A word by any other name- do nonnative English speakers lose the English language?

By Marc-Oliver Wright, MT(ASCP), MS, CIC, FAPIC

My mother Marianne, and her identical twin sister, Annemarie were born in what is now Berlin, Germany in the late fall of 1937. Their childhood was, as described to me, unimaginable-running to bomb shelters at all hours of the day and night and later standing in bread lines.

Mom’s stories were the stuff of legends and could fill a book. When rebelliousness kicked in and her mother told her to leave the house immediately before the Christmas holidays, she hopped a motorcycle with her then boyfriend to celebrate the season in Yugoslavia. Though she learned English in her primary and secondary schools and went to work for the British army as a translator, her commanding officer demanded she come to his home on the weekends to learn the Queen’s (proper) English from him and his wife. While living abroad, her twin sister fell into a coma and subsequently died presumably of what she herself was later diagnosed with at the Cleveland Clinic – Addison’s Disease. Mom immigrated to the United States permanently in 1974 and I was born the next year. Despite her best efforts and much to her regret, her American son would never advance in the German language beyond a rudimentary state to fluency.

Growing up, mom’s stories were remarkable to me and my friends. When I introduced my now wife (Linda) to my parents in the late 1990s, mom regaled her with the stories I could by then, recite by heart. But it was one particular exchange between them that would foreshadow what would later become a critical point. In the midst of conversation one Sunday afternoon, Linda asked her “You have lived here for almost four decades. Do you think and speak in English or do you still think in German and then translate in your head before speaking?” As someone minimally versed in a few foreign languages, this never dawned on me. When English is your “second” language for so long-how does your brain work? Mom affirmed that she still thought in her native German and translated before speaking-but did so so seamlessly she hardly noticed it.

Within the next decade, mom’s behavior and cognition changed and she was subsequently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. After a period of decline, we found ourselves in a position where she could no longer live independently despite my father’s best attempts. And after a brief attempt at having her stay with us and our newborn son wherein she came up in the middle of the night, luggage in hand-asking to be taken to O’Hare so she could visit her long-since deceased mother she entered a memory care facility.

What started out as rare struggles to find the right English word for the German equivalent she had had throughout her U.S. residency since the 1970s advanced as her disease did; initially to the point where she would alternate between English and German in the same conversation, to within the same sentence and ultimately to mostly German-regardless of the fluency of who she spoke with be it her fluent daughters or a befuddled nurse’s aide. Early in her disease, I remembered the exchange between Linda and mom, realized that this might get worse and worked a bit on dusting off my own language skills. "Muttie, bitte sprich langsam-mein Deutsch ist nicht so gut." (Mom, please speak slowly, my German is not so good). "Auf English bitte." (In English please). "Ich liebe dich." (I love you). About this time, Google® Translate became available and an essential tool for our regular visits.

Addison’s Disease offered its own complications throughout mom’s life. While John F. Kennedy’s diagnosis afforded him and my mother a perpetual suntanned appearance, daily oral steroid medications wreak havoc on the body over six decades and mom herself had bouts of coma induced states and near misses over the years. Coupled with advanced Alzheimer’s Disease and a do not resuscitate order when the facility called us to notify that her aphasia had advanced to the point where she no longer could take her daily steroids, I did the math and knew our time was a 1-3 days at best. I drove my then 6-year-old son to the facility the next night and despite the late hour was surprised to find her awake, alert and delighted to see us both. While I alternated between broken German and English, mom responded in kind with smiles, nods and the occasional response in German. Leaving late, we hugged her and I offered her the same nighttime greeting I had mastered at 5 and told her each night as a kid. "Ich liebe dich, schlaf gut." (I love you, sleep good). She passed peacefully 5 hours later.

With the help of a former schoolmate ex-pat living in Germany I eulogized her in her native tongue relatively fluently and much to the surprise of my sisters hoping she might hear the words. For non-fluent first-generation Americans, it may not occur to us that part of that Long Goodbye which Alzheimer’s Disease affords us may include a digression in language to our parents’ native tongue. Had Linda not asked that question years earlier, I would never have been afforded the time to prepare, brush up on my bad German, download Google Translate or avoid getting frustrated.

If you are a first born American of fluent parents entering the Long Goodbye-recognize and willfully accept that they may start speaking in tongues you don’t understand. Prepare. Gently remind them of your own struggles with their native language. Patience is required on this journey-even more so if you can’t communicate. Marc-Oliver Wright is a guest blogger who cared for and experience the disease of Alzheimer’s with his mother. He is also an Infection Preventionist, a research epidemiologist, and served as a corporate director of infection prevention and quality for a multi-hospital system. Marc now serves as a Clinical Science Liaison (CSL), for a 14 states region across the Midwest for an infection control company. We thank Marc for his contribution to our blog!!