Say my name.

When I first returned to Grady after my wedding and honeymoon back in 2004, quite a few people were surprised when I announced that I had a new last name.

"Dr. Manning," I said without flinching. Not hyphenated. Not optional. This was my new name.

And let me be clear: I think taking your husband's name is a highly personal choice. I do not knock those who don't one single bit. Especially because the vast majority of these individuals are grown women who should be able to do whatever the heck they want to do with their last names.

But me? I chose to become Kimberly Manning. Harry said he hoped we could all just be "Team Manning." 

Maaaaan, please. That brother had me at "team." 

Ha.

So I'll never forget it. I walked into Grady that Monday and one of the first people I saw was one of my favorite senior faculty members, Dr. Michael L. He scowled at me and said, "What's this I hear about you changing your name? You've been here for three years! My brain is too old for new names."

"You'll adjust."

"Draper. That's it for me. I'm calling you Draper when I see you and that's that!"  And if you know Michael L. you can hear his voice saying this full of super-surly cantankerous-ness.

"And I will not answer you since that is no longer my name. I still have Draper genes in me but I am now a part of 'Team Manning.'"

Michael took his index finger and feigned a (quite warranted) gag and wretch. "Draper!"

We faced off. I held up my new badge in his face and shook my head. "You'll adjust, sir. You will."

And you know what? Despite his attempts otherwise, eventually he did. He adjusted. As did everyone else around me.

For whatever reason, it was important to me for those around me to respect my decision to take a new name enough to use it. Just as it's equally important to respect those who choose to keep their maiden names and NOT assign them the name of "Mrs. So-and-So." I was firm on that. So that meant that I quickly corrected accidental hyphenations and even those who persistently got it wrong. Never did I give in and simply say, "No big deal, Draper is fine." And for that reason and that reason alone, I feel sure that everyone began to see me as Kimberly Manning.

You know? It wasn't as much work as you'd imagine. Outside of Michael L., it didn't require much redirecting. So I learned something. I learned that people will first do what is easiest for them. But if you let them know your preference. . . it doesn't take long at all for them to get it.

So that brings me to today. Today I was in clinic working with two wonderful residents. Both speak Arabic as their first language although one hails from Syria and the other Libya. Mahmoud, who always works with me in Monday clinic, taught me how to say his name properly after I watched people referring to him using a different pronunciation than the one he used himself.

"How does your mama say it?" I asked.

"It's okay, MAH-MOOD is okay."

"But how does your mama say it? Does your mama say MAH-MOOD? In Libya?"

And Mahmoud laughed loud and hearty which told me my answer. "I want to say it how you say it. And how your mama says it. Teach me."

So he took his time and taught me. "Say MAH."

"MAH."

"Then make a tiny little sigh like this--'hah'."

"hah."

"Then say MOOD."

"MOOD."

"Now. Put it all together fast like this-- MAH-hah-MOOD."

So I practiced in front of him. "MAH-hah-MOOD."

"The 'hah' needs to be smaller. And not guttural or else it becomes a different name."

"MAH-hah-MOOD."

"YES! Good, Dr. Manning! Good, good!" Mahmoud exclaimed.

And exclaimed was the verb I meant to use because that is really what happened. So every time I see him, I try my best to honor the name his mama and his daddy and his culture gave him enough to say it right.

Mahmoud.

I see you.

The Syrian woman working with us today is also of native Arabic tongue and has a rather intimidating (to Westerners) last name when you first see it-- Dr. Abed Alwahab. I don't work with her often so usually her first name suffices. But in clinic, I always address the doctor as a colleague in front of the patients so I needed to get the proper pronunciation of her name.

"Pronounce your last name?"

"A-BED is fine," she replied.

"What do you prefer? Do you prefer to be called 'Dr. Abed?'"

She shrugged. "It's fine. I'm okay with that. It's hard for people to say my name, so it's okay."

And Mahmoud shot me a glance because he knew what was about to happen next (and because I'm ridiculously predictable.)

"Tell me how YOU say it. Teach me how to say it."

So she smiled for a moment and then sweetly answered. "A-bed Al-wa-hab is the whole thing."

"Dr. Abed Alwahab?" I repeated. "That's totally phonetic."

She nodded her head and chuckled. "Uuuuhhh . .. I guess it is." She seemed more than anything to be glad of the time I took to ask and that was enough for her.

But Mahmoud knew that I wanted to really know how to say it. Like she says it. Like the way it's really pronounced. So he chimed in. "Dr. Manning if you want to say it like it's pronounced in Arabic, it's more like AB-DAL-WA-HAB. But you say it fast. All together."

"Dr. AB-DAL-WA-HAB," I proudly copied him.

And don't you know they both squealed with glee and clapping? So I showed off and repeated it like ten more times until I had it mastered. I saw her pale face flushing. I could tell how much she appreciated the gesture--this simple gesture of respecting her culture and her name.

Abed Alwahab.

I see you.

