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We Are Failing At Accessibility in The OR
Last week I mentioned the “spinal tap” that I had on Thursday, and how many I’ve had this past year. What I didn’t fully divulge- though I will be writing a tempered Instagram post about it in the future- is what happened in terms of accessibility.
The short version of the story is that interpreter who showed up (though enormously kind and warm as a person) was not capable of providing fast language access in the OR. I won’t go too into details, but basically, it’s as if someone who knew Language 101 came to interpret for a fast, important, sterile procedure, in which the patient obviously wants and needs and deserves full understanding of what’s going on, quickly and properly. It is horrifying to think that the Deaf population continues to have interpreters who aren’t versed enough in the language to make things equal. Scary, dangerous, tiring.
Physicians obviously assume I am getting everything that they’re saying, and there is very little “check in” with the patient along the way. It’s up to the patient, of course, to advocate for themselves, but this is tough for some who might not have a support system around, might be feeling extremely poorly, or might not even realize that what’s being signed is not the depth of what’s being said (I had the advantage of a hearing husband with me, and a constant master study in body language on my side). Not everyone has these advantages or time.
But that is not why I’m writing this post. What I’m really writing about is: How can we design healthcare so that it factors in as many populations as possible?
Once in the OR, I had to lay with my face down against the mattress for large portions (so I could not see the new VRI interpreter I requested, on a small screen to the side), unable to of course hear, either visually or physically. I had to hold perfectly still and could not move my hands. Now, as a speaking Deaf woman, I can use my voice if I need help… but what if I wasn’t? What about the Deaf populace who literally would feel strapped to a gurney, unable to communicate or see communication in the room, just waiting without warning for a needle to enter their back.
Can you imagine that? Put yourself in that situation and think about that for a second… Wouldn’t you wish we could slow the system down for two seconds, and accommodate someone’s communication and safety needs to befit more than just a hearing (or sighted, etc) environment?
I don’t have any fixes or lessons or closing arguments, honestly. I just wanted to ask you all to put yourselves in those shoes for the day, and then remark on how that would feel, or if you feel we should think about these things more often. Thoughts? Feelings? I so appreciate this empathy exercise!
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