What's in a name - Dr. Teah Mogae

“You are booked in for an appointment with Dr. Teah for 9am on Friday.” I overhear the receptionist politely confirming an appointment with me for later in the week.

Now, I must admit that Dr. Teah is my made-up name, one that didn’t exist before I arrived in Australia. I was always known by my first name Tshegofatso, or rather the shortened version Tshego, but that was too much of a tongue twister for my Australian medical school classmates.

My name Tshegofatso is actually very common in my native tongue, Setswana, and translates to Grace in the English language, but was Anglicised to “Teah” partway through medical school. This was not only to save time but embarrassingly to stop the usual sequelae of questions that invariably follow questioning my origins: how to pronounce my name, where I studied, how come I was fluent in English, or the laughter at starting my name with TSH (which in medical lingo can mean Thyroid Stimulating Hormone to name a few).

As a chocolate-coloured young lady, my African origins are obvious, and something that I introduce to all consultations as it is part of who I am. My cultural background is something that is often in the background - the elephant in the room, you could call it - that the patient and myself might not acknowledge. This might be seen in how I pronounce or phrase things, or how sometimes the facial expressions of a patient gives away their shock as seeing “the chocolate doctor” when they thought they were seeing an Asian doctor; you can blame Dr. Charlie Teo for that one.

There can be a double-edged sword of repeatedly trying to prove oneself whilst dealing with anticipating dichotomous responses to my background from patients. Either patients have unrealistic expectations that to work as an African doctor in Australia you must be really good; or they have lived in a world where everything they have demanded has been served at their feet, and to object to their unrealistic or inappropriate demands as someone from an “inferior culture” leads to complaints about my inability to assimilate into “Australian culture”.

Often when consulting with patients of African backgrounds, or migrants of non-English speaking backgrounds, my cultural heritage is brought to the forefront. It becomes a form of camaraderie, as if to say “you have a true and deeper understanding of what I am saying because we have walked a similar path.”

It is also interesting when the subject of names comes up. I find out that Charlie might actually be Muhammad, Majeed, or Huang - and with that discovery, we share the acknowledgement and adjustment we all make to fit into this multicultural country.

They say a foreign accent is a sign of bravery - a sign of venturing into a new world with nothing but your name. But sadly, one could ask: what’s in a name, if we so easily change that too.