I applied for Google’s Glass Explorer program hoping for the chance to influence the design to make it more accessible for people with disabilities.

As a freelance journalist who happens to be deaf, I dashed off the following tweet in response to the contest question: What would you do with Google Glass? “One word: Captioning. Movies, shows, public events, people I have trouble lip-reading (mustaches are so 70s!). #ifihadglass.”

Profoundly deaf since birth, I wear a cochlear implant and digital hearing aid. I speak and read lips, but cannot understand speech without seeing the speaker’s face or reading captions. Instant captioning would make my life easier in many respects — for that person who mumbles or has a thick foreign accent, when I miss announcements or other audible information, or when I’m at a venue that doesn’t have captions. I was excited thinking about the possibilities, both professionally and personally.

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A month after I sent that tweet, I was notified that I was one of 8,000 people selected for the program — among the 145,000 mentions of #ifihadglass on Twitter and Google+. Naturally, I posted on social media and reveled as my family, friends and even strangers congratulated me.

But then reality dawned. Since I’ve been wearing electronics on my head for almost four decades, I have some experience with what can go wrong.

In this case, I was concerned about the physical fit of Glass with my hearing aid, since it’s bulky near that ear. I also wondered whether there would be electromagnetic inference (EMI) with my hearing aid or cochlear implant. What with the gear on my head, titanium rod in my femur, smartphone at the ready, I’m already a Bionic Woman. Wearing Google Glass could either complete my costume or make me feel like a human disco ball.

When I was notified of Glass’ availability, I was told I had two weeks to schedule a pickup in San Francisco, Los Angeles or New York, where I would fork over $1,500 (plus travel expenses) for the right to be a guinea pig.

Before I considered doing so, I needed some answers to my questions. Unfortunately, there was no email address or chat option for customer service. In my quest for an accessible device from a company that started off as Internet-only, I had to rely on my hearing husband once again to make a phone call for me, this time to the Glass help line.

Since there’s a large Google office in Pittsburgh where I live, I asked if I could pick up Google Glass there instead. There are people in this city with Glass, so trying on one of theirs would help me answer the question about fit, but EMI can be intermittent. I’d need more than a day to see if there was a problem. The risk of wasting time and money traveling to New York only to send Glass back a week later is a real possibility. Ideally, Google would recognize this risk and accommodate me.

I was told that my questions would be discussed with the team and an answer would arrive via email. I waited over a week for a response — any response. Even a direct message through Twitter or Google+ would have been nice, but there was only (more) silence.

We called back, explained the situation again and asked for an update. Between that phone call and the email I received later that day, I was told that Glass was not hearing-aid compatible. There were no assurances that EMI wouldn’t be a problem.

I also asked new questions about accessibility features. Reports from other Explorers began to surface, and I started to wonder if Glass and I would be able to understand each other. My deaf accent may prohibit me from telling Glass what to do. Siri doesn’t understand my accent, so I was curious about Glass’ voice recognition. The representative’s response was, “I think it might be better than Siri.” Sorry, but that’s not good enough to justify a plane ticket and hotel stay.

There’s also no alternate way for me to input some commands — for example, through an app or by typing on a phone. Anyone who has watched the Saturday Night Live spoof of Google Glass recognizes the value of discreet input and the option to use a smartphone app to issue commands and type words.

The communication barrier goes both ways. When Glass speaks, there’s no captioning of what it says. While the agent mentioned anecdotes of people with hearing loss remarking about the benefit of the bone conduction speaker, my deafness is more profound. In other words, Glass isn’t accessible for people who can’t understand speech.

Unfortunately, Google insisted I gamble my own money to travel to one of its fitting showrooms, just to buy Glass from an employee offering free booze. I didn’t need glasses to see the writing on the wall. I emailed Glass Support and turned down the invitation to the Explorer program. The email I received in response to my withdrawal was a long-winded apology and attempt to keep me interested in Glass.

Perhaps Glass 5.0 will be worth purchasing, albeit without the Glass Explorer cachet. Then again, I was wearing batteries on my head before they were trendy.

Image: David Paul Morris/Bloomberg via Getty Images