IM SO SORRY! I NEED AN INTERPRETER! AGAIN, I’M SO SORRY!

I’m not the type of person to feel strongly about standing up for my rights. Well, I take that back. I do feel strongly, but I have a hard time insisting on my rights being taking care of. For example, many years ago I met with a therapist. He flat-out told me that he refused to pay for an interpreter and that, if I wanted him to see me, I would need to pay for my own. Instead of explaining the ADA to him and insisting that he accommodate my needs, I shrunk down in my seat and just started saying stuff like, “Oh, that’s OK. I’m sure there are agencies out there who will pay for an interpreter for me. You don’t have to pay a thing. I’ll be fine.” Which, just in case you don’t know, isn’t quite accurate.  It’s the therapist’s legal obligation to provide accommodations for me (an interpreter in my case) for his services. That doctor had me so intimidated that I’ve since found it hard to request accommodations with any doctor or group at any time. Pretty sad, eh?

My kids go to a charter school. I have had a few occasions when I’ve needed an interpreter. When I’ve asked, they have always – ALWAYS – said yes and gotten me an interpreter. Yet, it’s still scary for me to ask. Why is that? It’s not really fair for me to feel scared to ask for something that is rightfully mine. I do though. I shrink down like a little kid and beg for accommodations. One day, I hope to be able to stand up for myself with confidence and explain my needs and demand my rights be met. Until that day, I’ll sill request interpreters. I’ll just be scared doing so. Kind of pathetic, but that’s the way it is.

"What Did She Say?"

We walked into Olive Garden and were seated immediately. The place was quiet since we were early for the lunch crowd.

"What would you like to drink?" was the waitress' first question. I knew what she was asking from past experience, so I went ahead and told her I wanted an iced tea and she went on her way. She returned shortly thereafter to take our food order.

"Are you guys ready to order?"

I watched as Kenny placed his order and then the waitress turned to me and started talking. Not knowing what she was saying, I went ahead and started to order. "I'll have the seafood alfredo, please."

"OK." She said more, so I turned to Kenny to interpret. When he began to sign to me, the waitress' eyes grew as big as saucers. I found out what she was saying and answered -- just as clearly as I had before. She looked baffled -- as if finding out I was deaf completely blocked her brain waves. "Wh--what did she say?" She turned to Kenny to rescue her. "I didn't understand."

Kenny signed to me to repeat myself and I did. Still the waitress stood there, unable to comprehend the words coming from my mouth.

After a minute of repeating myself, I was visibly frustrated, so Kenny finished up the order and the waitress awkwardly walked away.

That wasn't the first time a person was fine listening to me till he or she discovered I was deaf. People find out this information and all of a sudden tit's like the clarity of my voices dissipates and they can't understand me. But, despite the frustration, it's really quite absurd and I often have to laugh out loud. What is it in my voice that changes? Do I start to mumble? Do I start to slur my words like a drunken sailor? No! Nothing changes except the other party sees I'm deaf and that I need sign language to understand them. But since they don't know sign language (It's another story if they think they do), they assume we cannot communicate with each other and they have to ask my husband to talk for me. Nevermind, I've been talking all of my life and didn't lose the bulk of my hearing till I was 27!

Because this happens so often when I'm out and about, I have repeatedly asked my family if my voice has changed. Some have said that my voice has gotten a little deeper, but most people emphatically tell me no. My voice is the same as before I went totally deaf.

So why the comprehension problems? I believe it's gotta be in their heads. I mean, isn't one of the first things you learn about the "death" is that we also can't speak? Deaf mute, right? Before I sign, I look "normal." Then I use my hands and POW! I must be a mute. I must be "deaf and dumb."

Well, let me take this moment to clarify. To not be able to hear -- no matter how deaf a person is -- does not in any way automatically mean they're not able to speak! Everyone has a past and you can't know a person's abilities simply by watching and/or guessing.

Remember this blog the next time you meet a deaf person. Assume nothing! Get rid of all the stereotypes in your head. Just because a person has a disability or comes from a culture other than your own, doesn't mean they fall into a set of characteristics you learned as kid or even an adult. Keep an open mind! But I still have to laugh when people, who have been talking to me, all of a sudden can't understand me and need to ask my family, "What did she say?"

