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Medical Mnemonics

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Medical mnemonics are memory aids that help students and clinicians quickly recall complex information—everything from cranial nerves to causes of diseases. They were absolute lifesavers for me during medical school, and some still come in handy for my medical practice. Here are some of the most widely used and useful ones, grouped by topic:

🧠 Cranial Nerves (Order & Function)

Names (in order):
On Old Olympus’ Towering Top, A Finn And German Viewed Some Hops
→ Olfactory, Optic, Oculomotor, Trochlear, Trigeminal, Abducens, Facial, Vestibulocochlear, Glossopharyngeal, Vagus, Accessory, Hypoglossal

Function (Sensory/Motor/Both):
“Some Say Marry Money, But My Brother Says Big Brains Matter More”

❤️ Causes of Chest Pain (Serious)

“MONA” (also used in treatment of heart attacks):

  • Morphine
  • Oxygen
  • Nitroglycerin
  • Aspirin

“ABCDE” for life-threatening causes:

  • Aortic dissection
  • Pulmonary Bolus (embolism)
  • Coronary syndrome (heart attack)
  • Dead lung (tension pneumothorax)
  • Esophageal rupture

🧬 Lupus Diagnostic Criteria

“SOAP BRAIN MD”

  • Serositis
  • Oral ulcers
  • Arthritis
  • Photosensitivity
  • Blood disorders
  • Renal involvement
  • ANA
  • Immunologic disorders
  • Neurologic symptoms
  • Malar rash
  • Discoid rash

🧪 Causes of Anion Gap Metabolic Acidosis

“MUDPILES”

  • Methanol
  • Uremia
  • Diabetic ketoacidosis
  • Propylene glycol / Paracetamol
  • Infection / Iron / Isoniazid
  • Lactic acidosis
  • Ethylene glycol
  • Salicylates

🫀 Heart Valve Auscultation Areas

“All Physicians Take Money”

  • Aortic → Right 2nd intercostal space
  • Pulmonic → Left 2nd intercostal space
  • Tricuspid → Left lower sternal border
  • Mitral → Apex (5th intercostal, midclavicular line)

🦴 Carpal Bones (Wrist)

“Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can’t Handle” ***This one is one of my favorites!***

  • Scaphoid
  • Lunate
  • Triquetrum
  • Pisiform
  • Trapezium
  • Trapezoid
  • Capitate
  • Hamate

🧫 Tendons In Thumb

“SEX LAB” ***Another favorite!***
Short Extensor (Extensor Pollicis Brevis), Long Abductor (Abductor Pollicis Longus)

🩺 Symptoms of Hypocalcemia

“CATS go numb”

  • Convulsions
  • Arrhythmias
  • Tetany
  • Spasms/Stridor

🧍‍♂️ Parkinson’s Disease Symptoms

“TRAP”

  • Tremor
  • Rigidity
  • Akinesia (or bradykinesia)
  • Postural instability

🧠 Stroke Warning Signs

Mnemonic: “FAST”

  • Face drooping
  • Arm weakness
  • Speech difficulty
  • Time to call emergency services

🧠 Anticholinergic Toxicity

Classic Description:

  • Hot as a hare
  • Blind as a bat
  • Red as a beet
  • Mad as a hatter
  • Dry as a bone

🧠 Why the Weird Ones Work

Why the weird ones work

The more inappropriate, vivid, or absurd, the better your brain encodes it. Medicine is heavy memorization—so people lean into humor (even dark humor) to survive it.

Why mnemonics matter

They’re not just for exams—they’re used daily in clinical settings where quick recall can be critical. Good mnemonics:

  • Simplify complex lists
  • Improve speed under pressure
  • Reduce errors in diagnosis or treatment

The Language of Medicine

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© armmypicca, 123RF Free Images

Medical school introduces an enormous volume of new terminology—often estimated in the range of 10,000–20,000 new terms over the course of training. These include anatomical structures, physiological processes, disease names, diagnostic procedures, and pharmacological agents. Early on, students can feel overwhelmed because nearly every sentence in a lecture may contain multiple unfamiliar words.

