Lost Without Translation

Traveled to Liverpool for my last interpreting assignment at the Women Hospital. It is a funny thing to be the middle woman between two people who need to deal with each other but cannot understand one an other. A bit like the filling in a Custard Cream biscuit.
This last job could not have been more different from the first one I did. It wasn't about recounting a story of abuse, death or desperation, although I guessed from a few words here and there that the young woman story wasn't an easy one. Alone, recently arrived from north Togo, she had an appointment in the ante-natal clinic to run some tests and determine when the baby was due.
I assisted to her ultrasound, and saw with her for the first time the baby's face, fingers and toes. I have been involved in other intimated moments while interpreting
(the most memorable until today being translating the modus operandi of masturbation from a fertility doctor to a middle aged man. I've discovered that a lot of people assume that because a person doesn't speak English they also must be dim-witted.)
but nothing as amazing as seeing a baby in a womb.
It was harder than usual to switch emotions off once the task accomplished today. She told me before leaving how things seemed daunting at times, and how nice it had been to speak to someone who could understand her. For the next few weeks , especially around her delivery date, I'll be wondering what will become of this woman and her baby, and their new beginnings.