Ernesto Diaz was diagnosed with cancer and given six months to live in 2000. Today, he is completing his 18th year as a bilingual interpreter for Texas Health, a calling that came to him as he underwent chemotherapy that was not expected to save him.
Diaz, born in Puerto Rico, grew up speaking Spanish. He attended a university there, and in his 20s, he moved to New York City to work for Banco Popular, improving his English through on-the-job interactions and everyday life.
His career led him to Dallas, where he became operations manager at Dallas Market Center and ran three restaurants, among other responsibilities. He had gone to the doctor that year because he was having trouble breathing. The diagnosis: lymphoma. Six tumors around his spine were pressing into his body. The oncologist said chemotherapy had to begin immediately if Diaz were to have a chance.
In the course of getting sick and going through treatment, Diaz couldn’t work and he “pretty much lost everything,” he said. All he could do was continue the treatments, which took place at another hospital system, and wait.
“So, when I was getting chemo, I was interpreting for some of the nurses and one of them said, ‘Hey, you should become an interpreter.’ But back then, I didn’t know what an interpreter was,” Diaz said.
Not long afterward, he completed treatment and went for a follow-up MRI.
The news was shocking: “They said, ‘Everything disappeared. We only see the scar.’ The doctor said. ‘I don’t know what happened, but they’re all gone.’ So, in that moment, I realized I had to give back.”
Diaz knew he could make a difference by interpreting. “I think that God steered my path and said, ‘We’re going to go this way, but I needed to get your attention first.’”
The next day, he thought, “Well, if I’m going to be an interpreter, I have to take some medical terminology classes.” He called El Centro College and, as it turned out, the first class in a new medical interpreting program was starting in Dallas the following day.
He was in the first class to complete training through the program and afterward learned about an opening for an interpreter at Texas Health Harris Methodist Hospital Fort Worth. Diaz applied and got the job, starting a successful career that included supervising and training interpreter teams at Texas Health Fort Worth and Texas Health Presbyterian Hospital Dallas.
Robin Gordon, director of Patient and Family Experience identity and culture, said, “Ernesto’s journey from Puerto Rico to his impactful role in Texas demonstrates a remarkable dedication to personal and professional growth.”
Two years ago, he realized he missed having human contact with patients, their families and his fellow interpreters. “I decided to step down and take the interpreter’s position here at Texas Health Dallas.”
‘You feel their pain’
The work is much more involved than simply translating between care teams and families.
“You have to be present in the conversation,” Diaz said. “You have to look at the patient, understand their body language, because sometimes they’re not answering a question because they’re afraid or shy. And you have to help them.”
Patients sometimes have literacy issues and don’t understand words such as “cholesterol” or “coagulation.” Interpreters help the staff through interpretation to explain unfamiliar terms and also work with patients on simple but important activities such as calling a nurse, ordering food and asking for medication.
They are there to assist in explaining the unknown, even at the end of life.
“You meet the patient from the emergency department admission, and you continue interpreting through their care,” he said. “Then the intensive care unit team is coming to talk to the family and this patient is actively dying. You really bond with the family, and you feel their pain.”
Diaz remembers a case when he was called to the emergency department after a construction worker had been in a horrible accident. The man did not survive, and his 7-year-old son was outside the room.
“He grabbed me by the shirt and pulled and he asked me, ‘Can you bring my dad back?’ In that moment, I had to get down at his level on my knees and hug him. And I looked at the mother and it was just silence. We didn’t know what to tell him.
“But I was able just to be present. Even if it was just physically, just to be present and give them that comfort.”
Some days, Diaz said, he feels overwhelmed and wonders if he should keep going.
“And then you show up to the hospital and you are the right person for that scenario, for that patient. And it’s OK. God, I got your message.”
Bianca Radney, M.B.A., vice president of Patient and Family Experience, said, “Ernesto exemplifies Our Texas Health Promise. We are blessed to have him on the team – their work means so much to so many patients and clinicians who need their help every day.”
