Dolor

[Dr. Goodword]

• dolor •

Pronunciation: do-lêr • Hear it!

Part of Speech: Noun, mass (no plural)

Meaning: Profound sadness, deep sorrow, grief, mourning.

Notes: Today's sad little word is dolorous when dressed as an adjective and dolorously, as an adverb. Some writers create a noun, dolorousness, from the adjective but the result is redundant since it means that same as dolor. (It is also a bit clumsy.) If you visit the UK or other English-speaking nations, expect an extra vowel in the spelling of this word, dolour, paralleling colour and armour.

In Play: Today's Good Word is usually applied to serious situations: "There has been a dolorous pall about Gilda ever since she was passed over for the promotion." Of course, it needn't be: "Since his pet potbellied pig wandered away from home, Aiken Hart slumps into a depressive dolor every time he smells bacon."

Word History: Middle English borrowed today's word from Old French dolour, the natural descendant of Latin dolor "pain", from dolere "to hurt, suffer". This noun also went on to become Spanish dolor and Italian dolore with the same meaning, "sorrow, mourning". The root also turns up in many English words borrowed from Latin or Romance languages: condolence "grieving with", indolent, and deleterious. The original PIE root was del-/dol- "to cut", which also gave Russian its dolya "share" and delit' "divide". (We are far from sad that one of the Good Word editors, Luciano Eduardo de Oliveira, suggested today's beautiful if dolorous word.)

[Gene Engene]

Does the name Dolores have any connection, here? Seems that it might, though the few of that name whom I have encountered seemed not to be overly concerned about it - perhaps because they had not encountered its history.

[rrentner]

I believe Dolores is indeed derived from dolor (pain, suffering) through its association with Our Lady of Sorrows, or the Seven Dolors of Mary, in the Catholic tradition.

[LukeJavan8]

I believe Dolores is indeed derived from dolor (pain, suffering) through its association with Our Lady of Sorrows, or the Seven Dolors of Mary, in the Catholic tradition.

I had a teacher in elem school, Sister Mary Dolores, who told us
indeed that was where her name arose and why she took it was because she wanted to be ever mindful of her Lord's sufferings.

[Gene Engene]

Maybe that drives us into the doldrums, as well.

[LukeJavan8]

She drove me into the doldrums:zzzzzzzz

[damoge]

an anecdote
While hospitalized a long time ago, I was in a 4 bed room. One of the women was Hispanic, and woke crying and screaming at about 1 a.m. each day for several days in a row. During one of those episodes, the nurse kept asking her questions: What's the matter? What do you need? and then finally, Are you in pain?
I said aloud, "The word for pain is 'dolor'."
The woman in the bed next to me was (to use the medical term of the time) gorked -- gork= god only really knows. She was unable to answer questions, but would repeat part of what she heard. For the rest of the night she repeated
"The word for pain is no more. The word for pain is no more..."

[David Myer]

Great story damoge. Sounds like a strange array of ailments in your ward. Dare I ask what you were suffering from? Were you in pain anyway or just because of the sleepless nights and strange room-mates?

[Dr. Goodword]

I love stories about conversations between people with different native languages. I have to laugh when one of those people is having difficulty with the other and can't figure out what the problem is and begins speaking louder, I suppose, figuring he/she is hard of hearing.

[Gene Engene]

I experienced this one summer in Athens. A 'colleague' liked going to a certain taverna, which, he was sure, had the best risogalo (sweetened ricemilk, with a bit of cinnamon) in town. It is a favorite dessert of most Greeks. Every time we went in, which was often, he would order, in a loud voice, "DI-O RISO-GALO, PA-RA-KA-LO!, spacing out the syllables as if speaking to a non-speaker. After a couple of these incidents, I became aware that the waiters, who were the same every day, would nod, and, while turning away, roll their eyes and slightly shake their heads. I thought to try an experiment. The next time, as we came in the door, and the waiters looked up, I just held up two fingers, to which the waiters smiled, slightly, and nodded, as they recognized who I was with - again. The waiter then came to the table, bringing two risogalo, set them on the table, without a word, and returned to his station. My colleague was astonished that they knew what he wanted, remarking, loudly, "Well - I guess they really know me here!! I didn't say a word.

[George Kovac]

I love stories about conversations between people with different native languages. I have to laugh when one of those people is having difficulty with the other and can't figure out what the problem is

My fluency with Spanish here in bilingual Miami is a work in progress. When I was new here, a co-worker asked me (in Spanish) "How are you?" I sighed wearily and answered "Estoy casados." My friend looked startled. I intended to say "I'm tired" but I actually said "I'm married." I realized my error and quickly corrected myself: "Estoy cansados" ("I'm tired").

My friend replied "Casados, cansados…son los mismo" ("Married, tired, it's all the same thing.")

[damoge]

I had post-viral encephalitis. I was on an overloaded neurology ward at a major teaching hospital. I was hospitalized for more than 3 months.
I was blind, able to feel bodily functions as never before or since (could feel food being digested or not, blood circulating or infiltrating), discovered all sorts of other ways we work. Most were things I didn't need to know, but OH! how I appreciate skies, water, rocks, happy faces, autumn trees, and my grandkids.
Obviously, I don't know what the diagnoses were for the others in the room, but the Hispanic woman was to be discharged the next morning when the event I described took place. I told the doctors about it when they came on rounds. They kept her a few days more, discovered she was having a drug reaction and changed meds before sending her home.

[gwray]

A first generation Canadian of Italian ancestry shared a story of a visit with her parents to relatives in Italy when she was a young teen. She was very conscious of her limited abilities in Italian and resolved to make an effort. When her very hospitable aunt was pressing yet more food on the girl, she told her aunt, "No thank you, I am very full". There was immediate stunned silence around the table. The phase that this 14 year old girl had used was a colloquialism for "I'm pregnant".

[David Myer]

Wow damoge. An extraordinary experience and certainly one to teach you (and all the rest of us) respect for life.

[David Myer]

I had a strange linguistic experience in France as a young man. I met an attractive young woman on the beach and attempted to chat her up. She told me that she was on holiday recovering from the horrors of her father's recent death. Seeking to demonstrate appropriate sympathy, I said "C'est terrible". This did not go down well. Apparently, as I discovered later, I had delivered the French equivalent of "Terrific". This may or may not still be the case, but for those travelling to France (if we get through the current trials), best to avoid the expression altogether.