I have a colleague at Grady who is of Nigerian descent. Her name is rather intimidating on paper, too, but honestly? When you get past what it looks like, you recognize that it, too, is also pretty much phonetic. So most who see my friend, Ugochi (OOH-GO-CHEE) butcher that part (which is her first name) and then -- perhaps unknowingly -- refuse to even TRY her last name.

Ohuabunwa.

I guess they are just too exhausted from trying to say her phonetic first name? Uh, yeah . . .okay. Ohuabunwa. They see it and cringe. Or instead of cringing they just laugh and say, "Dr. O."

Ha ha hell.

But here's the thing--she doesn't refer to herself that way. I'm pretty sure that much like I wanted to be called "Manning", it would likely be her first choice to be called by her name, too. So just like those residents, I asked her to teach it to me.

And she did. "OH-HWAH-BOON-WAH."

Phonetic. Ohuabunwa. Ohuabunwa. Ohuabunwa. I practiced it until I got it right. And vowed to never call her or refer to her as "Dr. O" ever again.

Yeah, Dr. Ugochi Ohuabunwa. I see you, too.

Sure do.

As you can guess by now, this whole ethnic name dismissal thing -- and married name whatever-ness -- is a bit of a pet peeve of mine. I think it's kind of disrespectful to not even attempt someone's name just because it looks foreign or different to you.

Which reminds me. Our clinic staff used to annihilate one of our former Grady chief resident's last name each week in clinic. Oh Lawd, it was comical. His last name, ACHTCHI (AAHSHT-CHEE), is of Persian origin -- which, okay, does involve an awful lot of consonants. And maaaaan . . . the clinic staff called him all sorts of things. . . such as:

Dr. ATTACHE
Dr. ATARI
Dr. APACHE
Dr. CHACHI (as in "Joanie loves.. . ")
(and my personal favorite) Dr. A-CHOO-CHOO

But you have to give them credit for one thing--at least they tried. They saw all those consonants and still took a crack at it. An amusing crack but a crack no less. They didn't just look at it and decide to say "pass."

In my opinion we shouldn't be able to just "pass" on people's names. We owe it to their mamas and their daddies and their grandmamas and their granddaddies to try to learn and use the one they prefer. And not just our lazy English default. In fact I think saying someone's name the right way is kind of like the nod. . . .it's your way of saying, "I see you."

Because really. . .  how smug is that? How smug is it to look at a person's name and then size it up as not worth your brain power to properly say?  Especially if you work with the person repeatedly? I don't care if you don't have bad intentions, either. Indifference--especially to cultural things--can sting. Trust me on that.

Man, I'm just saying.

In case you're wondering. . . you don't need an "ethnic" name to have a preference. Here's mine:

My first name is Kimberly. You can call me "Kimberly" or "Kim" if you're a friend or an adult who isn't my student or my resident. In that case, "Dr. Manning" or "Dr. M" is cool. I don't like little kids calling me by my first name--unless it's got a "Miss" in front of it. Just call me old school *shrugs* That's my preference. And don't worry--if you're grown, my kids won't be rolling up on you with a fist bump calling you by your first name either. Even if you insist.

No, ma'am, they will not and no, sir, I don't think so.

Yeah. So if things are super informal and we're pals, "K.D." is fine--which a lot of friends from college and med school still call me exclusively--in casual settings. (My middle name still starts with a "D" so it worked even after marriage.)

And speaking of more preferences. . . . when my name is printed somewhere, I strongly prefer "Kimberly" and not "Kim." Yep. And yes. It makes me happy when folks acknowledge this wish--especially the Kim-in-print thing.

You know why? It's simple. My mama has always preferred "Kimberly." Always. Not one time has my mother ever referred to me as "Kim" or written my name that way anywhere. Ever. So out of respect for my mama, I introduce myself as such and like to see it printed that way, too.

Yep. That's my preference. Which tells me that everybody has one. Even a grandmama who wants to be called "Grandy" instead of "Grandma." Yup.

No, I won't taze you or scream at you if you slip up or you don't know my preference. I'm not so self-important that I run around obnoxiously shutting people down for improperly using my (hello? common!) name.

But.

My point is this:  Don't hear someone introduce themselves as something and then just create something that you find easier. Especially in a formal setting. Don't just reach into the sky and opt out of the name that their loved ones chose when they were born. Don't.

At least don't with me. 

With me? When you see me, say my name.  My name. Or one I'm cool with--and not just one I've given up and decided to be cool with just to save you a few syllables. Yeah. Say my name.

And I promise --- if you teach me how --- that I'll do my very best to always say yours.

Mahmoud.
Abed Alwahab.
Achtchi.
Ugochi Ohuabunwa.

See? It's not hard to learn it all . . . . that is, once you decide.

***
Happy Monsoon Monday Night.


What are your thoughts on this? Weigh in, y'all.

Now playing on my mental iPod. . . . . some old school Beyonce and her crew. . .