In Their Words: Discovering Humanity Through Language and Loss
By Dr. Shane Halpe | Reflections from the Clinic | Myliddy, Sri Lanka
Above: The sun rising over the clinic at Myliddy – a new beginning for an old land.
Learning to Listen
Today in Myliddy, a quiet fishing village slowly finding its rhythm after decades of conflict, I stepped into more than just a clinic—I stepped into the lives and languages of a community with untold stories.
I was supported by a demonstrator who helped translate between Tamil and Sinhala. In between patient consultations, we shared something beautiful: I practised basic Tamil, and in turn, taught him a few Sinhalese phrases. It felt joyful—liberating even. Language, I’ve come to realise, isn’t just about communication; it’s about connection.
Tamil in Translation
I tried using Tamil as patients arrived. I asked their names, ages, and about their symptoms. But when I ventured into open-ended questions like “What made you come today?”, the replies were long, emotional, and—for now—beyond me. It sounded like Greek!
Thankfully, my assistant filled in the gaps. I kept referring to my notes, scribbled with Tamil phrases in English letters. It was a humble start, but every word felt like a step toward something larger—a bridge across difference.
To my surprise, patients responded warmly. A simple “Eppadi irukkeenga?” (How are you?) brought a smile. Even broken Tamil was better than silence. It reminded me that when we make the slightest effort to understand, people open up.
Stories That Stay With You
Two of my patients that day shared more than symptoms. Both were middle-aged mothers of one child. Both had husbands who had left for France and never returned—remarried, unreachable, offering no support. They weren’t legally divorced, just abandoned.
I gently asked about their mental health. Their responses were calm, grounded. They had learned to carry on—alone, with strength and quiet dignity. I realised then how deeply personal struggles can remain unseen in a typical clinical encounter unless we create space to hear them.
Myliddy: A Town Reclaimed
Later, I learned that Myliddy had once been under military control—its residents displaced, its homes empty. Only in recent years have families returned. The town is rebuilding itself, stone by stone, story by story. It’s a place of resilience, shaped by conflict but determined to heal.
A Doctor’s Reflection
Medicine often teaches us how to diagnose, prescribe, and treat. But today taught me something different: to listen, to learn, and to care in the language that matters most—the patient's own.
Healing begins long before a prescription is written. Sometimes, it starts with the courage to ask simple questions… and the humility to hear long answers.
🌿 Have you had moments when language became a bridge—or a barrier—in your own life? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
Follow this blog for more reflections from the field, stories from the clinic, and insights into community-based care in Sri Lanka.
Good piece of writing
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