“Be honest with me…Did you just ask me to come with you to Seattle because no one else could?”
The words took me by surprise. They were from Mariuca, a capable woman and excellent trainer. “NO!” I said emphatically. The truth was, there were any number of people who could have been asked that would have loved to be a part of the trip, but I hadn’t even considered them. “Good!” She sighed with relief. “You have to understand, I still see myself as a little immigrant girl, and can hardly believe I’m traveling across the country to do a training.”
At 26 years old Mariuca came to the United States. She entered the country a year after 9/11 with her airline allotment of two suitcases, the clothes on her back, and a whole lot of love for her American husband. Enough love to warrant a move from her childhood home of Bucharest, Romania to a new country and city, Boston, Massachusetts. At the airport in Bucharest her mom pressed a one hundred dollar bill into her hand and said “just in case you need it.”
Trained as a lawyer, she quickly realized that she did not want to go through the grueling process of reciprocity that it would take to practice law in the United States. Her profession was partly chosen as a result of her mother being a lawyer and having a dream that some day a mother/daughter team would practice law together. The mom’s dream ended and Mariuca found a job as a receptionist in a large city medical center. Daily the center welcomed people from around the world, and with a lot of people comes a lot of ethnically and culturally diverse groups, a lot of different languages, and even more needs.
Most who passed by the cute, energetic receptionist with the “accent” would never have guessed that behind the smile and ease were two seemingly contradictory things – an educated, confident lawyer and a little immigrant girl. Both worked in Mariuca’s favor. The background as a lawyer made her a brilliant problem-solver and an articulate advocate; the scared little immigrant girl gave her a deep empathy for patients and a willingness to go the extra step to ensure comfort and care.
Her skills were noticed. Mariuca ended up being promoted to an interpreter in the dermatology department, followed by a move to Women’s Health where she took on the role of a patient navigator. Ultimately she ended up where she is today – a supervisor and a trainer.
From lawyer to patient advocate and supervisor, Mariuca has made a home for herself here. She is well established in both career and community and has a beautiful little two-year old girl. But no matter how successful she is, there are still days when she feels like a little, immigrant girl with two suitcases and an unknown future. This is the place where she was as we traveled from Boston to Seattle and it was my job to remind her that she is a capable, amazing woman – that even if she was a little immigrant girl, she had worth and gifts, they were just undiscovered.
I’ve been told that an important part of care giving for Alzheimer’s patients is understanding what the patient’s life was like before they had Alzheimer’s disease and their memory betrayed them. One of the ways to do this is to post pictures of the patient on their door, showing people a little bit of who they were, and what things were important to them in the past. A physicist, a Nobel laureate, a firefighter, a mom – if we remember who they were, we may be more careful about how we treat them as they are. Seeing them in their current reality is only one small piece of the picture of their lives. I wish the same was true for immigrants in our communities. I wish we had pictures that told more of the story behind the accent, that showed us the past life of a cleaning lady or cashier. It would be simultaneously eye-opening and humbling.
Mr. Rogers, the beloved children’s television personality, used to sing a little song as he would put on his grey, worn sweater. “Who are the people in your neighborhood?….These are the people in your neighborhood”. As I end the post I paraphrase his well-known words: “Who are the immigrants in your neighborhood?” Are they lawyers turned patient advocates? Doctors turned home health aides? Biochemists turned medical assistants? Do we know who they are? If we don’t we have only a small piece of a big picture. As the clichéd “nation of immigrants”, knowing each other a little better could go a long way in increasing understanding
- NY Immigrant Advocates Criticize Border Patrol (abcnews.go.com)
- Blog #5 Immigration (jonkirklin.wordpress.com)
- Immigrant Entrepreneurs Succeed Without English (nytimes.com)
13 thoughts on “Bucharest to Boston: Little Immigrant Girl”
I so identify with your Mariuca! There are days when I feel like “a little (or not so little) immigrant girl”. I wonder if that feeling ever fully leaves us. Yet, in God’s eyes we have been worth saving and in Him we do have fullness of live well worth offering on the service of others.
Thanks for those memories of your Dad, and there’s still so much life in him. Last year when he came out of the anesthesia after that surgery, the first thing he told Carol and me was about the anesthetist, where he was from in India. He learned so much about the man before they put him under. He has that amazing quality of being able to get into meaningful conversation with just about anyone, anywhere, even in the operating room. Especially if they look as if they are from some other country, he loves to talk with them. Would love to meet your friend Mariuca.
Wonderful post Marilyn, as usual a lot of insight. Mariuca sounds like a wonderful person.
Yes in life people just see the outside, never what is inside, that is what is so special about the net, often there is no outside visible, we see whatever the other person allows us to see of who they really are. On the net we soon connect with like minded even like souled people. (not sure if that is even a word but you know what I mean)
Great post, Marilyn. And I have to also say, I love Wilma’s scream.
“… knowing each other a little better could go a long way in increasing understanding”, this holds true in all areas of life. I remember spending several hours with a stroke victim some time ago. We were at her daughter’s house and her daughter asked me to stay with her to keep her safe. In order to make time pass by, I wheeled the lady in her wheel chair through the entire house and she communicated with me telling me her entire life story. It was remarkable since she was no longer able to speak. Despite her not being able to speak, I learned so much about her and her twin sister in these few hours. Her daughter was amazed when I shared with her what her mother was able to share with me. Shortly after her mom passed but not without telling her story.
It is so important that we take time and listen with our hearts.
Sending you my love on this beautiful morning,
In reading your blog this morning I am reminded of my last two days when I encountered an immigrant. I had 2 out-patient medical procedures. The first day a male anesthetist came in for pre-procedure questions, etc. I immediately thought him to be Filipino. There was no chit-chat; just answering questions. Yesterday I met him again and we engaged in conversation. Yes, he was from the Philippines and from Cebu City that is hometown for a great friend of mine! He trained at Columbia University (NY). He has a wife and 5 year old daughter. In showing my interest in him as a person, he warmed up to more dialogue. Every person has a story and the immigrants among us would enjoy sharing theirs if given the opportunity.
Beautifully said Bettie “Every person has a story and the immigrants among us would enjoy sharing theirs if given opportunity!” Thank you.
I remember when my elderly aunt was in a geriatric ward, there was a notice saying: please let us have a picture of your relative when they were young! I thought at the time it was a creative idea.
I’d also like to scream at times that I wasn’t always a dumpy little white haired lady, but that I’ve visited the Buddhas of Bamian and walked along the ridge of Liathach (one of Scotland’s most spectacular mountains!)
A resounding YES to you Wilma! I sometimes want to scream at people that my father drove on treacherous roads in the Kaghan valley, hiked Lake Saiful Maluk, slept on charpais in villages in Pakistan and ate onion curry for weeks. People see the outside, not the map that is our lives!
Wonderful post – Thanks Marilyn