Tui Bevin
My father lost his English three times. Once, he reverted to his mother language when he was very ill in intensive care while visiting Germany, but his English returned as he recovered. However he lost it twice more before he died in Dunedin Hospital ten years later.
Dad grew up in Denmark and lived in New Zealand for his last fifty years. His enjoyment of words, languages and bilingual jokes is an important part of how I remember him. It’s not surprising therefore, that the issue of language emerged when I wrote a series of poems about my parents.
Mother Language Medicine
Your father is very, very ill,
we cannot tell how it will go,
der Intensivstation Dokter says.
Does he speak German, English?
He responds to nothing.
Every two hours when they turn Dad
we swap sides so Mum faces him.
She holds his hand in hers.
We sit, swap sides, wait.
She holds his hand in hers. Sit closer.
We speak in Danish. When you speak,
get up close to his ear, speak loudly.
At last she says, Han trykkede min hand!
– He squeezed my hand!
Sit closer, I say. When you speak,
go up close to his ear, speak loudly.
He squeezes her hand again.
Another time, Hans øjne er åbne!
His eyes are open … blankness …
is there any recognition?
They close again. We sit and wait
and swap sides every two hours.
Sit closer, I say, When you speak,
get up close to his ear, speak loudly.
He opens his eyes, they fix on Mum
then me, then close. Dare we hope?
We sit, swap sides, wait.
Later his lips move slightly.
I think he’s trying to say something,
I say. Get up close to his mouth.
Hvor er jeg? – Where am I?
På hospitalet i tyskland.
– In hospital in Germany.
His eyes close, we sit, swap sides, wait,
He opens his eyes, whispers
Hvor er jeg? … Hvorfor? – Why?
His eyes close, we sit, swap sides, wait.
And again the same questions,
same answers, over days other questions:
Hvad, hvorfor, hvordan, hvem, hvornår?
What, why, how, who, when?
Hvad, hvorfor, hvordan, hvem, hvornår?
Flying First Class
Dad flew up front just once
but it left him no memories.
He came home first class
with Steve, an I.C.U. doctor
and a pile of resus equipment
courtesy of insurance.
Flying at high altitude that time
suppressed Dad’s English.
Steve understood no Danish.
Mum and I did, but
we were down the back,
banished from up front.
A Matter of Language
A benign tumour
the size of a lemon
in the linings of Dad’s brain
makes him forget
what a marshmallow is
why we use parking tickets
how to recognize appetite
and all the English he’s lived in
for the last fifty years.
Steroids restore the English
only for it to disappear
when they stop.
He dies in Danish.
After Dad died my daughter said to me, “I hope your English doesn’t disappear when you’re sick or dying as I wouldn’t be able to talk to you. I don’t know any Danish.” I don’t expect that to happen. Although Danish was my mother tongue, I spent my first few years in Naenae, near Wellington in New Zealand. I have never lived in Denmark and have spent the vast majority of my life in English.
Issues of language in health care look likely to become more common. Such issues include language suppression in a patient because of illness, and also the inability of healthcare staff or family members to understand a particular language. New Zealand has become ‘linguistically superdiverse’ over the past twenty-five years, with steadily increasing numbers of multilingual speakers. These days, sixty languages are spoken here. Apparently a quarter of our population, or just over million New Zealanders, speak more than one language. What riches, but also what challenges.
Would Dad have survived if Mum and I hadn’t rushed to Germany and infiltrated his unconsciousness with our voices in his mother language? We’ll never know, but I’m glad we didn’t take the risk.
Tui Bevin has worked as a registered nurse, breastfeeding counselor and health researcher. She has a BSc in psychology and an MPH. She lives in Dunedin and retired in 2016 to spend more time with her two grandchildren who live close by, and to write memoir and poetry.
Read My perfect volunteer job: saving lives by Tui Bevin.
Lovely to see these here Tui.
What a moving & fascinating story!
A memory of your parents you may not share Tui – many years ago my husband, myself and our children were driving to Pounawea in the Caitlin’s. We came across an older couple on the road whose car had stopped working. Having a small amount of mechanical knowledge I volunteered to look under the bonnet. Unfortunately my confidence was misplaced – the engine was far too modern for my poor diagnostic skills. So my husband drove the man back to Owaka while I stayed with his wife. We exchanged names and I recognised your father’s. I had read an article about Kaj Westerskov in the ODT a few days previously. If I remember rightly it was talking about him as a bird watcher, and as the dotterels were at that time massing on the nearby beach after a migration from their winter feeding grounds, I assumed that that was the reason for your parents’ visit. Being young and shy, my husband and I drove away immediately he returned with your father and a mechanic.
Thank you, Lesley, for sharing this story that I didn’t know. My parents loved getting around to see our flora, fauna and scenery so I can imagine them going on a day trip to the Catlins to see the returning dotterels. They also valued meeting people and human kindness and would often talk about these with equal enthusiasm to their nature stories.
Mother Language Medicine is a beautiful poem with its evocative repetitions.
Another dimension of your sensibility, Tui, for me to know, thank you