Essential Spanish for Healthcare

Austin, TX | October 20, 2020

I was tidying up my desk nook and took a moment to reacquaint myself with the residents of my library. Each book a distinct voice of its own, telling stories of human universals; one voice sharply called out to me tonight. 

This book was given to me by my Mother as I entered my first post-graduate job as a Patient Advocate at an Arkansan community clinic. The bilingual job listing painted a picture of connecting patients to social services and filing cancer treatment grant paperwork. A proficiency in Spanish was a requirement. As a nurse of 35 years and counting, my Mom felt obligated to prepare me for what the job listing left out. She warned me of deep waters and conversations far too medical for my qualifications. For these inevitable moments, my Mom bestowed upon me the Essential Spanish for Healthcare 1997 handbook. 

In the first few days on the job I referred to the handbook’s translations when making frequent phone calls to schedule patient consults. By day 2 at the community clinic I knew how to say the phrases,

Con respecto a su tumor anal

“regarding your anal tumor,”

and

Histerectomía vaginal total

“total vaginal hysterectomy.”

Once patients started coming to consults with me in my windowless office at the end of a dark hallway, medical Spanish became a hands-on, sink-or-swim learning situation. When an elderly abuelita lifted her shirt up to show me the lump on her breast for which she was applying for a mastectomy grant, I’d say my Spanish caught on pretty quickly.  

Tonight, I noticed that a good three quarters of the 1997 handbook was un-read. What other essential healthcare Spanish had I yet to learn? What other conversations could I be prepared to have in this romance language? I answered the call of the handbook by flipping it open to a random page. The first translated conversation on page 205 reads, 

Tengo que examinarle el recto con el dedo. Puedo?

I have to examine your rectum with my finger. May I?

This handbook takes on a whole new tone when read outside of the pressure of clinical social services. No longer am I flipping through its pages, desperately trying to translate “ruptured spleen” in front of a patient. I’d like to think this is now the Essential Spanish for Molly 1997 handbook. To my delight, the preceding pages teach the vital segue sentences that help set the mood for the aforementioned rectum touching. 

Tengo que examinarle las partes intimas. Por favor, acuéstese de lado.

I have to examine your intimate parts. Please, lie on your side.

These translations are no doubt essential Spanish for healthcare workers treating the cancer patients that came through my office at the community clinic. However, as a person no longer working in healthcare, the following phrases are just generally good to know in Spanish.

Tengo que examinarle el cuello. Por favor, trague. Gracias.

I have to examine your neck. Please, swallow. Thanks.

Le sale algo por el pezon? 

Does anything come out of your nipples?

Tengo que palparle la cabeza y tocarle el pelo. 

I have to palpate your head and touch your hair. 

If I find myself at a get-together of heavy smokers who also speak Spanish, I am now prepared to lead a dazzling round table about our coughed-up mucus. Just like snowflakes, no two sputum are alike.

De que color es el esputo? Que olor tiene el esputo? Su esputo esta rayado con sangre? 

What is the color of your sputum? What is the odor of your sputum? Does your sputum have streaks of blood?


The handbook deemed a full page spread of popular drugs and psychedelics as Essential Spanish for Healthcare. It even phonetically breaks down each drug, for optimal communication. Angel dust, speedball, tranquilizers, crack: polvo de angel, chute, tranquilizantes, crack.

Just in case the drugs don’t go as planned, the book leaves me with parting words I can say in breathy, emotional Spanish. I imagine a single tear falling from my eye onto page 176 of the handbook as I whisper-

Nunca voy a ser nada, no sirvo para nada, me voy a morir. 

I will never amount to anything, I am not good for anything, I am going to die. 

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