If you had asked me five years ago what I saw myself doing in 2012, I probably would have given you a variety of answers: playing cello for a symphony orchestra, teaching cello students privately, touring with a chamber group around the U.S. and the world. But I would never have imagined that I would end up working as a medical interpreter.
I was pursuing a career as a professional cellist, and on a typical fall afternoon in 2007, I was on my way to a rehearsal at a church in my neighborhood. I had just stepped inside the sacristy when I heard some commotion outside the door. An elderly Hispanic woman had just collapsed onto the steps, apparently as a result of a massive heart attack, and her husband was frantically pleading for help.
While the church staff called 911, I stood there debating what I should do. Should I just sit and wait for help to come, or should I try to do something myself? I didn’t know CPR, which is clearly what she needed; I was afraid to intervene in any way for fear that it would make things worse. At the same time, I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. I suddenly realized that they might need help communicating with the paramedics when they came. That’s it, I thought, I’ll use my Spanish to help them understand each other! So I put my cello down and went outside to wait with the husband and his ailing wife, ready to do whatever I could once the ambulance got there.