Friday, June 10, 2016

Lost in Translation

My girlfriend of more than two years, Anna, is Russian, and though she speaks English with nearly native precision, it is still her second language. 

This morning over breakfast, she made an astute observation.  To paraphrase our conversation, beginning with her, “When we began dating, speaking English was outside of my emotions - I could say the words and say what I was feeling, but I couldn’t feel the words as I was saying them.  I’m past that now, but it took a long time for me to really feel the words I was saying to you as we spoke.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Well, say I love you in Russian.” (I’m currently at the early stages of learning the language).

“Я тебе люблю.”

“Do you see what I mean, it’s all in your head.  You can’t feel the meaning behind the words.”

The example struck a chord in me - though she has a strong  understanding of the grammatical rules and the vocabulary, when we began dating, communicating her thoughts was still an intellectual exercise - a language game.

When I spoke “Я тебе люблю,” I was translating my English thoughts to Russian, not actually using Russian to express myself.

The line destruction between translation to a language and expression in a language may seems insignificant at first, yet Anna pointed out that it is crossing this line that holds the totality of honest communication.  When words are merely translated without being felt, a hollowness exists in the utterances, a non-verbalized aspect of the communication that is missing.

This is related to why I began this blog.  In brain injury, and I believe this is true with all traumatic incidents, it is easy to become lost in the academics of the experience - the intimate details and personal particularities are translated to numbers and likely symptoms or outcomes.  The interpersonal honesty is lost as loved ones and professionals attempt to understand the incident in a larger context.  The experience is translated to a language that can be better understood by caregivers and physicians, but the fullness of the experience may be lost.

Do not read this as a criticism of the process - this is necessary for caregivers to be able to work in a productive manner - but I also believe insights come from the personal stories of survivors.  Sharing an experience helps to dismantle the “language barrier" that is erected when the story is translated to the necessary medical terminology.  Recovery from trauma is never easy to fully understand, and though generalities are necessary to form a efficient and effective treatment plan, the intricacies of an experience should not be forgotten by the survivor or the caregivers.


The stories and thoughts presented in the articles on this blog are personal, but my hope is they spark your memories.  Please share your stories as a survivor or a caregiver to recognize the individuality of an experience.

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