The CAQ government has created unnecessary anxiety for linguistic minorities and hospital workers.
A little over a decade ago, I read about Hélène Tremblay Lavoie, a bilingual francophone living in Toronto whose dementia made her lose her ability to speak English. As her neurodegenerative disease progressed, the second language she had spoken for more than 30 years became incomprehensible to her (common among dementia patients).
With only her French remaining, her daughter Sylvie struggled to find her long-term care and eventually placed her in a French-speaking institution more than 100 kilometres away, making the long round trip to visit her for months near the end of Tremblay Lavoie’s life.
Fast-forward a decade and it was my turn to find myself in a clinic with my aging mother as she took a memory test — one of many — before eventually being diagnosed with dementia. After a series of questions left my trilingual mother stumped and anxious, the French-speaking specialist prompted me to ask them in Greek. She understood it was a memory test, not a language test. Communication was the goal.
Instead of our government working to ensure all Quebecers can access better care in our overburdened, understaffed system, it has created unnecessary confusion and anxiety for linguistic minorities and health-care workers. It’s pointlessly petty.
Sick people need help. Legislation aiming to protect French should never — under any circumstances — undermine, hinder or complicate someone’s access to quality care in the language of their choice. Bill 96 appears to do all three.
Language politics simply don’t belong in hospitals, and there are no circumstances under which we can justify deliberately undermining access to health care in another language for those who need it. Frankly, anyone not actively working to help Quebecers receive better and quicker care should just get out of the way of those who are.