This is why learning medicine is often compared to studying a foreign language. Like in fields such as Latin or Ancient Greek, much of medical vocabulary is built from common roots, prefixes, and suffixes. For example, once you know that “cardio-” refers to the heart and “-itis” means inflammation, terms like “carditis” or “pericarditis” become easier to decode. Over time, students stop memorizing isolated words and instead start recognizing patterns and constructing meaning from word components—just like becoming fluent in a new language.

As fluency develops, “medical speak” begins to feel natural. What initially required conscious effort—translating and interpreting terms—becomes almost automatic. Students and physicians can quickly process complex information, communicate efficiently with colleagues, and even think in medical terminology without mentally converting it back to everyday language. In clinical settings, this fluency allows for precise, concise communication that would otherwise take much longer in lay terms.

In short, while the early stages of medical education can feel like immersion in a completely unfamiliar language, consistent exposure and practice transform that complexity into a kind of second nature. I truly feel very blessed and privileged to have learned the language of medicine. It is an incredible honor, and something I never take for granted.

Latin Tongue

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© armmypicca, 123RF Free Images

A very common tendency among young people who intend to go to medical school is to take Latin during high school. It is so common that a reference to this tendency was featured on a recent episode of The Pitt. As it turns out, I took 2 years of Latin in high school, in anticipation of going to medical school. Though I don’t remember much from my two years of high school Latin, having a knowledge of Latin helped out tremendously while I attended medical school.

That’s because:

  • I internalized roots, prefixes, and suffixes
  • I got comfortable with unfamiliar word structures
  • I learned to infer meaning instead of memorizing blindly

That “mental framework” sticks even when the formal knowledge fades.

1. The language of medical terminology
A huge portion of medical vocabulary is derived from Latin and Greek. Words like cardiology (cardio = heart, Greek; -logy = study of) or renal (Latin renes = kidneys) are essentially built from these roots. When you’ve studied Latin, you’re not just memorizing terms—you’re decoding them.

So instead of rote memorization, you instinctively break words apart:

  • hepatosplenomegaly → liver + spleen + enlargement
  • subcutaneous → under + skin

That gives you a major efficiency advantage in medical school, where the vocabulary load is enormous.

2. Precision and consistency in communication
Medicine depends on extremely precise language. Latin (and Greek) provides a standardized, unchanging base. Unlike modern languages, Latin isn’t evolving, so terms don’t shift in meaning over time. That stability is why anatomical structures and diagnoses are still named this way worldwide.

3. Anatomy is basically Latin immersion
Anatomy in particular is saturated with Latin:

  • foramen magnum
  • corpus callosum

If you’ve had Latin, even at a basic level, these aren’t just intimidating strings—they’re descriptive phrases. That makes learning anatomy feel more logical and less arbitrary.

4. Training your brain for pattern recognition
Latin study emphasizes grammar, structure, and parsing complex sentences. That skill translates surprisingly well to medicine:

  • analyzing symptoms → like parsing a sentence
  • recognizing patterns → like identifying word roots and endings

It builds a kind of mental discipline that helps with clinical reasoning and absorbing dense information.

5. Historical tradition (that still lingers)
Medicine in Europe was formalized when Latin was the language of scholarship. Universities, early medical texts, and anatomical naming conventions all used Latin. Even though modern education has moved on, the terminology never got replaced—so the legacy persists.

The Origin Of Æ

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The letter Æ (lowercase æ), often called ash, has a long and fascinating history that connects ancient writing systems to modern European languages.

1. Origins in Ancient Alphabets

The story begins with the Greek alphabet. Greek had a letter called Ancient Greece diphthong αι (alpha + iota), which represented a sound similar to the “ai” in aisle (in early pronunciation).

When the alphabet spread westward, the Ancient Rome adapted parts of the Greek writing system into the Latin alphabet. In early Latin, the diphthong ae represented a sound like the “ai” in aisle as well.

2. From “AE” to a Single Letter

In classical Latin writing, A and E were written separately (ae). However, over time:

  • The pronunciation shifted from a diphthong (“ai”) to a simpler “e” sound.
  • Scribes began writing the two letters together as a ligature (a combined character).

This combined form became Æ, especially in medieval manuscripts.

Examples in Latin:

  • Caesar
  • aeternus
  • aer

In some later spellings, especially in English, the ligature was simplified to just e (e.g., medieval instead of mediæval).

