Doctora:
“Díme, ¿ qué son los síntomas Usted tiene?
Paciente:
“Es como, veo un’ moca, un’ moca.”
<me
mira, con duda>
Paciente:
“¿Sabes qué es, un’ moca?”
Doctora:
“¿Usted ve ‘un moca’? No, no lo sé. ¿ Qué es un moca?”
Paciente:
<mucha risa>
Later
in the day long after the patients had gone home, I asked one of the ophthalmic
technicians in the practice who is Puerto Rican and Spanish-speaking, what IS a
‘moca’? What was this patient talking about?
She
laughed and told me he was saying “mosca” which right away I recognized as a
fly. Because the patient left out the “s” sound when saying ‘mosca’, I had no
idea what word he was trying to communicate. When people don’t fully pronounce
words, or slur their speech, it can be very difficult to figure out what
they’re saying. But, usually if this happens in English, I can figure it out.
In a language non-native to me, however, I rely on every sound, every
inflection, to get the meaning right. And if the sound I’m expecting isn’t
there, then I feel very much like someone lost in the woods without a compass.
I have no idea where I’m going. Or where the speaker is coming from.
Recently,
I came across an interesting article on the American Translator Association
website entitled, “La jerga de los médicos y de los pacientes” (Doctor and
Patient Jargon). The article’s authors, Becky Katz and Rudy Heller, attended
the Congress Division in Orlando during which physician Dr. Fernando Navarro
presented euphemisms doctors and
patients use to describe otherwise unpleasant or intimidating medical
conditions and/or bodily functions. Dr. Navarro went on to describe vocabulary
that doctors use with their patients that may be misinterpreted or
misunderstood based on pronunciation
alone or how the pronunciation is perceived.
He goes on to give examples first in English:
Varicose
veins = very close veins
Very
high electrolytes = very high electric lights
Superficial
phlebitis = superstitious fleabites <hahaha, I can’t help but chuckle at
that one!>
(I even
remember one such misinterpretation from my medical school days:
Cystic
fibrosis = sixty-five roses)!
Dr.
Navarro then presented similar problems (referred to as ‘barbarismos’) in the
Spanish language:
Otorrino
= Doctor Rino
Cesárea
= necesaria
Ataque
de insulina = ataque de ursulina <chuckle>
And the
list goes on and on...Something is being said, but is not necessarily heard as
was intended. Inevitably, it leads to good-natured humor and a hearty laugh.
From there continues a conversation of clarification, as I experienced during
another patient conversation:
Doctora:
“Bueno. Tengo que decirle, que Usted tiene ojos muy sanos.”
Paciente:
<me mira confundido> “¿’Sano’? ¿Qué es ‘sano’?”
Doctora:
“Saludable. Usted tiene ojos saludables – sanos.”
Paciente:
“Ahhh...(relajado)”
I’m
still not quite sure why the patient didn’t understand me when I used the word
‘sano’for 'healthy'. No one else ever had a problem understanding me. But then
again, maybe he heard something different. A little clarification was all that
was needed to do the trick. Oh, and by the way, because of my experience
confusing ‘moca’ and ‘mosca’, my mind is now keyed into that sound variation. Just
yesterday a patient came to the office as an emergency visit, again with
similar symptoms of floaters in the eye:
Doctora: "Se dice aquí que ¿Usted ve un cambio en la visión?"
Paciente: "No hay un cambio en la visión, es sólo que, ahora, en el ojo derecho, veo
pajaritos – es como un’ moca."
Doctora: "Ajj, Usted ve moscas, ¿ o manchitas en su campo visual?"
Paciente:
<muy profundo> "¡Sí! Sí, veo manchitas, hace más o menos tres días
ahora..."
And the
dialogue continued, unperturbed by a dropped syllable.
For
more information on Becky Katz & Rudy Heller’s article, you can find it
here at:
 |
| Bryce Canyon, Utah |
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