Perhaps this is a hot take.
Maybe it’s an argument that isn’t worth having. Maybe it’s a discussion that some people will dismiss as semantics. And maybe I’ll be told that “it’s just the medical term.”
But I don’t think language is ever just language.
The words we use to describe our bodies shape the way we think about them, the way we talk about them, and even the way we feel about living in them.
That’s why I think it’s worth asking whether we should reconsider how often we use the word comorbidity.
In July of 2025, I spoke in front of a group of DEIA+ professionals on this very topic. Just as many people who thought the conversation wasn’t worth having, thanked me for having brought it up.
What does “comorbidity” actually mean?
Traditionally, comorbidity refers to the presence of one or more additional medical conditions occurring alongside a primary diagnosis.
The word comorbidity comes from three Latin-based parts: the prefix co-, the root morbus, and the suffix -ity. Together, they mean the state of having a disease together with another.
In many clinical situations, it’s an appropriate and useful term.
For example, if someone is admitted to the hospital with pneumonia, the nurse at bedside may ask about their “comorbidities” to understand what other diagnoses they have. Those existing conditions can influence medication choices, treatment plans, anesthesia risks, recovery, and overall clinical decision-making. They may influence whether they are in a shared room on the med-surg floor or not.
In those settings, the word serves a practical purpose.
But that’s not the only way the word is used.
When it starts to lose its usefulness
Take conditions like hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (hEDS), mast cell activation syndrome (MCAS), and postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome (POTS).
These conditions are frequently discussed together because they are commonly associated with one another. They are referred to as the “triad” or “trifecta”.
Researchers continue to study why they often occur in the same individuals, and clinicians frequently reference these relationships when educating patients.
Yet we often hear them described as “comorbidities.”
Would “co-occurring conditions” communicate the same idea?
What about “associated conditions”?
Or “commonly occurring together”?
In many contexts, I think the answer is yes.
Why is this important? Words carry emotional weight.
The average patient isn’t thinking about the Latin roots of medical terminology.
The cringe a newly diagnosed patient feels when they hear there are comorbid conditions and symptoms they should keep an eye out for because they’re likely to experience them as well…
They hear morbidity. And it’s not a fun word to hear.
For many people, that word is associated with sickness, decline, suffering, or death.
Even if they don’t consciously define it that way, they know what the word means, the association exists. Morbidity = morbid = death = blehk.
Now imagine hearing that language over and over again.
Your comorbidities.
Managing your comorbidities.
Your list of comorbidities.
Year after year.
Appointment after appointment.
Support group after support group.
Research paper after research paper.
Eventually, those words begin to become part of how someone thinks about their own body. I can’t do X because I have Y and one of my comorbidities (Z) doesn’t allow me to do X…
Language doesn’t just communicate information…
It also communicates identity.
Our bodies deserve more credit <3
Living with chronic illness can already make it easy to feel like your body is constantly failing you.
But is that really the whole story?
Every single day, our bodies are adapting. They’re overcoming the dysfunction these conditions have created for us. They’re keeping us alive… They’re keeping us going.
They’re compensating.
They’re healing.
They’re regulating.
They’re finding countless ways to keep us alive despite incredibly complex challenges.
Yes, there are systems that aren’t functioning as intended.
But there are also thousands of biological processes quietly succeeding every second we remain alive.
Should our language reflect that reality a little more?
Perhaps instead of constantly emphasizing morbidity, we could more often emphasize coexistence; our vitality…
Associated conditions.
Co-occurring conditions.
Conditions that commonly occur together.
Those phrases describe relationships between diagnoses without subtly reinforcing the idea that our bodies are defined by morbidity and will one day cease to exist.
Why this matters beyond medicine (or… why it should)
Some may argue that changing one word won’t change patient outcomes.
If that’s you, you’re probably right. Fight me. (not really, pelase don’t. I bruise easily).
Not trying to waste anyone’s time here.
Changing one word won’t cure chronic illness. I get that. It won’t eliminate symptoms.
It won’t improve access to care.
But mental health matters.
The way patients view themselves matters.
The language clinicians speak about us matters.
The language advocacy organizations use about us matters.
The language researchers choose to use to describe us matters.
Small changes in language accumulate over time, especially for people who spend years navigating healthcare systems.
Words can either reinforce hopelessness or encourage perspective.
This isn’t about policing language…
To be clear, I’m not suggesting that the medical community eliminate the word comorbidity.
There are absolutely situations where it is the correct technical term.
If a clinician is determining medication safety, assessing surgical risk, or documenting a patient’s medical history, precision matters!
But outside of those contexts, I wonder whether we have opportunities to choose language that feels more human.
If hospitals are investing in programs and training to improve bedside interactions and patient comfort/validation, then why can’t we take a beat to think on this concept, as well?
If we’re simply describing conditions that frequently occur together, perhaps “co-occurring conditions” or “associated conditions” accomplishes the same goal while carrying less emotional weight… and doesn’t remind the patient, that their morbidity is up for discussion…again.
Maybe it’s a small thing.
Or maybe it isn’t.
Living with chronic illness often means hearing thousands of messages about what your body can’t do.
Do we really need another subtle reminder hidden inside our everyday vocabulary?
Our bodies deserve language that acknowledges complexity without centering morbidity.
I know there are plenty of providers, researchers, and professionals that’ll read this and think this is an unpopular opinion or even one of those discussions that seems too small to matter… like a total waste of one’s breath to discuss.
But I believe words shape the stories we tell ourselves and if changing a single word helps even just a few people view their bodies with a little more compassion, a little more gratitude, and a little more hope, then perhaps it’s a conversation worth having.
I’d genuinely love to hear what others think.
If you live with chronic illness, work in healthcare, or conduct research, does the word comorbidity affect the way you think about your health? Or the way you think of the health of others? Do you feel it’s simply a neutral medical term?
How do we encourage patient-centered language and still use a word that reminds patients of their very morbidity… especially when so many of us with chronic illness have realized that the likelihood of shortened life expectancies or more potential opportunities for fatal accidents/incidents to occur are right there before us, because of these very… comorbid (co-occuring, commonly associated) conditions making that reality so much more likely.
There may not be a right answer. But I think the conversation itself is worth having.
Hi friends! My name is Lauren. Thank you for being here and for making it this far. If you like what I’m doing here and want to support me/the blog – feel welcome to follow along on Instagram or TikTok– where we’re now 11k strong and continuing to grow! I also accept patient stories, if you’re interested in sharing your rare disease experience or looking for a place to share your diagnostic odyssey or promote your blog/business- reach out to me, I’d love to elevate other rare voices. I’m so happy you’ve found your way here and happy you chose to be here for another day. <3 XoXo, Lauren
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