The little old Chinese man, looked so pale, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His short-term memory had been impaired for some years but had worsened in recent months as he deteriorated.

We both used our second language to communicate with each other, Mandarin. Both speaking with thick accents, but able to understand each other. His supportive daughter had come over from China to look after her parents. They had lived in New Zealand for over twenty years.

He had always been terrible at reporting his discomfort. His daughter talked about when he had appendicitis and had not told anyone until he almost died of an intra-abdominal infection after his appendix had burst. His stock answer would be to say, “I am fine,” but his body language was a give away for his wife and daughter. He didn’t let anyone know that he had painful shingles until he was found writhing in bed, crying because of pain, telling his family that the pain was so bad that he wanted to die.