Top Five Things You Should Know Before Learning ASL

1. It's not easy as some think it is.

Some people jump in high aspirations and have no real training in using ASL in their everyday things. You must go through school. We recommend at least a bachelors degree minimum. Many people call me up and ask me to do a program for their kids or at schools and these students (children and adults) always think that if they pass my beginning Sign class, they're qualified to work as an interpreter or something using ASL.

2. ASL is not universal.

ASL comes from French Sign Language (FSL) except many assume it's from British Sign Language, since the spoken language there is often English. Truth is most countries have their own sign language, which is full and beautiful and a bona fide language there. Mexican Sign Language, French Sign Language, Italian Sign Language, all legit languages. American Sign Language is used in North America and some of Canada (and sometimes a little of Mexico). And even within America, there are accents and variations. Words such as EARLY, BIRTHDAY, PIZZA, OUTSIDE, etc., are signed differently in West Michigan than, say, Texas. It's all different.

3. Facial expressions are grammatically necessary in ASL.

If you're not making facial expressions as you sign ASL, you're not signing the true language of ASL. There are necessary aspects of signing ASL that involve sticking out your tongue. blowing, lifting or lowering your eyebrows, etc. I've seen some great signing from high school music groups who try to play their music and sign ASL at the same time, but they don't have any expressions. Signing ASL has requirements--especially facially--and signers need to know that. There's more information on my web site about mouth morphemes and other such things. Check it out at www.deafexpressions05@gmail.com.

4. English Sign Language (ESL) is not the same as American Sign Language.

There are still many people who don't know the lingo. ESL is an English sign system created to help children to learn how to sign and read at the same time. However, ESL isn't a real language and I don't recommend learning that. It can be a bad experience and get you hooked on it. It's a signing system (not language) where students learn to sign every word, every part of a word, exactly as they'd speak in English. It's confusing and it takes a lot longer to express yourself. ASL has a life all its own.

5. Certification.

You will not know enough the first year or two to test for certification. No, I don't mean the first set of classes, I mean "year." It takes about seven years to become fluent in a new language. ASL is the same. You will require lots of practice, attending classes and workshops, reading, etc. To take the test to make you a certified interpreter, you'll have a written test and a signing test (both expressive--you sign what the hearing person is saying, and receptive--you speak what the Deaf person is signing) and they're quite difficult. There is state testing and then, if you want, there's national certification (which is the best option for someone wanting to interpret).

Fake Interpreter Discovered At Nelson Mandela's Memorial

http://www.cnn.com/2013/12/11/world/africa/mandela-memorial-fake-intepreter/index.html

As some of you have surely heard the ruckus about the fake sign language interpreter who interpreted at Nelson Mandela's memorial, above is a link to read more about it. 

It's a shame that these kind of things happen. This is terribly offensive to the Deaf population and swift measures should be taken to have this man barred from interpreting again. Apparently he made up his own signs and the Deaf viewers caught onto that and were furious. I, for one, was! What happens next is anyone's guess, but I hope this man is held accountable for his offensive and just plain stupid actions!

I WANT TO BE AN INTERPRETER…TOMORROW!

As a sign language teacher, I get contacted by many people who want to learn ASL as quickly as possible. Some want to learn just for the fun of it; others, so they can cuss out the people who make them mad without it resulting in them getting their face smashed in; still others are homeschoolers looking for a foreign language credit. But one of the most popular reasons for coming to Deaf Expressions to learn to sign is so they can become a professional interpreter.

This is a very admirable reason. The world would be a much brighter place if there were more certified sign language interpreters out there. But what most potential ‘terps don’t realize is that being an interpreter takes serious study and a good amount of time. Oh, sure—I’ve had my share of interpreters who went from knowing nothing about ASL and the Deaf Culture to trying to interpret in such places as the church service at my church in a matter of weeks or a couple of months. But trust me, these were scary experiences.

There are a lot of people who also don’t realize the difference between church interpreting—where anyone can get up there and wiggle their hands around—and professional interpreting—where you actually have to take a few challenging and in-depth exams (written and performance) and become certified before you can go out and wiggle those hands around for pay. NOTE: This blog post is not to encourage any old person to get out there and start signing sermons. The whole purpose of doing so is to attract deaf people to attend the service, not to confuse them and create a large amount of reluctance and hesitance to attend.

