The Secret Language Of Medical Professionals
Decoding hospital babble
If you’re in the medical profession, you’re at least bilingual by default. I’m trilingual because I speak fluent English, Kannada, and Medicine. Or should I call it Medicish? Well no, the committee of words and pronunciation deciders will not approve.
You may think doctors speak to each other in English, but you’re mistaken. They have fancy words for everything. I was researching the origin of medical terminologies, and I was dumbfounded to discover it’s Greek and Latin (For real), jeeeez. No wonder it’s a struggle. It felt funny because it was similar to rocket engineers complaining that their education was all rocket science.
I remember an instance from my intern year during the COVID-19 duties when a patient (let’s call him M) told me he was diagnosed with black fungus. M looked terrified because it could be fatal.
I had to notify my professor about him because of the need for immediate treatment with Amphotericin B (an antifungal) which was hardly available anymore due to the increase in demand and shortage of supply. This infection was rising among the immunocompromised population, especially uncontrolled diabetics recovering from COVID-19. “Ma’am, there’s a patient with black fungus,” I said.
She slapped me (I didn’t sue her). “How dare you say black fungus? Being in the medical fraternity, don’t you know the medical term for it?” “Mucormycosis,” I rolled my eyes internally, while keeping a straight face. Now, the feminist in me could take offense too! How dare she say fraternity? But I didn’t, considering the patient was already waiting for the Medicish-speaking professor to finish scolding me, so he could receive his much anticipated antifungal therapy (and also because nobody gives a damn about some intern’s offense).
The next time you visit a doctor for red eye and he looks into your eyes like he’s checking if his hair is alright in the iris mirror and goes on to keep that gently flexed hand on his chin, trying to keep a serious expression to say, “Hmm, I am concerned I see erythema and blepharitis,” don’t get scared. Erythema only means redness and blepharitis means eyelid inflammation. It’s that simple.
Here are some scenarios where doctors feel smart but dumb it down to one-liners:
Hmm, 50-year-old, male, Febrile at 99.8 F, Slightly tachycardic in 110s, Blood pressure 130/82 looks fine, Respiratory Rate 16 cycles/min. Hmmm, myalgia, pharyngitis, no pallor, icterus, clubbing, cyanosis, koilonychia, lymphadenopathy or edema; no leukocytosis; slight erythema of the pharynx, no tonsillar hypertrophy or purulent discharge, hmmm, most likely a viral pharyngitis, flu? probably! hmmm.. let me think of alternative names for Tylenol (paracetamol ) because there’s no other way to appear smart in this case.
Acetaminophen 500 mg it is. Flu vacci…. (He leaves).
.
5-year-old, female, Hmm, vesicular lesions on the abdomen since 2 days, afebrile, myalgia, hmm, attends daycare, looks like an infectious etiology, a classic case of an infection caused by Varicella zoster, looks uncomplicated, definitely not a candidate for acyclovir. Vitals look good.
Hmmm, go home.
.
10-year-old, male, febrile 102.4 F, tachycardic in 120s, headache, projectile vomiting -4 episodes Ouch, unvaccinated, neck rigidity present, brudzinski’s sign is positive, kernig’s sign is positive, leukocytosis at 22000 with neutrophilia, CSF analysis indicates a bacterial etiology culture awaited, let’s initiate empiric antibiotic therapy and treat symptomatically. Everybody alert.
Admit NOW.
.
Medical school takes so long to complete because we’re busy learning this secret language that makes us look smart! We don’t say heart attack, we say myocardial infarction. We don’t say jaundice, we say icterus. We don’t say breathlessness, we say dyspnea. We don’t say uterus removal, we say hysterectomy. We don’t say hidden blood in poop, we say stool guaiac test positive. Hmm, fancy.
But jokes apart, it’s this fanciness that helps us communicate so accurately and effectively!
Coming back to our patient M, he was diagnosed with BLACK FUNGUS BLACK FUNGUS BLACK FUNGUS of his nasal cavity and a sinus. Intravenous Amphotericin B was only available for 2 days after which he was switched to intravenous Posaconazole and then some oral antifungals and then back to Amphotericin B after 2 weeks!
Along with M, five other patients with mucormycosis received the same erratic treatment with the medical system in scrambles. They all magically pulled through. The medical team (4 attendings and 4 interns) worked relentlessly to aid their recoveries!
I fondly remember M thanking the team on our rounds on the day of his discharge. His gratitude made us feel so valued. The Meredith Grey in me kinda wished the head of the department would smile a little, get teary-eyed, look at the sun, and then the team and say, “And that’s why we do what we do”.
But instead, what we got, you ask?
“Discharge summary on my table in 10 mins, or you lose attendance.”
Aaaaaaaaaaa!