3. Use in Old English

In England, during the Old English period (around 450–1100 CE), æ became a full letter of the alphabet, not just a stylistic combination.

It represented a distinct vowel sound — something like the “a” in cat.

Example:

  • dæġ (modern English: day)

Old English scribes borrowed the letter from Latin manuscripts and adapted it to represent a native sound.

4. Use in Modern Languages

Today, æ is still used as a distinct letter in several languages:

  • Iceland
  • Denmark
  • Norway

In these languages, it represents a vowel sound similar to the “a” in cat or a slightly broader front vowel.

5. Æ in Modern English

In modern English, æ is mostly stylistic or archaic. You may see it in older spellings like:

  • archæology
  • encyclopædia
  • mediæval

Today, these are usually written without the ligature (archaeology, encyclopedia, medieval).

Summary

The letter æ:

  • Originated from the Greek diphthong αι
  • Became ae in Latin
  • Fused into a ligature in medieval writing
  • Became a full letter in Old English
  • Survives today in Scandinavian and Icelandic alphabets

It’s a great example of how writing systems evolve over time — shaped by pronunciation changes, scribal habits, and cultural exchange.

Word Geek

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One of the best days for me in May of 1977.

As a child, I was absolutely intoxicated by words. Not just the ordinary, pedestrian ones — I mean the labyrinthine, tongue-twisting, sesquipedalian marvels that felt like verbal acrobatics. I collected them the way other kids collected trading cards.

I didn’t just know the longest word in the English language – pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis — I reveled in it. I made sure to memorize it at the age of 8, savoring each syllable like a procession: pneu-mo-no-ul-tra-mi-cro-scop-ic-sil-i-co-vol-ca-no-co-ni-o-sis. Twenty-three letters? Please. That was merely a warm-up. This beefcake carried 45 letters, and it denoted a coal miner’s lung disease, which was even better since it also appealed to the medical nerd portion of my personality. I wanted words with gravitas, with architectural complexity.

My mom recognized early on that spelling wasn’t just a skill for me — it was a vocation. When I told my mother that there would be a major spelling bee at the end of the 6th grade year, she took it upon herself to quiz me daily in order to fortify my chances of taking home the coveted title and medal. Every afternoon she would sit across from me at the kitchen table with a list. Not pedestrian little morsels like “apple” or “chair.” No. She would lob in “chiaroscuro,” “defenestration,” “antidisestablishmentarianism.” It was our ritual — my daily lexical calisthenics in preparation for the apotheosis: the 6th-grade spelling bee.

And when that day came, I was incandescent with anticipation.

One by one, students were shot down, failing in their efforts to deliver impeccably spelled words, until there were only two of us left: Martha Phelps and me. Martha Phelps was supremely confident, practically effervescent with self-assurance. Then she was given the word facetious. I remember thinking how deliciously ironic it was, because it contains all five vowels in order. She began: F-A-C-E-I-O-U-S… and stopped. Smug. Triumphant.

Except.

Except there was no t.

Mrs. Mackenzie — stately, unflappable — adjusted her glasses and said, without saying a word, turned to face me.

Mrs. Mackenzie repeated the word: facetious.

The room shifted. Martha’s smile curdled.

Oh, I had been waiting for this.

F-A-C-E-T-I-O-U-S.

Each letter placed with surgical precision. The t nestled perfectly where it belonged — the quiet hero of the word.

And just like that, victory. Not by accident. Not by guesswork. By devotion. By daily drills at the kitchen table. By loving words enough to memorize even the absurdly magnificent ones.

I didn’t just win with facetious. I won because I understood that words have bones and ligaments and hidden symmetries. And I adored every single one of them.

Stop Saying, “It Is What It Is”! (repost)

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“It is what it is.”

I cannot understand why this phrase has become so popular, because it is incredibly stupid and redundant. I cringe every single time I hear someone utter it, and am dismayed by the number of people I know who have adopted this into their current communication behaviors. Why has it suddenly become so trendy to state the obvious in this manner? I can’t help but think that everyone who utters this string of words either hasn’t given much thought to the circular reasoning buried in it, or has developed a pathological and resigned attitude towards life in which circumstances are shrugged off. Come on guys, take a little responsibility, would you?

