河邊
相信的就是真實，難以置信的就是虛構。我隨便寫寫，你隨便看看
醫學英語用詞跟平時說話的用詞不同，醫學術語和大詞比較多，還喜歡借用拉丁語，有些疾病和醫療器械采用發現者的名字，可能是法文，德文或者日文等等。
記得剛到美國不久，跟實驗室的美國同事聊天，說到感冒了有痰這個事情，我用的詞是“Sputum”，同事一時聽不明白。我心想這個詞挺簡單的啊，我剛到美國不久都知道，怎麽你不知道，難道是我的發音那麽差？後來，也記不得是通過比劃，還是解釋，反正她弄明白了，就給我解釋為什麽一開始她沒明白。她說，一般來說，普通人說到有痰，經常說“phlegm”，如果咯血了，就是“coughup blood”。Sputum”是一個醫學用語，所以她一開始沒想到我會用這個詞。我在國內是學醫的，所以這些簡單的專業術語會用，但是卻不知道平時說話時該用什麽詞。
在中國學醫，來到美國行醫的任經常會出現這樣有趣的事情，知道醫學專業用語，但是不知道平時應該用什麽樣的詞匯說這些事情。在工作的過程中，會經常從病人那裏學到這些醫療上用得到但是又不是醫學專用術語的說法，比如“it knocks me out”，說的是一種藥物讓我昏睡過去。
死，用英語怎麽說？我們都會想到dead, he/she is dead. 但是，這是在中國學英語時學到的最簡單直接的翻譯方法。在不同的場合應該使用不同的詞。總的來說，dead這個說法不夠客氣和委婉。比較常見的說法是passed away（大致相當於中文“過世”，“去世”），比較中性，一般都會被接受，醫生跟病人說明病情時也比較常用家屬。Leave/left,gone這類說法委婉是委婉了，但不夠清晰，有時候聽者覺得很難相信自己親愛的人死了，還會繼續追問以求澄清，平白增添不必要的麻煩。至於升天堂，見上帝之類的說法，宗教意味比較濃，在醫院裏用得也不是太多。
在醫院裏，醫療工作者之間交流，會使用一個很出乎意料的詞“expired”。有興趣的讀者可以去閱讀下麵兩個網頁。為了方便讀者閱讀，我也直接把第二個鏈接的全文貼了過來，文章寫得很風趣。對於沒有興趣或沒有時間的讀者，我簡單解釋一下，“expired”這個詞說的還是病人死了，但是顯得比較醫學化。經常用於醫療人員之間的交流，有時候也用於跟病人家屬交流。創造這麽一個很冷靜很遙遠的說法，大概是為了讓醫務工作者的情感能夠跟失去一個病人的悲哀分隔一些吧。畢竟，時常要跟自己朝夕相處的病人永遠告別，對任何人的心理都會是一個打擊，醫務工作者也不例外。
反正，習慣成習語，“expired”這個詞是現在在醫院裏談到病人死亡時很常用的說法。作為病人家屬初次聽到這個詞可能會很驚愕，但是請了解說這個詞的人是完全沒有惡意的。事實是，在傳遞死亡這個消息的時候，最重要的不僅僅是用詞，說話的人的表情和身體語言，以及病人去世之前的日子裏跟家屬的交流和對病人的治療可能起的作用更大。
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080423231538AAxAjzj
Whydo doctors say a patient has expired rather than they passed away or died?
http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/05/26/doctors-and-the-d-word/
Doctors and the ‘D’Word
When I was a first-year medicalstudent, I earned a few extra dollars by working the 4 p.m.-to-midnight shiftin our hospital’s nursing office, where I scheduled private-duty nurses. Oneevening, about 9 p.m., a nurse called to inform me that her patient had“expired” and that she would need to be assigned to a different patient for thenext day.
Expired?
