Crossing Language Barriers

I was dragging myself to the dreaded ER and had just got settled in when Terry, one of the RNs, asked for my help. Great. One minute into my shift and I am about to be slammed by work.

"Marunong ka mag-Spanish, Rein? (Do you know how to speak Spanish, Rein?)". I said I'll try my best to effectively utilize my pathetic preschool level Spanish skills. So I went in to room 10 and found a Hispanic lady, whom I'll call Maria (not her real name, of course), in her twenties, complaining of pain and full of evident frustration towards the language barrier ( espanol solamente). Terry was giving discharge instructions thinking that Maria was just in pain and the prescription for extra strength ibuprofen would solve her problem. Maria, upon seeing the guy in green scrubs whom she probably assumed to be another physician (ME- but I am no physician...not yet.), expressed an unexplainable relief in her eyes. Finally. Some Doc who can at least contextually understand what she was trying to say. Some doc who can understand what's going on. Someone who can understand her.

I found out that she was not really concerned with the pain at that point-it's been there, and it's not gonna go away- what she needed was gallstone removal surgery (as recommended by her very recent visit to a surgeon), and she can't have it. Why? She has no insurance.

An undocumented resident in this state would have no access to healthcare insurance at all, except for emergency medi-cal. This is an insurance type where one can only use for emergency room visits. Her case was elective. Unless her surgeon decides to admit her for well-warranted reasons that are unbeknownst to my knowledge.

Since my spanish skills were borderline retarded, I had to verify the accuracy of the conversation with someone who actually knew Spanish. Thank God the admitting rep was there. I took the chance and ruthlessly commandeered the clerk into doing something that she is not getting paid for.

I got the whole conversation wrong. Just kidding. It was all accurate. I then told Terry about it and she was able to arrange something with the attending ER doc (the real one, not the idiot writing this). The plan was executed then- Maria was sent home, she called the surgeon, the surgeon called back the ER and gave us admission orders for her. A few hours later, Maria came back and we got her all ready for her room.

As I am writing this, Maria is recovering right now from her operation.

Had the conversation never happened, she would still be suffering from excruciating back pain, and she would not be able to take care of her household, including her 5-year-old kid with autism.

Whew.