Interpreters often work at the crossroads of human emotion, where language barriers meet urgent situations. One night, a 911 call shook me to my core and left a mark that will stay with me forever. It wasn’t just a translation, it was a cry for help in its rawest form.

It began as any other shift. I logged in, ready to interpret for various situations. Then, I was connected to a 911 dispatcher. The person on the other end of the line was a woman speaking a language I understood fluently.

Her voice was trembling. She whispered, “Please help me. He’s going to kill me.”

Immediately, I felt the gravity of the situation. The dispatcher asked her questions, and I interpreted them as quickly and clearly as I could: Where was she? Was she in immediate danger? Could she safely leave the house?

In the background, I could hear muffled yelling and heavy footsteps. Her fear was palpable.

The woman was in her home, hiding in a closet. She explained that her husband had been drinking and had started breaking things around the house. When she tried to leave, he blocked the door and began shouting threats. She managed to lock herself inside and call for help.

I relayed the dispatcher’s instructions: Stay quiet, keep the door locked, and if possible, push something heavy against it. Help was on the way.

Her voice cracked as she begged me to make them hurry. Every second felt like an eternity. I kept my tone calm, even though my heart was pounding. I knew she needed reassurance as much as she needed the words.

The footsteps grew louder, and the banging on the door began. Through it all, I stayed with her, interpreting the dispatcher’s updates and urging her to hold on.

Finally, I heard the faint sound of sirens in the background. The dispatcher instructed her to stay put until the officers entered the house. Moments later, there was a commotion, voices shouting, doors slamming, and then silence.

The call ended shortly after the officers took control of the situation. I didn’t know what happened next.

How It Changed Me

That night, I learned that interpreting is so much more than just interpreting words. It’s about standing in the gap for someone when they are at their most vulnerable.

In moments of crisis, every word matters. My job wasn’t just to interpret, it was to provide a lifeline for someone who felt utterly helpless. The need for empathy. Despite the professional distance we’re expected to maintain, I felt her fear deeply. It reminded me that interpreters are not machines, we are human beings connecting with other human beings.

That call made me reflect on the importance of safety nets and resources for victims of domestic violence. Language barriers can isolate people even further in situations of abuse, making interpreters an essential part of their support network.

I never found out what became of that woman, but I think of her often. Did she find safety? Was she able to rebuild her life? I hope so.

That call wasn’t just a lesson in interpreting, it was a lesson in courage, resilience, and the profound impact of being a voice for someone who feels voiceless.

To my fellow interpreters: never underestimate the role you play. In moments of crisis, your words can be a lifeline. And to those who may be struggling with their own battles. Please know that help is out there. You are not alone.