Le Felicito

You'd think that, if you get a call to go interpret in the trauma center in the emergency room, you'd be walking into a crazy, dire situation every time. Turns out that's not necessarily the case. Because of this, I've come to understand the word "trauma" not as "intense dramatic event" but more like "physical ailment that's not a disease process;" in other words, some kind of impact or accident that caused the person harm... like falling from something, or having something fall on you, getting mugged, or shot, or cut, or stabbed, or hit by a car, or sometimes even just having fallen down. One time I interpreted for a guy, a cook, who had shaved off some of his finger with a knife; but another time there was a mother/daughter pair who'd been in a bad car accident and held hands across their stretchers - which I say to point to the fact that, although it's all trauma, how chaotic and scary a case is can vary dramatically. The guy who chopped his finger had rigged his own tourniquet with a rubber band, and the surgeon was super impressed, so half the time I was interpreting compliments. You just never know what you're going to get.

Most recently my favorite encounter in the trauma center was with an older man (a patient) and the younger doctor who was admitting him to the hospital after a bad fall.

I had been bouncing back and forth between interpreting for this same patient and a couple others all afternoon, and they eventually made the decision to admit him. Over the course of several hours, with different technicians and providers, I had discovered him to be decorous, good-humored, and patient. He knew his own health problems well, and was a deliberate, clear storyteller; full of fancy words, jokes and good manners. So when the admitting doctor arrived, I was pleased to realize that he was a clear communicator as well.

He made eye contact with the man on the stretcher. Shook his hand. Asked what had happened to bring him to the hospital. He maintained eye contact and took notes as I first listened to the story (my third time), and then told it to him in English. He paused before asking his next question, then looked the man in the eye and spoke clearly, despite the fact that he was speaking English and couldn't be sure how much the patient would understand. He was even able to use gesture to great effect, something a surprising amount of people don't do well intuitively. As he went through his series of questions, I became gradually less and less of an obvious presence in their communication. It was one of those golden moments, the ones you always angle for, where you've actually faded to the background and the people you're serving have formed their own connection. It was beautiful to see. And the MD continued to ask clear, thorough questions and get clear, well-worded answers.

At the end of the interaction, they shook hands, the MD turned to thank me, and we both began to walk away. Then suddenly, the man on the stretcher said, "Le felicito!" I wasn't sure what he meant, so I looked at him, brow furrowed, and repeated it in English with a questioning tone "Con...gratulations?" He took the hint. "Le felicito, doctor, excelente trabajo. Muy cientifico!" Aha, I thought, that's what he means. "I congratulate you, doctor, excellent work. Very scientific!" At which the MD smiled and said "Thank you very much!" - which the patient understood. He then turned and thanked me, and we said our goodbyes.

The German-English dictionary I use tells me that the German word "sich verabschieden" is "to bid farewell" or "take your leave" or "say goodbye". The Spanish "despedirse" comes to about the same thing, but I wish there were a noun in English for the closing at the end of an interaction. Like "greeting" but for goodbyes. I've noticed that these types of formalities are much more important in hispanic/latinx culture than in US culture (although the US varies a lot, and so do hispanic/latinx cultures). An example, though, would be how when you enter a room, you have to greet every person in it. At a party or gathering, saludar can be quite an ordeal, especially if you're an introvert! But it's equally important when you leave, to take leave of every person. Not to do so can be insulting. But I digress.

The thing that was interesting and beautiful about this despedida interaction between patient and provider was that what the patient really meant with his "Le felicito, muy cientifico!" was "You were very thorough, I feel heard by you, I trust you, and think you'll do a good job of taking care of me." It was proof, to me, that it had really happened for these two: a therapeutic relationship, that bond of trust and mutual respect, had been established - in just minutes! It was a privilege to take part in that.