“Spik Spanish?”
Not a phrase I like to hear. Ninety percent
of Latin American guests speak enough English to get along, and Hispanic hotel
staff are usually available. Unfortunately, this visit occurred at a small
Super 8, and the single employee on duty was American. Under these
circumstances, I shake my head apologetically and proceed in English.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I asked.
As usual when something exotic like an
American doctor appears, there was a substantial audience. Usually someone volunteers
to interpret. Sure enough, a man stepped forward. He tapped patient’s abdomen
and then whirled his finger around his mouth.
“Is she vomiting?” I asked.
Blank looks from everyone, a bad sign. I
waited, hoping someone else would contribute, but the man merely repeated his
gestures.
I phoned the insurance agency’s 800 number.
Its employees are Hispanic and willing to interpret.
“Would you ask what’s bothering her and tell
me what she says?” I said after explaining the situation.
I handed over the phone and the lady began a
long monologue. When she finally handed back the phone, I listened to the
insurance clerk. “She is sick from eating. She give medicine from Argentina,
but it does not help. She wants a medicine to help.”
That was too little information. I tried to
be specific. “Would you ask what are her symptoms?”
Another long conversation followed by a short,
unsatisfactory translation. Eventually I learned enough to thank the clerk,
adding that I would examine the patient and then call back for more
interpreting.
At the end I gave instructions and
medication, and everyone seemed happy. I always leave with the uneasy feeling
that the interpreter has left out a great deal. Fortunately the ailments I
encounter are usually easy, and the occasional exception is obvious.