September is also Deaf Awareness Month, so it's the perfect opportunity for a one-shot about Eleanor Bishop. I am hearing, and as such I cannot post this in good conscience without telling you to go online and read or listen to what Deaf people have to say about their personal experience in these sorts of situations. I've written this based on what I've learned from the Deaf community. Here are just a few of the many Deaf creators out there that I've enjoyed learning from: Shaylee Mansfield, Rogan Shannon, Mary Harman, Maya and C3 Ariel. I highly recommend you check a few of them out!

C-A-N-S-E-R:

This was officially the worst week of Eleanor's life. Derek was away on a business trip, her hearing aids were broken and the piece needed to fix them wouldn't arrive for another week at the least, and Kate was sick. She'd been complaining of abdominal pain off and on for the past several weeks, so Eleanor took her to the pediatrician. She listened to Eleanor and Kate describe her symptoms, felt around the area and suggested, with a grave look on her face, that they go to the hospital. That was yesterday. Caught up in worrying about Kate and all the extra chores that fell to her when Derek was away, she forgot to call ahead and request an interpreter. And she didn't realize this unfortunate fact until she went up to the desk in the ER and could not understand a word the woman said to her.

Thus began the all-too-familiar dance. "Could you write that down? Or, even better, do you have an ASL interpreter here? I wasn't able to call ahead to request one, us coming here was rather short notice." As she said it, she recognized how redundant that was. An emergency room by definition was short notice.

"No, we don't have..."

Eleanor missed the entire rest of the sentence because the woman turned her chair to look at a computer screen, and said screen obscured Eleanor's view of her mouth. She sighed in frustration, and it must've come out much louder than she intended because the woman gave her a rude look. Kate tugged on her sleeve, and Eleanor turned to listen. "She said they don't have any interpreters. She asked if you can read lips or have me interpret for you."

Eleanor curled her fists in fury. She took a deep breath and explained, "Only thirty percent of words can actually be read off the lips, and my daughter cannot interpret because she is eight years old. As I already explained, I need you to either write it down or get a qualified interpreter. They don't even have to be here in person; video relay interpreting works just fine."

Kate tugged on her sleeve again. "I can do it!"

Eleanor gently grabbed her hands and lowered them. "No, sweetie, you don't have to. That's not your job."

"I can do it until they get a real interpreter."

"No." She snapped the sign close to Kate's face to prevent further argument.

Kate hung her head. "Okay."

Eleanor turned back to the woman at the desk, who had finally placed a legal pad between them. On it was scribbled a list of things she needed to say about Kate and her symptoms. She listed off the necessary information and the woman took the pad and wrote, "We'll call her name when we're ready."

Great. Kate would have to tell her when that happened. Eleanor told her as much, "Listen for your name, and let me know when they call it."

Kate perked up at finally being allowed to help. Eleanor sighed and picked up one of the ubiquitous waiting room magazines. She might be excited about helping Mom now, but she would definitely hate it when she was older. And Eleanor hated it now. It was on her as a mother to guide her daughter through the world, not the other way around. Especially now, when Kate was the one who was sick.

"How do you feel now?" Eleanor asked her.

Kate shrugged. "Mostly it only hurts a little. But it hurts a lot if I touch it."

"Don't touch it then."

"I won't."

Kate alerted her that they called her name about thirty minutes later. The person who directed them to a room in the ER was wearing a mask, so Eleanor understood nothing he said on the way. Why did her hearing aids have to choose this week to break?

"I'm Deaf," she said curtly. "You're going to have to write down everything you're saying."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise and he began comically patting all of his pockets.

"He says he's sorry," Kate informed her. "He doesn't have any paper."

Eleanor gritted her teeth. "Do you have a phone with a notes app?" There were apps that displayed the text in a larger font for ease of reading, but most people didn't have those. It wouldn't be the first time she read important information off of someone's notes app.

He yanked out his phone and began frantically typing. When he turned the phone around, she read, "The doctor will be here soon. Based on her symptoms, he wants to do an abdominal ultrasound."

Eleanor nodded. She sat down in the room with Kate and explained it to her.

"Ultrasound, what's that?" she asked. She completely misspelled ultrasound. That was all the evidence Eleanor needed to remind her why it was ridiculous for a person to suggest that an eight-year-old interpret, especially in a medical setting.

"They're going to put some gel on your tummy and use a special tool to see inside. They did the same thing to me when I was pregnant with you. It doesn't hurt a bit."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Eleanor scrutinized the facial expression of the person performing the ultrasound, looking for any signs that what she saw was concerning. As soon as the wand touched over the area where Kate's pain was centered, her eyebrows furrowed. She pointed to something on the screen, something even Eleanor could tell didn't look quite right. It was a blotchy circle, darker than any of the tissue surrounding it. Her stomach began to churn nervously. This was shaping up to be a much more serious situation than she anticipated.

After the ultrasound ended, she read off yet another notes app that the doctor would be in to discuss the results soon. "Will you have an interpreter by then?" she asked bluntly. She did not want to receive this kind of news about her daughter from a phone screen.

"We'll try."

That was reassuring. Kate tapped on her knee. "I don't think they're trying hard enough," she stated.

Eleanor smiled. "I agree."

Sure enough, by the time the doctor came back, there was still no interpreter. Eleanor tried to stop him and demand that any further discussion be put on hold until they had a legitimate means of communication in place, but he pulled out a legal pad and wrote in all caps: "THIS CAN'T WAIT."

His mouth moved as he scribbled on the pad, and despite Eleanor's firm instruction not to interpret, Kate did it anyway. She ultimately communicated it faster than the doctor could write. Eleanor watched helplessly as her daughter's little hand fingerspelled six letters she never dreamed she would see, especially not in this context. It was so far outside the realm of possibility, so alien to their lives, that Kate didn't even know the sign for it, nor could she even spell it correctly. With each letter, Eleanor's heart sank further and further into her stomach. C-A-N-S-E-R.

She was instantly angry. Moments later, the legal pad turned around and she read, "The mass in her abdomen is likely cancer." Eleanor knew she wasn't the only person in the world to be told that her child has cancer. Countless others had come before her. But there was a not-zero possibility that she was the first to hear it from her own child rather than medical professionals whose job it was to communicate with their patients and their families. This was officially the worst week of Eleanor's life.