Languages

Today the complexity, diversity, and yet ever present spirit link of the flaming tongues flowed throughout St. Anthony North Hospital. Languages of many nations and perspectives were spoken. And in the midst of the potential confusion, clarity reigned and provided calm and serenity.

In the hospital we have blue interpreter phones that look like something the Smurfs would use with great hilarity. I say that thinking of the good ol’ days as kids when we could connect two cups with a string and send our messages to each other standing no more than four feet away. They seem and look strange, but these unique devices are critical for good communication, good care. They have two handsets, but most importantly, they provide the connection to a vast interpreter service that can translate over 230 languages.  By connecting to an interpreter, a care giver can speak to the patient without losing the integrity of the message or eliminating the dignity of the patient. So when I visited Mr. Chin, I had no choice but to call for help if I wanted to offer any help. Through trial and error of three separate languages, Mr. Chin found a translator who could speak Cantonese. By that point, I was so impressed by the way he could get his message across in several languages that I had almost lost my sense of speech. Still we chatted for a bit, discussing his hospital visit, his improving health, the visitors he could count on, and the meditation practices of his Buddhist tradition that helped him even during his hospitalization. Without good open ended questions the “Yah. Yah,” I heard him say as he sat next to be on the bed was simply translated, “Yes. Yes.” I laughed at my own simplicity. Of course. Those responses  seemed universal as was his smile as I hung up. The effort took some patience on his part for sure, but I knew without a doubt he held gratitude for breaking the language barrier for a simple visit.

As a professional who spends most of her time with patients more than staff and especially doctors, the language we hear is often filtered through a patient’s perspective. It’s not uncommon to hear phrases like, “The doctor didn't listen. He just wanted to know about this one thing and left. He didn't ask about my real pain. He doesn't get it.” Those are real sentiments, a language of grief and frustration.  We heard from the doctor’s perspective today when Dr. M visited CPE class. He relayed that the message he and his colleagues share might not be what the patient wants to hear. Their goals in the hospital focus around the language of acute pain and preventing death.  A patient’s language revolves around the pain and change to daily life so the message they might hear is one of dismissal versus cure.  As a chaplain we can become accustom to one language of hope and neglect and miss the opportunity/need to hear another viable language, spoken not out of deception but for a different purpose. Perhaps we are the bridge or translator of these language barriers.

Treading into foreign, yet more familiar waters than Cantonese, I ventured into Ele’s room with as much Spanish vocabulary as I could remember. I added capellán (chaplain) and orar (pray) just in case. Despite my butchered statements, the patient’s face shone as she could share that she was mejor (better). I asked if she had a church to which she sadly declined only to think up all the people in her life who did. From Catholic to Seventh Day Adventist to Pentecostal, she and her children named friends and family of these churches. “They’re all for Jesus,” her son said. The languages of the churches spoke the same language for her. Finally, we prayed, I in English, and they silently in Spanish. “Dios sabe,” we agreed. Indeed, God does know the language of our hearts, the prayers of his people beyond the complexity and diversity. To this we gratefully say, “Amen, Yah, Yah. Yes, Yes.”