She can say that again…

By Sheila Stroup

Jacki J. Noh never knows what her next job will bring. This week she was in New Orleans looking at people open their mouths and get holes drilled in their jawbones.
"I won't be eating lunch today," she told me Thursday after she'd watched her first morning surgery. She was feeling queasy.

Jacki was at a week long dental implant symposium at the LSU School of Dentistry on Florida Avenue, along with 200 dentists from faraway places like Japan, South Africa and Dhabi.

But her purpose in being there was different from most others. She was one of six interpreters working at the seminar.
In a darkened auditorium, the dentists put on earphones and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of television sets, like little kids mesmerized by their favorite show.

They were watching Dr. Michael Block of the LSU Department of Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery perform dental implant surgery. The procedure involved setting tiny posts into the jawbone which the bone eventually bonds with, allowing dentures or crowns to be attached.

In booths behind the dentists, the interpreters stared at the TV screens, listened , and spoke into microphones. While two of them translated Block's words into Italian and two others into Spanish, Jacki and Dr. Daniel Kim took turns changing the words into their Korean equivalents.
It wasn't always easy.

At a loss for words
The problem Jacki and the Spanish and Italian interpreters faced was a bit different from the one faced by Kim, a dentist and assistant professor at the University of Illinois College of Dentistry in Chicago. "I have to be very careful not to editorialize." For the others, understanding exactly what was going on and finding the right way to say it in their own languages was the major concern. "It's such a new technology we don't have some of the words," Jacki said.

To get ready for the symposium, she talked to a Korean dentist near her home in Albany Calif., and spent 40 hours studying the fine points of implant surgery.

But some translations are still difficult.
"Look at that," Block said, as he sliced through the gum on one patient. "We have enough room to put an implant down there. Hot diggety dog!"
So, Jacki, I wondered. How do you say "Hot diggety dog" in Korean?
"The part I like is the challenge part," she said, laughing.

Road to understanding
Jacki learned about challenges when she moved to California with her family from Seoul, Korea, 11 years ago. She was 18, a senior in high school. "It was very hard. I happened to be the only Korean student among 1,200 students," she said. "The others made fun of me."

She knew very little English beyond the "How-are-you? I'm fine kind."
"My friends would go, "What's up Jacki?' and I'd go, "Excuse me?'"

And she saw what happens to immigrants who are not fluent in the language of their adopted country. "It doesn't matter how smart they are. People will think they're dumb," she said.

By the time she went to college at the University of California at Berkeley, she was not only speaking fluent English, she was beginning to work as an interpreter and translator. She's been doing it full-time for six years.
Her stay in New Orleans this week brought back memories of her most memorable professional experience. Two years ago she spent a month in Jefferson Parish as a court interpreter during a murder trial where many of the witnesses and the defendant spoke only Korean.

"The witnesses were often crying," she said. "I didn't cry, but my voice would get emotional."
One of the attorneys of the defendant, who was acquitted of three counts of first-degree murder, told Jacki she was the perfect interpreter.
"You can even interpret their tears," he said.

The article on this page is reprinted by permission from The Times-Picayune of New Orleans, Louisiana.

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