The thing you gotta remember is that ASL is not simply “English on the hands,” and learning ASL is not about being good at charades or mime. ASL is a foreign language—a complete language just like German or French—and is by no means easy to learn.

It’s also important to realize that, even if you do learn to sign and become pretty darn good at it, signing is by no means the same as interpreting. If you don’t quite understand my point, turn on your TV set to the local news and attempt to sign what the newscasters are saying as they are saying it. Be sure to keep up. Sign as they’re speaking and don’t fall behind. Sound easy to you? Show me. I have serious doubts, unless you’ve been signing for a long time, that this task is conquerable.

So, when people ask me if they’ll be certified to sign after my eight-week class (or even my 28-week course), it can become a little tedious to explain the path a wanna-be professional interpreter must take. I mean, really: Do you think if you took one semester of Japanese in college, you could go out and become a professional translator? Of course not.

But don’t let this stop you if ‘terping is what you want to do. We want you—we need you—but expect the road to be a bit bumpy and even winding. Expect to take your time. Expect to study for years. If you do that and you push yourself through the ups and downs, expect your career to be rewarding and fun. Adventurous even. It’s worth it. Just don’t be in such a hurry.

WHAT? WHAT? WHAT DID I MISS?

When a person is born without or loses one of his five senses, the focus by many is on the loss and how, after the fact, that poor person misses or loses so much. Whether it be losing your sense of taste and not being able to enjoy chocolate anymore (yum), losing your sense of touch and not being able to decipher if something is too hot to hold at the moment (ouch), or having gas and not being aware that the people laying on the floor around you are, indeed, laying there because of you. Any way you look at it, it’s a loss to those who have all five senses working full-strength.

However, it goes without saying that losing your sight and losing your hearing may cause the most reaction from that person and those around him. The long-lived question of, “Which would you rather lose…your hearing or your sight,” almost always renders people feeling that losing your sight is the biggest problem. And I agree it would be traumatic, but so would be losing your hearing after you’ve spent decades enjoying music, having casual conversations, and such. Both would be traumatic. And, face it, there are very few people with both of these senses who wouldn’t really care if they lost one.

People think that, because I lost my hearing after I learned to speak, I am missing so much out of life. And I agree that it takes some working on to not go totally bananas. Before deafness I was a professional and amateur actress doing musical theatre. Not exactly something I can pursue anymore – especially living in the mid-west, in a spot where there aren’t many theatres around.

Movies aren’t as wonderful of an experience, but, now being deaf for a long time, I enjoy captioned movies just as much as I remember enjoying movies when I could hear. Finding theatres that offer captions for first-run movies is a bummer though, so I admit it grates on my nerves.

Plays and musicals are definitely not as exciting as I knew them to be. Watching an interpreter (when there’s one provided) and watching the action on the stage at the same time can be difficult (though there are theatres that directly address this situation by having the signers actually on the stage acting with the hearing actors). I miss theatre. I do. I also miss being able to sing (well). I used to have a great voice. I can say that now, because I no longer can control my voice and when I sing, dying dolphins would sound lovelier. I’ve told my kids over and over how well I used to sing, but, after hearing me as they’ve known me, I think they need more proof. I will say, though, that I took one of my kids to see an UNinterpreted production of “To Kill A Mockingbird,” last year and believe I enjoyed it every bit as much as my daughter did.

Then there’s small talk. Something I can no longer participate in with hearing people…at least not casually. I never liked small talk before, but have found that it does feel a LOT more isolating when you can’t joke around with people as easily. I still have a lot of sarcasm in my conversations, but many people don’t realize I’m just being a silly smart-mouth and just think I’m basically a witch.

But last night changed things for me. Made me see something more about my life.

One of my kids was going to be playing two different instruments in the school band concert. Because there’s no choir at this school (GASP!), it was a totally musical night—not something that really interests me anymore. And, no, if you’re wondering: feeling the musical vibrations in my butt does NOT excite me. After knowing and then losing music, vibrations and lights just don’t compare to what I know those hearies were hearing.

Anyway, she was supposed to play the xylophone in one song. The first time for her. I wasn’t thinking much of it. I mean, it’s the xylophone. I remember playing “Mary Had A Little Lamb” on that thing as a kid. Ooooo. (That was a sarcastic ooooo, if you missed it).

