Popo's Testimony

Children as medical interpreters – devastating on every level. Pouelinna Po vividly explains how painful and difficult it is to be put in an adult role in a medical setting.

Popo’s Testimony

Language Access and Affordable Care Act Town Hall June 7, 2013

Organized by Interpreting for California (http://www.interpretingforcalifornia.org/)

Hi, my name is Pouelinna Po, I’m 17 years old and I live in Long Beach. I’m a youth organizer at Khmer Girls in Action (www.kgalb.org).

By the time I was 7 or 8, I was already translating for my Dad

My story is about my Dad, Vuthy Po. He was a refugee from Cambodia. He could barely speak or understand English. By the time I was about seven or eight I was already translating for my Dad. I would always be the one to go with him when he went to the doctors, picked up medicine, or bought food. I never questioned why I had to do this, but after a while I realized that the places he went never understood him, and would just look at him confused when he spoke. Because a lot of the places he would go never had people who understood or spoke Khmer, I would have to go up to workers and translate for them what my Dad’s needs were or any questions he had.  I knew that my Dad depended on me to translate to get anything done, but as I grew up and my Dad’s health got worse this became more and more difficult to do.

These health conditions could have been managed

My Dad struggled with multiple health problems. He was diagnosed with diabetes, and also suffered from lung problems that made it hard for him to breath. Even though these health conditions could have been managed, he was never able to get the health care he needed. My Dad didn’t have a lot of money for medicine and medical bills so he avoided going to the doctor and could only afford cheap medicines as opposed to the ones he needed.

My Dad didn’t have health insurance, and I was scared that if he didn’t get health care he might die from his sickness, especially when I saw him get worse and worse every day.

It was hard to … carry the responsibility of caretaking

Out of my entire family, my Dad only wanted me to know that he was sick. At first I felt kind of special that he only wanted me to know, but as I watched him get sicker and sicker it was hard to keep this secret from my family, and carry the responsibility of caretaking for him. My Dad always took care of me, and now he depended on me to take care of him.

I didn’t want to say anything wrong

I would have to call him to remind him to take whatever cheap medicines he thought would help him, and when his doctor appointments were. I had to go to the doctors with my Dad to translate for him. But I was not fluent in talking or understanding Khmer so it was hard for me because I didn’t want to say anything wrong, or some things I couldn’t even translate. When the doctors would talk to me, I couldn’t event understand what they were saying or how to translate it to my Dad. I knew how important it was to be at the doctor’s appointment, but I dreaded going because every time I thought I was going to say something wrong or make a mistake that would negatively affect my Dad’s health.

I felt like I had so much pressure on me and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I would cry in my room so my family didn’t see me, and would write about what I was feeling. Most days I couldn’t sleep and would lie awake thinking about my Dad and his health. It was tough to try to focus on school and I started to failing my classes. Sometimes my Dad would call me during class and tell me that he was dizzy or wasn’t feeling good, and I felt so terrible that I couldn’t be there to help him. I started to miss school, stopped doing my homework, and was always exhausted.

It was hurtful to see him … I became depressed

It is not easy to watch your own father get sick, and no longer be able to take care of himself. It was hurtful to see him go through so much pain and misery, and I became depressed. Even though I didn’t want to think about the possibility of losing my Dad, the thoughts were constantly running through my head. And I couldn’t turn to, or lean on my family for support because they had no idea what was happening. 

On March 27, 2011, around 8:30 pm, I got a phone call from my step sister saying my Dad was rushed to Memorial Hospital. As soon as I heard that I felt like my world was tumbling down. I couldn’t think about anything else but to get there and see what was going on. I slept at the hospital for the first night he was there, and looking at him suffer was so horrifying and hurtful.  He was on life support, he couldn’t breadth on his own, open his eyes and his fingers didn’t even move.

A few days after being in the hospital the doctor called the whole family into a meeting and told us what they discovered. Her first words were “I am sorry to say…” As soon as I heard these first words I broke down and cried. They pronounced my Dad brain dead on March 30, 2011. After hearing that there was nothing the doctors or I could do anymore, they pulled the plug.

This tragedy has impacted me and my family in so many ways. My family hasn’t been the same, and I haven’t been the same.  Nothing matters quite as much anymore. We no longer have someone to call Dad.

I never want another youth to go through what I went through

Losing my Dad, has been a devastating experience and I can’t help but blame myself.  I wonder if I knew Khmer better or if I spoke up to get help, that my Dad would still be alive.

But, I know the reality is that it’s not my fault.

Me and my Dad should have had access to translation.

In my community I know that there are a lot of people who need translation, and that many times youth have to do it. I never want another youth to go through what I went through or have to feel what I’ve felt.