Video about me, "Hammad Aslam, 1st Year"

"A Portrait In Perseverance"
As seen on Georgia Health News
http://www.georgiahealthnews.com/2010/11/a-portrait-in-perseverance/

Written and produced by Sonya Collins, of the Health & Medical Journalism graduate program at the University of Georgia.

Life, plus 10 minutes... plus white coat!

The past month living by myself in Athens has been crazy. When I was telling my friend how I was going to live on my own, I told him my parents' worries and then my own ideas about living on my own: I can do pretty much everything, but it will just take me a little longer. Think of it as “life, plus 10 minutes”.

When I need to go somewhere, it takes me about 5 minutes to load my chair into the car or take it out and put it back together. So that’s about 10 additional minutes it takes to go somewhere. Going somewhere that is about 5-10 minutes away forces me to leave 20-30 minutes ahead of time. Getting dressed, taking a shower, and doing other things all take extra time, especially if I fall onto the shower floor and have to get myself back up, like what happened last week. A simple fast food run takes almost as much time now as grabbing a bite to eat at a sit-down restaurant did before. All this takes time away from doing other, more important things—like studying.

But is it manageable? Absolutely. This is “life, plus 10 minutes”, not “life is over”.

…

I wrote the above entry really quick one night during the first week of September (before I even wrote the last entry). I had no idea how to end it or if I wanted to post it, so I never did. At the time, I was a bit overwhelmed with things. I wasn’t doing quite as well as I had hoped in school and I was having a rough week. I was finding it hard to balance the obstacles of living on my own with finding time to study, and I was beginning to doubt myself. We had an exam coming up and I told myself I needed to chill out and focus, and that things were manageable. Yes, they would take a bit longer, but nonetheless conquerable. I knew that was true.

A few weeks later, we had our white coat ceremony, where we were basically inducted into the medical profession. In those few weeks before the white coat ceremony, I started to do better in school, I was getting more sleep, and I found ways to save myself a few minutes here and there (hence the lack of posts on here). Looking back at the entry I had written above, I think I have to assure my possible future patients that hopefully those “extra 10 minutes” added to everything I do won’t affect patient waiting time. :)

I continued to pursue my dream of medical school and decided to live on my own because I knew it was something I could do. It would be difficult, considering my circumstances, but I wanted the challenge, if only to prove to myself that it could be done.

I know several of you have asked for pictures of my apartment and my car (yes, I drive! If you didn't pick that up from the post above, haha). An amazing student at the Health & Medical Journalism graduate program at UGA is making a short video that will show y’all everything.

I never say quite what I mean, I never mean quite what I say

Since our school and curriculum is new and a few of my fellow students and I are not doing as well as we would like, the faculty decided to have meetings with us individually to discuss our progress, our concerns, and anything else. The precepts for my small-group learning sessions are the dean of our school and our amazing biochemistry professor. So, I got to meet with the dean one-on-one in her nice office.

One of the things she discussed with me was how I was very quiet and don't participate much in discussions. I told her that I had actually talked about this with a friend the night before. She noted how I don't speak much and when I do, I tend to speak quietly or with my hand in front of my mouth. I explained to her the irrational fear I have of running out of breath.

The accident caused my ribs to break and puncture my lungs and also somehow caused my airway and esophagus to drastically constrict. For a while, I could not eat solid foods, drink liquids of normal viscosity, or speak more than a few hushed words without having to pause to catch my breath. So, this changed me from a guy who talked so much that I would trip over my words to a guy who spoke less and just listened more. I did not want to seem weak or damaged, so I just wouldn't say anything at times.

When I speak, the things I say are insightful, the dean said, but I say them with reserve. I often mumble, too. Before, I would mumble because I couldn’t talk as fast as I could think. Now, I mumble because my mind thinks too many things and I’m hesitant with the words I choose to say. People also don’t seem to hear me when I speak to a group, perhaps because of my reduced lung capacity, so I keep quiet.

The dean said that this introspection was very interesting and it was good that I was able to figure that out on my own. She then asked me, “How is your confidence?”