But when it came time for her to do the song with the rest of the band, I was flabbergasted! Amazed! Tickled pink! Stunned! I don’t know much about the song, but she was the star. She was banging on the instruments, going back and forth between two of them. Her sticks were flying and all eyes were on her. This was no, “Mary.” This was like Flight-of-the-Bumblebees-fast. And she ROCKED IT. I didn’t need to hear to know that.

After the concert, people she or we didn’t even know were running up to her and saying how COOL she was and I just stood there and glowed. That’s my daughter, I would’ve said if anyone had actually talked to me. She was good. I got to see it. And, even with the absence of sound I knew, I had witnessed something truly great. Do I feel like I missed out, because I’m Deaf? Not. One. Bit.

Yes, losing a sense is very traumatic if compared to never having the sense from the start. I guess I’ve been deaf looooong enough to be OK with it, though I know many who aren’t. One of these days everything is going to be accessible to people with a variety of  situations—including deaf people. I don’t know if I’ll still be alive when that finally happens, but I do know that I’m not going to sit around and be sad about it and waste my life concentrating on what’s been “taken” from me. I mean, really! If I were doing that, I would have missed my rock-star-daughter’s solo. And that would have been a travesty.

UH-HUH. OH-I-SEE. SURE.

There is a certain give and take in the Deaf community regarding how the deaf work with the interpreters. One of the ways that a Deaf signer can acknowledge that he or she understands what was just said is the old-fashioned head nod.  This doesn’t just take place with interpreters, but whenever conversing in sign. It’s kind of like the equivalent of  the “Uh-huh,” “Sure,” and “Oh,” used in verbal conversations.

When I’m out chatting with a fellow deafie, that comes natural to me. But it’s never really come natural to me with interpreters. Well, I guess it depends on what’s being talked about.

Just as some hearing people have a hard time keeping their eyes open in a long church service, I often have a difficult time nodding incessantly during the sermon. Yes, I understand. Yes, I understand. Yes, I understand. AAAAHHHH!!!!! It drives me crazy!

Yesterday, I was at an appointment for my daughter. It was her, my hubby, and me, and then there was an interpreter. I’ve worked several times with this particular interpreter, so she kind of knows that I tend to just sit there sometimes (usually when my brain is fried from too much external stimuli). However, the professional we were with had never used an interpreter before. At least I’m assuming.

Not only did she stop quite often to explain to the interpreter things she didn’t need to know, but, after virtually every one of her sentences she would stop and look at the interpreter. Then, when the ‘terp was done signing, the pro would turn and stare at me. She was looking for…you guessed it…a head nod.

So basically, yesterday I was forced to nod my head more than I usually do. I’m very sore. I think I need a chiropractor. I don’t know which was more painful, nodding my head every 45 seconds or pretending I was listening when I really wanted to take a nap. (Some of us deaf folk are pretty darn good at sleeping with our eyes open.)

TELL ME YOUR SECRETS -- A Deaf Person's Lack of Privacy

The Deaf Community is a tight-knit group in which deaf and hearing alike can get together and socialize. The hearies in this group consist of many different people, not the least of which are the interpreters in any given area. 

As a member of the Deaf Community, I often find myself friends with the very people who provide interpretation for my appointments, entertainment, education, etc. That, in and of itself, is great! Any person I can get to tolerate me enough to have a conversation, is more than welcome to come my way! And there are some awesome interpreters around here. Oh, don’t get me wrong; there are a few doozies….

I once went to see a doctor and the interpreter couldn’t understand my signing or keep up with the doctor’s speaking. The doc and me ended up writing back and forth while the ‘terp sat there and watched/read. Wow! And she got paid for that?? But that’s another blog entry all together….

Anyway, it seems to me a little unfair and awkward that interpreters in my area know so much about my private life via ‘terping for my appointments. And, believe me, my private life is frightening at times. Heck, I’m frightening at times.

But there’s one particular aspect of my life that I don’t really want to share. But, because this is a blog of my experiences, I’m just going to open myself up here to say that I am disabled because of a severe mental illness. Yes, I’m stone deaf, too, but that doesn’t strike me as a disability when compared to what I have to go through because of a brain disorder.

So, this morning, I wasn’t doing very well. OK. I was doing terribly! I had an emergency appointment to see my psychiatrist and there was, of course, an interpreter scheduled. I definitely have a first choice in interpreters, but sometimes that person isn’t available and, today, that was the case.

