Today is Match Day, the day when thousands of graduating medical students all over the United States find out whether or not they were accepted into residency training programs of their choice, in cities of their choice. For all it’s a day preceded by anticipation, angst, excitement. For most it’s a day of celebration and relief, for some it’s a day of disappointment. Regardless of the outcome, it is a day that has major life implications for everyone involved.
For years I have seen Match Day through the eyes of a sign language interpreter. "My" first Match Day was in 2002, when the first deaf student I was interpreting for found out where she would spend the next four years of her life. While I was excited about the day, I was not too worried, as there was also a first year medical student who I was also interpreting for, and for whom I would continue to interpret as he matriculated the remaining three-plus years of medical school.
In 2005, I faced "my" next Match. This one was more exhilarating and nerve-wracking. The student who I had worked with for nearly all of his medical education was about to find out where he would go for residency. The stakes were higher for me on this particular Match Day: I was no longer single, as I was when I stared interpreting at the school of medicine; also, I wanted to go on and interpret for this same student during his residency. The student and I had discussed it at length, and we agreed that I would be his residency interpreter. My partner was a bit put-off, considering it would affect his life as well. If the student matched locally, not too much would change. But he was hoping to match at a program half-way across the country. I was facing a dilemma myself: choose my personal life or my professional life? Either way, there would be repercussions.
It turned out that the student matched far, far away; a few months later, I was fortunate enough to be able to moved and follow him and continue to develop our professional relationship, and as a result my own career. Thankfully my partner supported my professional goals, and, though we’ve had some rocky roads along the way, we’ve made it work. Since I started working with deaf medical students nearly a decade ago, I have found myself in positions that I never would have imagined, with a budding reputation of my own that I didn’t foresee. But that’s another story, and one that cannot be told without being potentially seen as arrogant, an adjective I am working hard to be rid of.
Today’s Match was interesting. There is a 4th year student whose wife is deaf. I know her fairly well; I know her interpreter very well, as she and I often work together in various other situations outside of our day-to-day interpreting jobs. She and I often discuss how similar our jobs are (we are both designated interpreters, or DIs: we both pretty much work primarily and nearly exclusively with a deaf professional. Mine is a doctor, hers is a psychologist). We both have done our DI jobs for years (me, just short of a decade, her just over). While there are distinct differences in our roles as a DI, there are vast similarities in what we do. Today’s Match wouldn’t affect me, but would affect her. Depending on where her deaf consumer’s husband matched, her long-standing relationship may or may not continue. As it turned out, the Match was to a program on the other side of the country. Unfortunately, my interpreter friend doesn’t have the same freedom to move as I did so many years ago; this quite possibly will signal the end of her professional relationship with her consumer.
For many people this seems odd: why would an interpreter care if they weren’t working with a particular deaf person any more. Let me spin it this way: Can you imagine spending all day, every day, with someone you work with? Can you imagine knowing someone so well that communication is often reduced to an eyebrow raise, a glance, a quick flick of the nose? That is pretty much what it’s like. I know that my consumer and I have spent more time with each other than either one of us has spent with our partners; I am sure the same holds true for my friend and her consumer. To be looking at potentially the end of such a long-standing relationship is heart-wrenching. While it is not romantic, it is intimate. Knowing each other inside and out it seems; knowing each other as professionals, as people, as friends; being a part of their life in ways that are incredibly and frustratingly foreign to those outside of (and even in) our field. What other people do not read in a person’s body language, for us it speaks volumes. We can communicate without talking (or, in our cases, signing). The loss of this relationship can only be likened to a divorce or a break-up, though not with all of the assumed animosity that those sorts of relationships bring.
It is interesting because this loss is so incredibly complex. Not only is the interpreter losing a colleague, friend, and killer job, the deaf person is losing a colleague, friend, and highly qualified interpreter, the likes of which will be incredibly difficult to replace. Like any field, the professionals in it are many, however the specialists that can fit a particular niche are nearly non-existant. The knowledge base, the language, the jargon, all that is shared on a DP/DI (deaf professional/designated interpreter) team is incredibly specialized and unique. And the trust that has been developed is probably going to be the most difficult to replace. It is not something that can be taught, but must develop over an extended period of time.
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. (Thank you, Dr. Kubler-Ross.) My colleague is deep in the throes of this cycle right now. Only, it is vicarious. It is in response to a situation that is not "hers" and yet has a direct impact on her. It’s a horrible place to be, one that many will not understand.
I am choosing to think that this is March, residency doesn’t start until July. There is time. Time to process, think outside the box for potential solutions. I am choosing to think that, despite this hiccup, something will come out of it that will benefit all involved. The Match is not an easy day for spectators; it’s hard on those who are involved in it; and it sucks when the fall-out is vicarious.
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