Amanda Casson-Webb: I had to interpret for my deaf mother while she was in hospital

Posted on November 27, 2018 by



I’ve (fortunately) only been in an ambulance once – thirty seven years ago, when I had to interpret for my father as he was rushed to hospital and doctors needed to establish what was wrong.

He tragically died later that year but my memories of being a seven year old girl trying to be brave so that I could help medics make my Dad better are some of the clearest I have of my childhood.

My memories and tales of life as a hearing Child of Deaf Adults (CODA) are not unique; they’re shared by CODAs across the world and for many, like me, are the reason why I became a qualified interpreter.

I’ve often said that had we had access to interpreters back in 1981, doctors might have been able to make an earlier diagnosis of the brain tumour that took my father’s life.

Access to professional interpreters and an increase in mainstream Deaf Awareness (service providers are now more “aware” than ever) have resulted in better health access and outcomes for Deaf people. Right?

Fast-forward to 2018. And imagine my utter dismay to discover that, despite a long interpreting career and in recent years a more focussed effort to work with service providers to increase Deaf access, as a CODA (Child of Deaf Adults) I’m still an essential part of the healthcare system.

A few weeks ago my Mum was admitted into hospital.  On arrival at the Emergency Department one of the first things I said was, “This is my Mum. She’s a Deaf BSL user and you will need to arrange for an interpreter” (like many, our local hospital has a “contract” as well as a staff Deaf Awareness Training programme).

As my Mum moved through the hospital process and the doctors tried to establish what was wrong I repeated that sentence to everyone we dealt with.

Twelve frustrating hours later and with no success in getting anyone to book an interpreter, day one ended with Mum being admitted and us being told that because it was a Friday evening, no-one would be able to do anything (about sourcing an interpreter) until after the weekend.

Mum ended up staying in hospital for twelve days. In that time she became seriously ill, eventually requiring emergency surgery.

In that twelve days we received just under two hours of professional interpreting support. The rest of the communication support was provided by me, her “BSL literate daughter” (as described in the discharge notes) and a family friend (also an interpreter).

The hospital’s contract did not allow for interpreters to be provided out of hours. Nor did it allow for the two interpreters that we did see to stay longer than the time (thirty minutes for the first interpreter and an hour for the second) they were each booked for by the agencies providing the contract; this, despite the fact that the agencies were paid the standard three hour minimum fee.

It also didn’t allow for video interpreting (“Wi-Fi issues”); this, in spite of the fact that I interpreted one early morning consultation from home, via FaceTime.

I’m a professional interpreter. I know my boundaries and ethics; and I’m very aware of the NHS Accessible Information Standard.  As part of my day job I spend a lot of time working to improve mainstream Deaf awareness and access.

But in that hospital with a sick Mum I was a CODA, just like my seven year old self; responsible for communication and with no boundaries, my sole focus being my Mum’s access and well-being.

There were times during Mum’s stay that I interpreted whilst wiping away tears. I even found myself apologising for being upset whilst interpreting for the doctors speaking to us as a family.

Seeing my dilemma and not being well enough to challenge it herself was hard on my Mum, a fiercely independent and proud woman. All very distressing – and unnecessarily so.

The dilemma was clear – what took priority? Years of professional training, practice and an awareness of boundaries – or the instinctive need of a daughter wanting to make sure her Mum received proper care?

I opted for the latter – and the system took advantage. On day one I worked for twelve hours without a break; not wanting to leave Mums side for fear that in my absence someone needed to run another test or ask more questions.  For the entire twelve days I was on call 24/7.   All of this professional access provided without fee.

I wouldn’t ever expect to be paid for what I did with my Mum. The innate CODA part of me says that this is what any good daughter should and would do; and I know  that if needed, I’d do it again.  But. When the hospital team wanted to assess and treat my Mum I wasn’t allowed to be a daughter – I was clearly an essential means of communication; who just so happened to be the next of kin.

I spent hours asking for interpreters during Mum’s stay in hospital and have subsequently logged a very long and detailed complaint. She’s now home and, thanks to a team of excellent doctors and nurses, is going to be just fine. But. If she didn’t have me, a professional interpreter for a daughter, things could have been quite different.

I know that some hospitals and health trusts are excellent, with many doing all they can to ensure fair and equal access. However, I also know that our experience is not unique.

How is it that, after decades of campaigns, education and the lobbying of mainstream society to be more aware that, in 2018 my right to be a daughter is so blatantly unchanged from 1981 – and that for many Deaf people, access to hospitals and healthcare professionals is only available if they have a hearing child/ relative/ partner/ friend to interpret for them?

Amanda Casson-Webb has been a registered qualified BSL/English Interpreter since 2001 and is a member of the of the executive team at the Royal Association for Deaf people (RAD). All views expressed in this article are personal. 


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