Between college graduation and my first day of medical school, I changed my name. Well, not exactly my given name: Catherine, or my last name but my "for short" or nickname. That sweet little name my parents bestowed upon me and which I accepted willingly fell into the deep hole called the past when I transitioned into a new phase of my life. I figured the time was ripe for change. I had moved from upstate New York to Texas, starting out anew, turning over a new leaf, and maybe becoming someone different when I matriculated in medical school. I introduced myself as Kate to everyone I met.
My parents and all who ever knew me before I turned 22 know me as "Kitty". To my 94 year old Dad, I'm even more than "Kitty", I'm "Kitty Kat". Sigh. It's sweet and he'll never change, nor should he. But, the name "Kitty" didn't feel right to me, nor did it seem to fit me once I reached my twenties. My family still calls me Kitty from time to time before they catch themselves. I suspect when they talk of me (I won't say about me) out of my presence I'm probably "Kitty" all over again.
My birth name, Catherine felt stately and wise but too formal. Catherine also left the door open to others shortening it to Cathy which would never work for me. Kitty wasn't a name for the long haul of life. So, Kate she became; a name that fits my skin, a name I chose for myself instead of the other way around.
I don't think my parents ever really understood why I decided to do this. My siblings and their families indulged me my independence and choice. My husband, his family, my children, and anyone who has ever met me after I started medical school know me by the name I preferred to be called. And all that is good.
Sometime my colleagues write my name as "Cate" because Catherine is spelled with a "C". Sometimes my patients call me "Katie" or Catherine if they're feeling formal. Whatever. More on being addressed by my first name in a professional setting by a patient later. That's an interesting issue and has definitely changed over time.
There's no more worrying about my nickname from the past except around those who knew me back in the day. These folks have license as the only ones allowed to use that name in my presence. If I ever hear it slip out of the mouths of others, I cringe (curdle may be a better word) inside and if they keep it up, they eventually learn never to go there again.
Names are important.
