Page 102 of The Sign for Home

“No,” she said humorlessly. “I am just the assistant supervisor doing the work of a supervisor at only half the pay. Come.”

Durdona gestured me into her office. Once we were seated, Durdona explained in a weary voice that she had been working at the nursing home for only two months and was working overtime most nights.

“It’s overwhelming,” she said. “Staff turnover is ridiculous. The last assistant supervisor worked only four months before disappearing in the middle of her shift. That was it. Just gone.”

“That’s crazy,” I said, doing my best empath face. “How is that even possible?”

So Durdona told me. She explained that the nursing home had been in the process of hiring a new supervisor for over two years, but they weren’t willing to pay enough to actually get someone—despite how much therehab facility was billing the insurance companies. She rolled her eyes and mimed locking her mouth with a key. Then she went on and on about how it was so unfair for her, who had only just graduated with her master’s in social work from Queens College, to be shoved into a management role.

As she continued to complain, I mm-hmmed my head off, saying how well I understood her situation. Then I steered the conversation back to my purpose, explaining my background as an ASL interpreter, and said that I noticed there seemed to be some challenges with Shri in the nursing home, and said that I had some suggestions that could make their lives easier.

“First, I was wondering how you communicate with Shri here at the facility. Language boards? And does she have access to a videophone?”

Durdona gave a nihilistic snort and squeezed a little stuffed unicorn she kept on her desk, picking at its eyes with her French manicure.

“I’m very well acquainted with Ms. Shridevi Mukherjee. And we communicate just fine. Back when she had that videophone thing she just wasted time calling the same numbers over and over. Her mother or aunt never picked up. In fact, you’re the first family member who has visited in forever. It’s no surprise. No offense, but your… cousin?”

“In-law,” I clarified, lying like a champ. “Sister-in-law.”

“Right. Your sister-in-law can be a handful.”

“I see,” I said, trying to neither confirm nor deny her estimation. “You know, I’d bet a lot of the trouble is because of a communication breakdown.”

“Oh please.” Durdona snorted dismissively. “Shri knows exactly what’s going on. She’s not dumb, that’s for sure. She reads lips very well.”

“Actually, I don’t believe Shricanread lips,” I said.

“Sure she can. She reads lips fine, but she likes to pretend she doesn’t so she can manipulate people or worse. That’s why I’m extra careful with her. I don’t want to make you worry, but last week one of the aides wentinto her room and Shri didn’t like something, so next thing you know a dinner tray goes flying. Hits the aide and Shri laughs. So I went in and not only did I talk slow so she could read my lips but I also wrote it down on paper: ‘If you do that again you’re not getting any dinner.’ Of course, Shri gives me that big brown-eyed, innocent weepy-baby look, and the next thing I know the little devil takes a swing at me. Oh, she knows exactly what’s going on.”

My insides were convulsing in anger. I had encountered stupid shit like this from hearing people my whole career. They believed their mind-reading of the Deaf was a more valuable tool than hiring a goddamned interpreter.

“Wow, that’s not like Shri to hit anyone,” I said, gritting my teeth, trying to stay calm. “I’m so sorry. But I should explain. Shri doesn’t read English well, or much at all.”

Another scoffing laugh from Durdona.

“If you ask me, the real problem with your sister-in-law is…” She lowered her voice. “She’s spoiled and has been allowed to get away with murder because of her disability. We have to be firm with her.”

My fingers grabbed the edge of my chair, the knuckles whitening.

“Um… wow,” I said, no longer even able to fake a smile. “I think you’ve made a lot of unfounded assumptions about Shri. Everything would be clearer if you’d get an interpreter in here to actuallytalkwith her and see what might be causing the blowups. I’ve written down a list of good agencies you could call—”

“That’s okay,” Durdona said, waving off my list. “First, as I said, we communicate just fine with Shri. Second, there’s no way the company will pay for a translator. Of course, if your family actually wants to visit more and translate, go for it.”

And that’s what made me lose it.

“Oh, come on!” I snapped. “That’s bull. Besides being unethical, you have no idea if her family even has those skills.”

Durdona raised her eyebrows suspiciously.

“Aren’t you her family? Don’tyouhave translation skills?”

Not even catching my own gaffe, my index finger jabbed down onto the metal desktop like a tiny flesh hammer.

“It’s calledinterpretation, not translation, Durdona! And it’s the nursing home’s responsibility to provide aninterpreter! Do you even know what the ADA is?”

Durdona’s face went blank as she stood up and opened the door to her office.

“Soon it’ll be Shri’s bedtime,” she said with a forced smile. “Visiting hours are over.”

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