{"id":29882,"date":"2026-01-03T04:01:00","date_gmt":"2026-01-02T20:01:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/csccm.org.cn\/?p=29882"},"modified":"2026-01-03T06:09:58","modified_gmt":"2026-01-02T22:09:58","slug":"29882","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/csccm.org.cn\/?p=29882","title":{"rendered":"[BMJ\u5723\u8bde\u4e13\u520a]\uff1a\u533b\u5b66\u672a\u547d\u540d\u65f6\u523b\u5b57\u5178"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Opinion<\/strong> Christmas 2025<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A dictionary for medicine\u2019s unnamed moments<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

Matt Morgan<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

BMJ<\/em>\u00a02025;\u00a0391\u00a0doi:\u00a0https:\/\/doi.org\/10.1136\/bmj.r2476<\/a>\u00a0(Published 01 December 2025)Cite this as:\u00a0BMJ<\/em>\u00a02025;391:r2476<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Matt Morgan<\/strong> shares some words that capture what medicine feels like when no ICD code will do<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Words matter. In medicine, they act as scalpel and suture. They are the only operating instruments we carry into every conversation. They diagnose, they console, they bind people together in the aftermath. And they also shape how we see ourselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In September, I wrote a column in The BMJ<\/em><\/a> about how I was starting my own medical lexicon (https:\/\/thedictionaryofbloodandsilence.com\/<\/a>). Here, I invite you to read this selection of 25 of these neologisms crafted for the unspoken experiences of doctors and healthcare workers. Every day between 1 and 25 December, a new word will appear in the infographic. Some are thoughtful. Some are quietly humorous. All are honest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Since I began creating and sharing these words, I\u2019ve been contacted by other doctors who\u2019ve coined their own. Among the many submissions to my strange dictionary of medical feelings was one that arrived from a place I didn\u2019t know about at the time: a care home in Cornwall, where Barry Pettit was receiving palliative care. A general practitioner for three decades, he had spent a lifetime helping others make sense of illness, yet in his final weeks he reached once more for the language of medicine\u2014coining the fourth word in this list.<\/em> His daughter later wrote to tell me he had died before he could read my reply. Knowing now the circumstances in which he submitted his word lends it a profound and humbling force. It is a reminder that behind every clinical definition sits a human story, and sometimes the person who teaches us the most about the experience of illness is a colleague who has just crossed its threshold themselves. I hope his addition is a fitting tribute to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wanted to start this dictionary to make a record of previously unnamed moments: the first breath after resuscitation, the gloves snapping on at 3 am, the way light falls across an empty bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe limits of my language are the limits of my world,\u201d<\/em>said Ludwig Wittgenstein. <\/em>Medicine proves this daily. We can name hundreds of anaesthetic agents, surgical manoeuvres, pathological signs, but we don\u2019t yet have a name for the moment you care for a patient who shares your mother\u2019s name (Matronymosis<\/em>). Without language for an experience, it remains an unprocessed weight\u2014something carried but never unpacked. These moments become private ghosts that may continue to haunt us. But when spoken or written, they lose their power to hurt or scare us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Naming these moments is not indulgence. It\u2019s clinical housekeeping for the soul. When our language shrinks, the human side of medicine begins to suffocate. We risk lexical ischaemia, a narrowing of meaning caused by semantic rust. The result will be a corrosion of care born from what we cannot name. There is something quietly liberating in discovering a word for an experience you\u2019ve felt all your life but never spoken. It whispers: you are not alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is not a dictionary of pathology. It is a shared language for those who have walked the coded corridors of hospitals, and carried home the scent, the silence, and the strange music of a shift. If medicine is about care, then naming the unnameable is part of that care\u2014for patients, for colleagues, and for the quiet places inside ourselves that deserve recognition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

These words have been made to tell you: you\u2019re not the only one who\u2019s felt this. We are all a little lost\u2014and naming it is how we begin to find our way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Readers can view the full infographic at\u00a0https:\/\/public.flourish.studio\/visualisation\/26069714\/<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

1st. Beeperphantom<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Hearing your pager go off when it has not<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

2nd. Breathchase<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The desperate rhythm of trying to coax air back into someone slipping away<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

3rd. Cursorcrawl<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The glacial pace of an ancient hospital computer waking up, during which you can measure time in heartbeats and watch your clinical urgency slowly evaporate<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

4th. Devastdiscernment<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The sudden realisation that the illness you are contemplating in a detached, professional way is actually happening to you. Submitted by Barry Pettit<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

5th. Exitcall<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The pager going off just as you\u2019re about to leave for the day<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

6th. Farsilence<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The distant quiet you hear on a ward at 3 am, knowing it can shatter at any second<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

7th. Glancecode<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The silent exchange of looks between staff when things turn serious<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

8th. Glovelock<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

That flash of panic when you can\u2019t get a glove off quickly<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

9th. Gownsnap<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The satisfying rip and shrug of removing a surgical gown<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

10th. Hospibrew<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The distinctive hospital smell of equal parts reheated food and human waste<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

11th. Lifespill<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The moment you realise a patient has just told you something they have never told anyone else<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

12th. Mentorclench<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The mix of pride and anxiety while watching a junior attempt a first procedure<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

13th. Nameghost<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The sudden intimacy of caring for a patient who shares a loved one\u2019s name<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

14th. Passnesia<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The sudden mental blackout when trying to log in to a hospital computer you\u2019ve used daily for years, as if the password has been surgically removed from your memory<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

15th. PlotTwistitis<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The sudden rewrite of a patient\u2019s story when a new diagnosis appears<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

16th. Radiloom<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The suspended moment between ignorance and revelation while an x ray loads<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

17th. Rosterosis<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The creeping malaise that sets in when the new rota drops into your inbox and you immediately start bargaining with your future self<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

18th. Scrubswim<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The restless slipping and sagging of scrubs that do not fit<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

19th. Shiftdrift<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The feeling of hours blending together until you\u2019re not sure which day you\u2019re in<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

20th. Stickscape<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The miniature hell of adhesive that refuses to peel the way you want<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

21st. Stilltone<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The thick, absolute quiet in the room when you certify a death<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

22nd. Storyhold<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Keeping a patient\u2019s life story in your head so you can tell it for them when they no longer can<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Opinion Christmas 2025 A dictionary for medicine\u2019s […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[32,23],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/csccm.org.cn\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/29882"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/csccm.org.cn\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/csccm.org.cn\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/csccm.org.cn\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/csccm.org.cn\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=29882"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/csccm.org.cn\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/29882\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":29885,"href":"https:\/\/csccm.org.cn\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/29882\/revisions\/29885"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/csccm.org.cn\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=29882"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/csccm.org.cn\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=29882"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/csccm.org.cn\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=29882"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}