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Medicine as the Art of Translation

  • avanadiashv
  • Jul 17, 2024
  • 4 min read

A healthcare professional’s role is inherently intertwined with the art of translation. Taking medical terminology, test results, health prognosis, and more and delivering them to patients and families in a way that is understandable, clear, yet comforting is quite the challenge, especially when considering the range of patients a single professional can get at any given time. This questions why the language medical professionals use to bridge the divide between themselves and their patients (caused by numerous factors such as education, financial, cultural, etc.) matters. 

Language shapes the way we see things because we begin to impose the connotative associations of our language onto what we are referring to. For health professionals, “Language in medical narratives also shapes how trainees think, talk, and act, perpetuating any ingrained biases” (Cox and Fritz 2022). Quite simply, language matters because it changes how physicians see and connect to their patients. With the world becoming increasingly aware of our impact on others, medical terminology such as “buffalo hump” or “moon face” have been deemed as harmful for their negative depictions of certain demographics of people (Gheewala, Carrillo-Castro, Bowden 2024). The recent acknowledgment of such terms reveals attempts within the medical community to make medicine a more inclusive place. However, terminology and euphemistic language will inevitably take on the prior term's negative connotations unless our societal view on those demographics shifts. In totality, while medicine’s attempts at creating a more welcoming space are undoubtedly amazing, change cannot last unless a bigger shift occurs in our own views of those around us. 

The question then becomes why these attempts matter. I feel the answer lies within the reality that language opens us up to communication. Inclusive language builds bridges between differing communities. It reveals that the other party respects us, making us more willing to listen. For instance, in Carl Elliott’s “A New Way to Be Mad,” he refers to groups of people by their chosen name, “wannabees and devotees.” He creates an open discussion in which people who do desire elective amputation and those who do not understand why someone would want such a thing can discuss. If he referred to them using a derogatory term, the former would immediately disengage because they would already know how the latter perceives them. Thus, as translators, medical professionals have been tasked with being cognizant of their language. They must read test results like an EKG graph and interpret its meaning to a patient who may have never finished high school. They must listen to cultural practices, try to understand their health impact, and explain it without demonizing it. They must find ways to forgo their biases and prejudices during their interactions with patients about whom they may have negative underlying assumptions. The way people go about this translation is so vital because it determines what the patient takes away from the encounter. Why would someone who feels that you do not understand them or that you have disrespected them want to listen to your professional opinion? Medicine is the art of communication. Professionals say “died” instead of “passed,” they use scientific, standardized terminology, and they listen to patients and their stories before jumping to diagnosis to traverse the divide between professional and patient because miscommunication can be painful, especially in a field whose goal is to do good for all people.  

The importance of language also flips onto the patient. The way we tell stories and the way we acknowledge the professionals around us also matters because we also have a role in forging this bridge. Extending the respect that we want to the professionals helping us allows them to keep listening and caring. While it is their job to keep helping us, despite their views, we only make their jobs harder through disrespect. Additionally, as humans, I do not think it is preposterous to say that quality of care likely does change based on the feelings of those helping us. Being mindful of both of our goals in this situation is vital: we are here for their help, and they are here to help us. I think remembering this can allow us to be more gracious toward each other, but I also think it is too simplistic. 

People have negative experiences in hospitals that taint their future visits. Their frustration and anger from being ignored, feeling helpless, or feeling disrespected often can become ingrained in their approach to medicine moving forward, understandably so. On the other hand, I can imagine that many health professionals might sometimes forget that this is the first time a patient is dealing with something they have seen countless number of times. Thus, what might be perceived as dismissive remarks or a cold approach might not be the result of cruelty but rather desensitization. I feel the acknowledgment of both of these realities can afford us all more empathy and understanding toward one another because our language matters in a world in which we are trying to find ways for medicine to fulfill its potential for all people.


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