I had no idea what she was talkingabout. I had an image of the rubber air mattresses we used during camping tripswhen I was a kid: When you opened the valve, the mattress would shake andshimmy as the air whistled out, gradually deflating unevenly until it was aflabby rumple of green rubber.
But then it slowly occurred to mewhat the nurse probably meant. “You mean the patient … died?” I asked,tentatively.
“Yes,” the nurse repliedimpatiently. “The patient expired.”
Expired. The word rolled so oddlyon my tongue. What a strange way to refer to death. My own experiences withdeath at that time were limited to my anatomy cadaver and the vagaries of thepentose-phosphate cycle.
When I started my clinicalclerkships, I began to hear the verb “expire” more frequently, and gradually itceased to sound strange. As an intern, I witnessed my first deaths and wasresponsible for writing “expiration notes” in patients’ charts. Cartons of milkhad expiration dates. Coupons expired. I guessed people could too.
I could understand why other peoplemight prefer euphemisms for death, but why medical professionals? Weren’t wesupposed to be much more comfortable with the workings of the human body?Didn’t we pride ourselves on our technical accuracy? Didn’t we say “umbilicus”instead of “belly button”? Didn’t we refer to the “lower extremity” instead ofthe “leg”?
Conventional wisdom holds thatdoctors become inured to death by seeing it so much, but the existentialistsposit that seeing so much death has the reverse effect, making us acutely awareof our own mortality.
I think there is a little bit ofboth. Each time we see someone die, we realize that it could be us, or ourparents, or our children. We doctors are just as terrified of death as anyother human being scurrying around this little planet. And like any otherhuman, we use euphemism to shield us from that fear. But unlike others who getto indulge in gentler plays of language (“off with the angels” or “at a betterplace”), we need to institutionalize it as just another piece of medicalterminology — terminology that we are in control of.
A few years ago I was supervisingon the medical wards during the month of July with a team of new doctors freshout of medical school. There was one intern who hailed from below theMason-Dixon line (something of a rarity in our New York City hospital). Onemorning she came up to me, her eyes heavy, and reported that Mr. Gonzalez had“passed” during the night.
My first reaction was to askwhether it was gas or stool that he had passed, since we’d been concerned abouthis intestinal symptoms. Then it dawned on me what she was saying.
“Oh, you mean he expired?” I said.
She looked up at me awkwardly andnarrowed her eyes, then nodded slowly as she got what I meant. I recognized inher the same uncomfortable transition I had those many years ago, when my everydaywords for dying were replaced by the medically acceptable terms.
The experience reminded me of astory published in the very first issue of the Bellevue Literary Review called“Cousin Esther Goes to Chicago,” by Cori Baill. The chief resident admonishes anew intern to stop giving such intensive care to a patient — Esther — who hasterminal cancer. “That poor woman should have already gone to Chicago,” hesays, trying gamely to convey his empathy. The housekeeper in the story — whois mopping the floors while overhearing this conversation — wonders if inChicago when someone dies, they say that person “went to Baltimore.”
My intern’s use of the term“passed” also brought to mind a wonderful poem called “Gaudeamus Igitur,” by John Stone, acardiologist from Atlanta. This poem — the title translates to “Therefore LetUs Rejoice” — was delivered as a commencement address to a class of Emorymedical students who probably didn’t realize how lucky they were. I read thispoem to all of my students and interns because it speaks to the emotions ofmoving on in medical training and in life. It includes this passage:
For this is the end ofexaminations?For this is the beginning of testing?For Death will give the finalexamination?and everyone will pass.
When Dr. Stone died in 2008, Ithought of this line. I know he would have been relieved that he didn’t fail.
非要套成中文理解的話，expired就是人生的大限到了。老天不讓你再多活一天，你就隻能活到今天。
這個沒聽說過，以後我可以注意一下看有沒有這麽說。
也不知道最早是怎麽想出來用這個詞的，但是現在進入醫療領域的人大多數都會從一開始的吃驚，到慢慢地適應，到習以為常。