Copyright: rnl

If we look at res ipsa loquitur logic, this legal term indicates that someone is presumed to be negligent if that individual had control over what caused the injury. But since I took two years of Latin in high school, I am more intrigued by the original semantics and logic of this particular phrase. If we apply this idea of negligence to the statement, “it is what it is”, does that mean that people are blaming fate, or the lockdown, for the unraveling of society which has occurred in the past three years, or are they simply resigning themselves to fate when they utter that? All I know is that I have heard it far too often in the past couple of years, and it is raising my ire.

I truly enjoy and appreciate what Ethan Ryan from The Fiddleback has to say about this idiotic statement:

“It is what it is” is a waste of words, a waste of breath. I mean, sure, I get it. It expresses the same sentiment as the French “C’est la vie!” But still, it irks me. It’s just a repetitive series of defeatist monosyllables. Why not just say “It is,” or for that matter, “It’s”?

Of course it is what it is! How could it be anything but it?

The only context in which that phrase would be appropriate would be if somebody asked “Is it what it is?” and you said, “Yes, it is what it is.” Presumably you’d have this conversation in an assisted living home with a demented loved one attempting to categorize an ice cream cone.

When you write “It is what it is” as a mathematical algorithm it looks like this:

it = it

In logic, this is called the law of identity, which states that an object is the same as itself. “A is A” is a tautology. Here are some more:

1 = 1

pineapple = pineapple

J = J

☺ = ☺

poop = poop

X = X

Those are analytical facts, verified by their consistency within the rules of a symbol system. But they’re also stupid and irrelevant. They’re true under all possible circumstances, and they demand little of the world for their truth. You don’t need evidence to back up the claim “Poop is what poop is.”

Here’s another tautology:

Formula_Ryan

Seems logical, right? I don’t know, I’m not a logician.

What concerns me are rhetorical tautologies such as:

“I am what I am.” ~ God talking to Moses

“I yam what I yam.” ~ Popeye talking to Olive Oyl

“Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.” ~ Gertrude Stein

“A horse is a horse, of course, of course.” ~ the Mr. Ed theme song

“It is what it is what it is what it is what it is what it is what it is.” ~ this essay

It is it. A is A. But redundancies are redundant, aren’t they? Be succinct. Next time your umbrella breaks, or your toilet gets clogged, or your house burns down, just shrug and say “It’s.”

That’s obnoxious advice, I know. Defeatism gets us nowhere. Life is hard, but that’s no excuse to spout meaningless clichés. There are so many fantastic adjectives and nouns and verbs out there, humming in a deep pocket of your brain. Use your words. Don’t just say “It is what it is.” We already know that.

Wittgenstein said philosophy is the headache you get from banging your head up against the limits of language. When I came across that line I decided I was done studying philosophy. Years later, my head is still hurting. Philosophy is dangerous.

Whatever.

It’s.

——–
Ethan Ryan

Learning About A Country Through Television

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Copyright: 3dgenerator

Whenever I travel to a foreign country and have access to a television, I am always compelled to watch something so that I can soak up the local language and culture. I’ve done this in Mexico, Costa Rica, Hungary, Australia, Thailand, Japan, Spain and Portugal. When I visit countries which speak a language I can understand, I make an effort to listen and understand the language. For example, I can catch bits and pieces of Japanese when watching Japanese television, because I have had a lifelong exposure to Japanese programs. When in Mexico, Costa Rica, and Spain, I understood the majority of what I watched and heard on television, and I felt that it boosted my cultural understanding of the country I was visiting.

When I was in Hungary, I got a chance to watch Family Guy with Hungarian overdubs, which was truly bizarre but also quite fascinating. Then when I visited Spain, I caught a few episodes of the Spaniard version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, as well as another Spain-based game show, and was pretty surprised when I was able to follow the shows in their entirety without any struggle. My experience watching TV in Spain made me even more courageous about speaking Spanish while I explored Barcelona and Girona. Even in Sydney, Australia, I got a kick out of the language nuances and cultural differences which were revealed in the programs I watched.

Who else has a habit of catching television shows while traveling abroad?