In an effort to improve my medical
editing skills, I am currently re-studying English grammar, something I studied
many years ago in elementary school as a child. I’ve discovered throughout the
process that either I have: a) minimal recall or b) maximal forgetfulness as I
meander my way through concepts either long-abandoned or never learned.
Concepts such as predicate adjective, compound sentences and dangling
modifiers. Listen, they are vague memories, but very vague, and I’m working to
coax them to the fore.
What surprises me most during this
process, however, is that certain grammar rules that I do remember and have relied upon my whole life are apparently
themselves set for an overhaul. Things are changing. Rules are changing. Case-in-point: Remember the verb: to prove?
When I was a child growing up, the first, second and third principal parts of
this verb were taught as:
prove proved proven
To give an example, if you were to
use the word had or have before prove, you would have written it:
I had proven my theory at the conference. Or...
I have proven that I am a worthy opponent.
Well, I’m here to tell you all
Generation Xers, grab on to the seat of your pants, because my English-language
sources are now telling me that the third principal part proven is being replaced by proved.
For ex:
I had proved my theory at the conference. Or..
I have proved that I am a worthy opponent.
My grammar book proceeds to tell me
that “..while using proven is not
considered incorrect, ...it is considered somewhat old-fashioned.”
Can you believe this? Old-fashioned?
When did I become ‘old-fashioned’?
During an English to Spanish
translation class I participated in recently, I discovered that the Spanish
language is experiencing similar forms of change. For example, there was a time
when there was a clear distinction between these two words:
sólo and solo
The accented solo meant ‘only’. The
non-accented form meant ‘alone’. Now, however,
the Real Academia Española (RAE) – or the Royal Spanish Academy – has determined
that the accented form of the word should be dropped altogether and the meaning
of solo inferred from the word use in
the sentence. (Incidentally, the Royal Spanish Academy, founded in 1713, serves
the purpose of monitoring, preserving and modifying the Spanish language.
Questions regarding a particular word, its meaning, spelling and grammar in the
Spanish language are directed to the RAE.)
This evolution of languages reminds me
of a time in college when I wrote the word aforementioned
in an essay I handed in to my English professor. I thought it sounded regal,
stately. But my essay was returned with a lower grade and a red circle around aforementioned, with the comment ‘archaic’.
I don’t get it. I spent years being taught that what’s important in English
writing is word spelling, sentence structure and grammar. I worked hard to
memorize rules and meanings. Now, I choose a veritable English word and it’s
not ‘with it’ enough? If I pass my days reading Victorian novels, who is to
tell me that words like aforementioned
and betwixt are archaic? For me, it
would be everyday. It would be standard. I learned that the third principal
part of the past tense of to prove is
proven and therefore it should always
be proven, because it’s been tried,
true and, well, proven – to me, in my
everyday life.
I think we keep certain words in our
word foundation, if you will, that
we rely upon every day or almost every day, to communicate with people and to
make a point. I am always willing to learn something new, but chip away at my
current word foundation, and I feel a bit...lost. I need to have a set of
vocabulary and structure upon which I can rely. If that foundation is taken
away, what do I have to stand on?
I have built a certain medical word
foundation in Spanish over the years while practicing medicine with
Spanish-speaking patients. There are certain phrases I use ad infinitum when
speaking to patients. They always seemed to work, meaning, they were understood
by the patient. But after a conversation I had with a patient recently, my reliance
on these comfortable phrases was threatened:
Doctora: <al
acabar el examen> Todo está bien. Tiene ojos sanos.
Paciente:
<expresión de temor extremo> ¿Qué es lo que tengo? ¿QUÉ tengo?
Doctora:
Tiene ojos sanos. Ojos sanos. SANOS. <elevar la voz en manera
obligatoria> Tiene ojos saludables. No tiene una enfermedad del ojo. Todo
está bi-
Paciente:
<aparecer aliviado> Ay, whew, ¡Pensé que me dijo que tengo ojos con gusanos!!!
Doctora:
<sonreír> O, no, ojos sanos. <pensar de qué más un paciente no
entiende, dependiendo de mi pronunciación de las palabras, o de mi elección de
palabras particulares.>
I rely on particular phrases in
Spanish during my conversations. Usted
tiene ojos sanos is one of them. The phrase is grammatically correct, You have healthy eyes, but either it’s
not commonly used by Spanish-speaking doctors (how does an ophthalmologist in Spain or Nicaragua tell her patient:
Everything looks good!) or I’m mispronouncing it, because this patient thought
I said, Usted tiene ojos con gusanos,
essentially, that he has worms in his eyes! Extreme relief ensued when he found
out that’s not what I meant! It was funny at that moment, but after the patient
left I got to thinking, how many more Spanish-speaking patients of mine have
been misinterpreting this seemingly harmless phrase- or worse- anything else
that I’ve been saying?
When I come across these issues: vocabulary
words that I’ve come to rely upon tossed aside for more modern expressions; phrases
that I’ve become accustomed to that are misinterpreted, and grammar rules that
are modified or entirely abandoned, I worry. I worry because these are more
than just words or expressions to me. They’re a part of me, in a way. They’re
who I am. They’re what I’ve cultivated over the years. How we speak is more
than just language. It is personal. It
says something about us as people. Certain expressions and words, like the
accent a person has, tell a story about that person’s life. Where she comes
from. What her experiences have been. I understand that life evolves, and so
does language. And I am willing to go along with the ebb and flow of a language’s
evolution. But I’m not willing to set
aside my story (and my way of
expressing that story) simply because it’s not en vogue.
To this end, I’ve decided: I’m going
to continue to use what works. If I speak to my patients in a certain manner
and am understood, then that is all that matters. If they don’t understand me,
then I will find an expression that they do comprehend. That’s not old-fashioned and it’s not archaic.
It’s an adaptable uniqueness. And to me,
it’s beautiful.
References
Witte, Flo, PhD. Basic Grammar and Usage – An Essential
Skills Workshop of the American Medical Writers Association. American
Medical Writers Association, 2011.
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