One of the effects of my condition is that it becomes difficult for me to show expression in my face. My voice becomes monotone and quiet (so I’m told), too. It’s a total 180 from what people usually see in me. Usually I’m full of zest and friendly and chatty. I usually take care of my appearance, wear clean clothes, and put on make up when I have an appointment. But, because I’m relapsing, I did none of that today—well, this week, in fact.

I shuffled (literally) into the office lobby, registered, and sat down.  My interpreter arrived about two minutes after I did and I could tell she was in a good mood and ready to talk about our latest adventures. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even look at her. I just sat there, husband beside me, staring into space. Barbie (the ‘terp) was a little put back. However, I will say she was totally professional and kind about the situation.

When it came time for me to talk with my doctor for a medicine change, I had to relay information about my condition and recent experiences to him. This is something very personal and that holds a great amount of stigma. I haven’t shared my disorder with anyone except my immediate family (husband and children). And I certainly didn’t want someone whom I love hanging out with at Deaf events, finding out how sick I am by listening to me ramble on to my doctor.

It just doesn’t seem right for an interpreter to know everything personal about me, because they’ve been at the appointments; and yet I only know what they’ve felt comfortable opening up and telling me about them. Why do they get to know it all?

I guess it’s a dilemma that will go on forever. We deafies need interpreters and, in order to understand, someone has to sit in and listen to our private thoughts and problems. Professionally, I have yet to meet an interpreter who has taken that knowledge and done something disrespectful (that I know of). Actually, that’s not true. But I’ll save that for another post, too.

However, interpreters are only human. You sit in and listen to someone talk psychotically and it’s going to affect you. You’re going to have feelings about what you’re hearing. I’m not saying everyone will harbor those feelings, but everyone will have some. ‘Terps included.

So, here I sit in my living room. After spilling my beans, my life, and my secrets, I sit here naked (metaphorically—the other option is just plain old creepy), knowing that Barbie knows my soul is warped. I’m not afraid she’ll go off and tell people. I know she won’t. But I hate the fact that she knows now and there weren’t a lot of options to stop her (or someone who was called to interpret) from knowing.

Perhaps video interpreting will become popular and I’ll have ‘terps from around the country—not people down the street that have a potluck on Memorial Day. But until then, I need to figure out how to accept that my secrets won’t always be my secrets. If I get an STD (I won’t—don’t worry), there’s going to be at least one person out there in the Deaf Community who knows, because they interpreted the appointment. And if I’m crazy, there’s going to be someone out there who knows that, too.  Check.

My Interpreter From Hell

It was a regular appointment. Well, regular to me. I'd been seeing this doctor on a regular basis since 2001 and he'd always been very good at making sure there was an interpreter present. Or maybe I should say that his nurse had been good about that.

Anyway, I went into the appointment without knowing who would be interpreting. This happens often in the Deaf world. As I entered the room, I saw an older woman sitting in a chair and she smiled and signed, "I'm Candy." (a pseudonym) I responded and we sat and waited for the doctor to arrive.

As we sat, we started chatting and I noticed that she looked quite confused when I tried to interact with her. I asked if she was OK and she nodded yes, so I didn't really worry about it.

When the doctor finally came in with his nurse, they both proceeded to ask me questions and my interpreter stumbled. She continuously asked them to repeat or slow down. And when I say "continuously," I don't mean five times. I mean almost every sentence! What's worse is when I signed back to them, she couldn't understand me. I watched her lips and, from what I could tell, they were not flapping in the right direction, if you know what I mean. I got so bad that, finally, we had to resort to actually writing back and forth with the interpreter just sitting there! I was so upset! I couldn't believe that this woman not only was certified, but that she, a QA 1, was sent to this kind of appointment to begin with!

Oh, my gosh! It was truly hell. And as we closed the appointment, I was quick to write the nurse to make sure to tell the interpreting agency to never schedule that woman to interpret for me again! Awful! Awful, awful, awful! I'm still traumatized by this and may never heal. I am victim of bad interpreting. And anyone who knows anything about the Deaf community, knows that this could very well end in years and years of laying on my back on a couch, talking about my childhood to a man who sits in a chair, smoking a pipe. My life has now been drastically changed and I will forever live in it's doom. Melodramatic? Maybe. But doesn't it make the story that much more interesting?