It's a sad case. I remembered halfway through the ethics meeting that the child had a metabolic disorder. That she came from Central America just for her, much like a coworker of mine. This mother is so beautiful. Seeing her cry nearly brought me to tears. Her face is weathered and wrinkled and brown, one side less expressive than the other. Her eyes have so many smile lines, they're like little triangles. She's determined and loving and hard-working. Tuechtig, would be the German word. And I love her. Somehow. I wish I knew her name, not just her daughter's. I wish I understood her disease better... or could form a bond with the family. I'm glad I'll get to be around to hear what happens with them.
Another beautiful mom. I was glad to hear (and 2 seconds later, relay) that her baby had her surgery and is doing well. I wonder what kind of person she is. Today she was VERY nicely dressed. Like another coworker of mine, or her friends. She always gives me the impression of being well-nurtured and happy. Rich in the best sense of the word.
Goliath's* mom too, he's one of our cancer patients. She was happy and less worried in clinic today, which was nice to see. And Goliath was less sullen/more talkative than I've ever seen him. Things must be getting better.
It's such a privilege to see mother-love like this, all day. To get to say what they say, and in saying it, empathize with them, as if I were an actor playing their role, but in English. I am struck by how beautiful they are as they care for their kids; how they love them with all practicality, dealing with the ins and outs of a foreign healthcare system - all its procedures and people and red tape - in a non-Spanish-speaking country, so that their kid can just be sick. So they can get better.
I never know what to say when they look me in the eyes and say thank you, "gracias" or "gracias a usted por interpreter," "thank you for interpreting." It's like suddenly, when I have to speak my own words instead of everyone else's, I'm tongue-tied, jammed with the traffic of all the things I want to say to them for myself, all the things I've been thinking and feeling as I feel and speak for others. I'm not the doctor anymore, or the social worker imparting knowledge and wisdom. Neither am I a mother looking to the interests of her child. I am me. And I... mumble and stumble, and forget to smile. I run away in an embarrassed hurry of unspoken thoughts.
Maybe I just haven't found the version of "you're welcome" that I like. Maybe I need to intentionally pause and say something meaningful. Something about how glad I am to do this work. Even though it costs me my self.
Maybe I'll smile, look right back, and say:
"It was a pleasure to work with you." - "Me dio mucho gusto trabajar con usted(es)."
Because no matter what I've had to say, it almost always is.
*Goliath must obviously be a fake name. Privacy and all that.
