What's in a Name?

Thought for the Fortnight

photo by Edward Howell for Unsplash

This has been my very regular slot for two years now, but it dawned on me two days ago that whatever I publish today is unlikely to be read because of the US election results. I wondered what to do – not publish at all?  Re-publish something old?

In the end, I decided to recount a bittersweet true story that happened about a month ago.

Emergency Department

I was stuck in the Emergency Department – what we call A&E (Accident and Emergency) in the UK – with drops in my eyes on a late Friday afternoon.

I had come because I had experienced ‘flashings’ in one eye. I had phoned two local opticians in the hope of seeing an eye doctor, but both urged that I go immediately to A&E.

Three years ago, my husband had had a stroke that started in his eye, so I knew I should not ignore the situation. I quickly took myself to an excellent eye hospital in London, not too far away.

The system was well organised. A short wait to get registered, a discussion with a nurse about the nature of my problem and a meeting with an optician who did the usual eye tests and put in the eye drops.

The last bit was the wait to see the doctor.

Because of the drops, I couldn’t read. Not much at all I could do. So, I did what most people would in the circumstances and eavesdropped on people nearby.

Eavesdropping

It so happens that the people sitting closest to me were a young black mother and her daughter, who looked full of spice and energy.

The mother was saying, in a nice but firm tone of voice, “Now, when we go in to see the doctor, you won’t keep interrupting, will you? You won’t ask what is this? and this? and this? You’ll sit quietly like a good girl.” And she gave the daughter a loving stroke, to show she wasn’t cross, but just trying to make herself clear.

Oh, this brought back memories. So many times, my curious children in a similar situation would want to know what was going on. So difficult to keep them quiet. And so difficult to suppress them because such curiosity is all to the good.

I smiled at the mother in sympathy. I’ve been there, I said.

The little girl agreed to do her mother’s bidding with some reluctance. She was squirming and seemed – quite reasonably – bored. It was a long wait.

Chennai

After a bit, I leaned over and asked the little girl her age. She was seven. As I needed to collect my phone, which was in a special phone charger arrangement, I asked if she would like to go with me. Her mother agreed.

On the way, I asked her name. She said it was Chennai (I have no idea how this was spelled, but it sounded like the city in India). I said that was a pretty name, did it mean something?

She hesitated, looked a bit worried, said he wasn’t sure, hesitated again and then added in a very quiet voice “I think it means ‘irritating.’”

Oh dear. A whole world of experience summed up in a single word. 

You could see the problem. She was full of curiosity, asked lots of questions and some people must find that irritating. I said I doubted that it meant that and we continued on our errand.

She was very alert and understood the phone charging machine better than I did. It later transpired that her mother had used it too.

Goodbyes

Once back with her mother, I mentioned that Chennai thought that her name meant ‘irritating’.  “Oh no,” she immediately said, “I just liked the sound of the name, but it certainly doesn’t mean that.” She made sure her daughter heard her words.

I said I wondered what it might mean. And smiled. I suggested ‘full of curiosity’. Chennai contemplated this and then looked satisfied.

Soon after, I was called by the doctor and I didn’t see Chennai or her mother again.

But I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

Imagine thinking that your name meant ‘irritating’.

Postscript

The doctor did all sort of tests and decided that what happened to me was very benign. Something to do with jelly in the back of the eye.

Not a stroke, nothing to be done. He wished me well and I was on my way.

A version of this post was first published by SixtyandMe.com

I ALWAYS love comments, but am not expecting a lot today. Even a ‘like’ is a pleasing acknowledgement of your reading, but do please comment if you wish.