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A five-year-old boy by the name of "Sze Wai" (思瑋) attended
my clinic one evening. He had been seen by my colleagues several times in the past
few years, usually accompanied by his mother and the domestic helper. The mother-child
interaction soon drew my attention. The child was obviously not very subordinate
but at the same time seemed unusually attached to his mother. While I was examining
the boy, I casually asked the mother if he was the only child. His mother calmly
replied that he used to have an elder brother who was born with a serious congenital
heart condition and did not live past his second birthday. She added that that child
had seen us before. After I finished work that day, I dug up the deceased brother's
record by searching through the home telephone number. I found an empty record with
a registration date and appointment time but the child did not turn up for the consultation.
I worked out from the boys' birthdays that their mother became pregnant in her first
child's last year of life and the younger brother was born shortly after his elder
brother died. The two boys, destined to be brothers, narrowly missed the chance
to lay eyes on each other. I looked at the name of the deceased child and it said
"Man Wai" (文瑋); it struck me then that the boy I was
seeing was named after his elder brother. For readers who are not familiar with
the Chinese language, the word "Sze" (思) could mean
"to think of", "to be reminiscent of" and "to feel the loss of". A name endowed
with memories and sorrow for their sadly lost first child, sentiments that only
parents can fully comprehend.
I believe that one of the greatest things that a parent does for his child is to
name him. For by that name, he finds his place in the world as an individual and
earns his first identity. Many parents will recall the lengths they went into naming
their first child. Do we know why our own parents gave us our particular name? What
kind of expectations or blessings did they put into that very name? As bearer of
that name, what kind of person our parents had hoped we would grow up to be? Those
of us who are fortunate enough to have our parents with us may want to find out
the answers at our next family gathering, which, unfortunately, may be few and far
between. Professor Young hit the spot when she commented that doctors tend to pursue
their professional goals at the expense of other more personal goals.1
Family support is an important prognostic factor in many conditions seen in primary
care. We try to convince patients and their families of this everyday and we believe
in it; why, then, should we ourselves be any different? Effective practice of Family
Medicine does not exist in isolation but is the end product of many influences including
the doctor's own family. I think I learn just as much, out of teaching my boy how
to ride his first bike than attending a workshop, on parenting problems. I think
the commonest parenting problem in Hong Kong is that "parenting" does not exist;
parents are simply not there to parent their children. I know I will never be able
to gain CPD points for spending time with my family because such activities will
be considered outside my "professional" life. Deep down in my heart I choose to
believe that, in many ways, my family teaches me how to be a better doctor.
Doctors who take "family" as their motto and call themselves Family Physicians,
end up neglecting their own families and leading a miserable family life is, to
me, the greatest irony of all.
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