“His name is what?” the senior resident asked. “What kind of name is that?”

“I don’t know,” the junior resident answered. “But that’s what he goes by.” He shrugged.

Senior looked over his shoulder and looked at the name: Lnu, Fnu

“Fuh-noo Luh-noo?” she said no on in particular. The intern looked over her shoulder as a third witness.

“What does that mean?”

“It means ‘First Name Unknown, Last Name Unknown’,” Mr. Lnu said to Intern. He had clearly answered this question numerous times in the past—and with pride each time.

“When—how—when did you get that name?” Intern asked.

“I changed my name about ten years ago,” Mr. Lnu replied. “It was the right time to do it.”

“What was your name before you changed it?” Junior asked.

Mr. Lnu looked away and sighed before replying, “It doesn’t matter. It’s Fnu Lnu now.”

Junior shrugged and continued with rounds.

Mr. Lnu had come to the ER with chest pain. His workup revealed abnormal changes, which resulted in an admission to the hospital for observation. Since arriving to the floor, Mr. Lnu was no longer experiencing symptoms.

“My parents were not happy with my name change,” he continued. The lawn of his hairy chest sprung black wiry stems that ended in red, metal, cylindrical blooms that lay limp against his belly. He scratched his balding head with his stubby fingers before scratching his chest. His dark eyes, supported by dark bags underneath, focused on Junior. “They were concerned that I was disowning them. They’ve gotten used to it, though I think they’d prefer it if I changed it back. It’s hard to change your name, though—I had to fill out a lot of paperwork and I don’t want to go through all that again.”

Intern visited him later to inform him of his pending discharge, medication additions, and outpatient follow-up appointments.

“It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Lnu,” Intern said. Fnu Lnu had a nice ring to it; it rolled off of the tongue easily. Intern didn’t want to make a mockery of his name, however, and thus insisted on calling him “Mr. Lnu”.

“Thanks,” Mr. Lnu said, smiling. Intern recalled fondly the Shakespearean discussion they had had earlier:

“It doesn’t matter what your name is,” Mr. Lnu had pontificated. “What matters is what you do, what you believe in. If I don’t have integrity, it doesn’t matter if my name is George Washington or John F. Kennedy. Names are unnecessary; I don’t want people to remember me for my name—I want them to remember me for who I am.”

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.

Intern smiled back. Would his behaviors and beliefs really overshadow the name “Fnu Lnu”?

They shook hands.

Less than a month later, Intern (who was now on a different service) heard from Junior that Mr. Lnu had not only returned to the hospital a few weeks later, but had subsequently died.

“What?” Intern exclaimed. “What happened?”

Junior explained, “It’s really sad. Fnu Lnu came back to the ER again, this time with significant chest pain. He was having a massive heart attack and was intubated. Something happened with the mechanical ventilator—there apparently weren’t any problems getting the tube in, but something went wrong with the ventilator settings.”

“What do you mean, ‘went wrong with the ventilator settings’?” Intern interrupted.

“I don’t know—what I heard is that the ventilator was somehow set so that he couldn’t exhale. So the machine just kept pushing air into him. Essentially, his lungs popped from all the pressure.”

Intern stared in disbelief at Junior. Junior nodded.

“Oh my God,” Intern finally said. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” Junior said. “It is. And now I will never forget him or his name.”