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 seemed well organised. A short wait to get registered. Then a nurse talked to me to determine the next step. She said I might need to come back the next day, because it was late, but she went off and put in a good word with the doctor and he agreed to see me that afternoon. An optician then did the usual eye tests and put in the eye drops.
And the only 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 nearby conversations.
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 was trying to make herself clear.
Oh my goodness, 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 I think 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, but with some reluctance. She was squirming and was – quite reasonably – looking bored. It was a long wait.
Chennai
After a bit, I leaned over and asked the little girl her age. She was seven. I needed to collect my phone, which was in a special charger arrangement, and asked if she would like to go with me. Her mother agreed. I left my coat with her.
On the way, I asked her name. She said 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, and then added in a very quiet voice that she thought it meant ‘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 found that irritating. I said I doubted that it meant that and we continued on our errand.
She was smart 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 ‘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.
Let’s Exchange Some Thoughts:
Do you ever eavesdrop or talk to nearby people when you are in a waiting room? Do you know anyone with confusion about the meaning of their name? What does your name mean? Have you been in curious situations with small children? What can you recall?