Plain and simple language should replace medical jargon, writes Wyn Drabble. Photo / 123rf
Plain and simple language should replace medical jargon, writes Wyn Drabble. Photo / 123rf
Opinion by Wyn Drabble
Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, writer, public speaker and musician. He is based in Hawke’s Bay.
The medical profession sent me a neatly-typed letter. It informed me that my CT scan “has shown an indeterminate left renal inter-polar well-circumscribed ovoid cortical lesion”.
Can you imagine myreaction? I had no idea what it meant or what I should do. Where had all the commas gone, for example? Should I panic? Emigrate? Watch Coronation Street? Tough choices! So I just decided to colour in the letter. I used crayons and concentrated on the primary colours.
I have nothing but respect for the medical professional who was dealing with my case and nothing but praise for the way the whole procedure was carried out. But I wanted a letter more along the lines of: “Wyn has a sore tummy and might need a band-aid (ones with illustrations of Mickey Mouse are available on request).”
I firmly believe in plain and simple language being used where it is needed and it was needed here. A mechanic can be guilty of the same problem, using terms like “gasket”, “brake callipers”, “exhaust manifold” and “ball joints” when it could all have been succinctly summed up with the explanation, “about $475 plus parts”.
Now, imagine if this information had been handwritten, as prescriptions often are. There are many documented cases of medical misdemeanours attributable to doctors’ poor handwriting.
Timely, I feel, to mention that there is a medical term for poor handwriting – dysgraphia. Timely also to mention that their invoices are carefully and clearly typed.
Some years ago, I was in a specialist’s rooms and described a sensation I was experiencing, a sensation like insects crawling over my skin. He told me it was a form of tactile hallucination called ... formication. Of course, I didn’t believe him and wanted a second opinion. But he eventually won me around.
Formication is derived from the Latin word for ant, formica, but that fails to explain the 1960s dining tables which were partnered with chrome, vinyl-covered chairs. In rare cases of formication, people believe real insects are on or under their skin but they can normally be sedated by a good whack with a chrome chair.
Wyn Drabble
The medical profession also oversteps the mark in the naming of medicines and pills (though perhaps the blame should be directed at the pharmaceutical companies). Efudix! Domperidone! Moxifloxacin! Vinblastine! Phensuximide! Puh-lease!
GP: Domperidone?
Patient: Okay, just a small one. I’m driving.
Another GP: I’ll prescribe Efudix.
Another patient: You’ll do what?
Some of the medical profession’s jargon might interest you. You’re probably familiar with “doughnut” (the CT scanner you might have to pass through). If you’ve seen one, you’ll agree it’s not a misnomer.
Others are a little dodgier. We all use “cut and paste” as computer users but I have read that surgeons use it to indicate cutting open a patient, finding nothing untoward nor any solution to the problem so “pasting” the incision back together. Very tasteful. But it gets worse!
“Snot doc” is a slang version of pulmonologist, a specialist in organs such as pharynx, larynx, bronchi, trachea, mouth and nose. Sorry!
Some doctors also admit to serving up “alphabet soup” to patients or colleagues. It refers to the quick delivery of a flurry of acronyms, commonly employed by medical professionals. You’ll be familiar with CT, ED, HIV but perhaps not BKA (below the knee amputation), CVA (cerebrovascular accident/stroke) or PUD (peptic ulcer disease).
I would like to thank the medical profession for poking its tongue out and saying “aaah” and being so co-operative during this little once-over. But I must run now because it’s time to reapply my Efudix and take my Gliclazide.
And I want to put some finishing touches to my colouring-in.
