Dad rustling in the kitchen as my phone plays, “Lucky I’m still sane after all I’ve been through...” I sing along to Joe Walsh. I pack extra hearing aid batteries in my backpack so I don't go deaf at school. He hands me lunch as I rush to the front door.
“Love you, I’ll see you after school,” I say to him.
“Is your pump charged?” Mom asks. I roll my eyes and shrug a yes without actually checking.
“Do you have carbs?” questions Dad.
Obviously I have carbs, you just handed me lunch, I think to myself. I say yes as I walk out the door.
“Call if you need anything!” Mom says as the door closes.
Pulling out of the driveway, I hear, “beep beep buzz”. It’s my pump, which buzzes when it is down to a 5% charge.
“UGHHH,” Of course. I should have checked my pump to see it was charged I think as I run back into the house and grab a USB charger. Back in the car, charging my almost dead pump, I do a mental checklist:
Pump, check.
Charge, check.
Carbs, check.
Insulin... I look at my pump to double-check... insulin, check.
Dex (Continuous Glucose Monitor) check.
Hearing aid, check.
Implant, check.
Extra batteries, check.
Phone, of course.
Every. Single. Day. This is me getting out the front door.
This is my life as a ‘normal’ teenager living with diabetes and 97% deafness. It’s not as black and white as I paint it; it’s actually much more challenging. Some days my CGM stops working and calls start rolling in from Mom and Dad asking for my blood glucose number. Or, I run out of insulin, or worst-case scenario, I don't have carbs and pass out.
Some days are better than others. But there are also days when I wonder why? At school, I’ve become the butt of the joke being the deaf kid. I find it easier to laugh it off rather than stand up for myself.
“Helen Keller,” they laugh.
Are you too clueless to realize that's offensive? I think while I struggle to smile.
I find myself saying “what” for the third time, having no idea what the people around me are saying. “HAHA, imagine being deaf.”
Ouch.
It’s not like it’s my fault. I was born like this, and I chose to participate in life. I spent years training with an Auditory Verbal Therapist, years perfecting the sound on my hearing aids with an audiologist, just to be ignored by my peers. It’s practically the same for my diabetes. “Aren't you diabetic?” they ask, “You probably shouldn’t be eating that.”
You have no idea what I should and shouldn't be eating.
”Actually, I have an insulin pump which gives a bolus of insulin when I eat something,” I respond.
“Aren’t diabetics supposed to be fat?”
AGGGHHH, I scream internally.
I’ve been asked before, “If there was a cure, would you take it?”
I ponder this question. I think I wouldn’t trade the experiences I've encountered from being deaf and diabetic for anything. I have an amazing family and support group. I have accepted that sometimes everything is not going to be perfect. I’ve accomplished a lot already and there’s so much more out there for me to do.
So I respond, “No, because this is who I am.”
About the Author
Lulu Hirschfield
Hi all! I am a second year student here at the University of Michigan. I grew up in sunny San Diego, California and decided to come to U of M to pursue my dreams of being a D1 athlete where I compete here on the women's varsity water polo team. Currently studying Exercise Science, and thoroughly enjoying it, I am still unsure what my aspirations are for the future. As for right now I'm just trying to learn as much as possible and one day be back in California to surf!