That still didn’t make me feel any less guilty for pulling Mom away for a few hours to take me to meet with the Disability Resource Office in the middle of a school and work day.

DON’T WORRY, Mom signed to me on our trek through the parking lot up to the building’s entrance. THEY FIND YOU INTERPRETER, EASY.

I did my best to muster up a smile, not sure what to sign or say.

The Disability Resource Office was on the building’s fourth floor, and it was a tense ride up in the elevator even though Mom kept giving me comforting squeezes and signing, YOU FINE, multiple times.

There was determination in my step on my way down the hallway to the office. I held myself with as much dignity as I could muster, pressing the office’s doorbell and waiting to get buzzed in. Mom stuck close to my side on the way over to the front desk where the receptionist sat, and I said, “We’re here to see Nadine Frederickson.”

The receptionist nodded with a polite smile and reached for her desk phone to make a call. A moment later, Mom tapped on my arm and pointed to the other side of the miniscule waiting room where a woman was opening a door. The woman seemed pleasant enough as she came forward to introduce herself and shake our hands. She was wearing a nametag with Cartwright’s logo on it that said her name was Nadine Frederickson, Director of Disability Resources.

“Nice to meet . . .” Nadine said, then gestured behind her. “. . . my office?”

We followed her back to her office, a tiny space barely bigger than a closet and yet still equipped with a full-size desk, computer, filing cabinet, and two chairs for guests. I took a seat while Mom remained standing, moving over to stay in my line of sight to interpret.

There were a couple moments where Nadine shuffled things around on her desk and typed some stuff into her computer, not saying anything. I looked to Mom for an indication of what was going on, and she just shrugged. When Nadine finally turned in her chair to address us, the corners of her mouth were tucked into a frown.

WHAT’S WRONG? I signed to Mom immediately.

There was a slight pause as Mom listened to what Nadine began to say, and then her face started to fall too.

WHAT’S WRONG? I signed again, leaning forward in my seat.

When Nadine was finished speaking—speaking only to Mom, ugh—Mom finally started signing to me, and she didn’t seem all that thrilled.

COLLEGE NEED PROOF YOU DEAF, was the first thing she signed to me.

I slipped both my hearing aids off and set them on Nadine’s desk, signing, HERE.

“. . . need . . . hearing . . .” Nadine said with a wince, purposefully not looking at my hearing aids.