I smiled and responded, “Well, I thought I was doing great and that I had no problem in that respect. Then I came here and was shown otherwise.”

As I wrote about in my post Compensate, people have doubted my capabilities since my accident. I choose to push past that and do whatever I want to do. Recently, though, this has been taking a toll on me. It seems like everyone here is so much more intelligent and so much more sociable than me. So, I take my place as a wallflower.

What will it take to let out the usual self? The only thing I can think of is gaining comfort. Comfort not only with my peers so I can speak up more, but with myself in the accelerated environment. I have been to one extreme—the brain injury unit of Shepherd Center, where a few of my fellow patients had to wear helmets so they wouldn’t hurt themselves or the sutures on their head—and now I must go to the other.

Oh, life on the brain injury floor was a trip. I remember not knowing the extent of my injuries and telling my doctor there, “I better be out of here soon. I’m starting med school in two and a half months!” I remember him and my nurses smirking when I said that and I wasn’t sure why. After two weeks, I was moved to the spinal cord injury unit because of the amazing progress I had made and underwent extensive speech/mental therapy and neuropsychological exams. I remember before I left, my neuropsychologist showed me my test scores and showed how much I had improved. Since I had improved so drastically, considering the extent of my injuries, I would definitely be even more ready for medical school when I started a year later than planned, he said. I’m not sure why I wrote all this in this last paragraph. I guess it’s to remind myself that I shouldn’t be so hesitant with things.

Trick love the kids

"Why don't you go upstairs? Are you scared?" my parents' friend's young daughter asked.

"Nah, I just like it better down here," I replied. Her loquaciousness reminded me of my youngest sister.

I love kids. I've grown up around infants and toddlers, so they have always been familiar to me. A few friends have already called it that I will do some sort of specialty involving pediatrics.

Kids seem to get along with me even better now. I have a beard, which I thought made me look older, but little kids still interact with me the way they would with any other child they see. I

believe it's the wheelchair. First off, it makes me close to their height. That removes a lot of inhibitions they may have. Secondly, most of them have never seen such a space-aged device. It's completely alien to them and they are curious and fascinated.

A few months ago, I posted an entry from GMH that illustrates the acceptance with no preconceived notions that children have. Young children are innocent. They aren't filled with stereotypes and assumed ideas like the rest of us. They are easily amused and most haven't experienced the world enough to know real pain.

Many of us still have not gotten past that stage. We still seek attention and approval. We still become upset over petty things. We are still pampered and don't know real struggle and pain.

The only thing that separates most of us from children is that we take little wonders for granted, while they do not. Most of us could learn a thing or two from the innocence of a child. Have you seen how happy a child gets when their parent says, “Okay, you can play for a little longer, but for five minutes only.” Those five minutes mean the world to a child. How often do we waste five minutes here and there and take time for granted?

That’s why I love kids. They’re my little homies and it’s so cool when they give me a high five or start playing with my chair. I love it when they run up to me and show off their new shoes or their lollipop that they have and I don’t. Rock on kiddos, rock on.

"All Eyez On Me" -Tupac

My, what a day today has been.

Orientation started yesterday. I have been really nervous and anxious. I felt worse than a child before his first day of school. Never before have I been this way. The first day of school is usually much anticipated by me. This time, it was the opposite.

Contrary to what most people may assume, I wasn’t anxious about getting to the grind of studying. I was nervous about meeting my classmates and professors. I wasn’t sure how they would treat me and what they would think when they saw a guy in a wheelchair. Back home, it seemed like everyone was always very surprised that I was going to medical school. Most people—adults and young people included—were skeptical and looked at me doubtfully. It’s what I was mostly referring to in my post "Compensate".

I thought that attitude was going to carry over with my peers. Yesterday, we had orientation with the students from both campuses. Oh man, I was embarrassed the whole time. It started when I noticed everyone was dressed better than me, with their ties and fancy-shmancy shoes and stuff. Instead of buzzing my hair short every other week, I had been growing my hair out to cover up my scars. I was even embarrassed when I rode the bus and had to get on and off using the ramp. It was as if I was hoping no one would notice that I was in a wheelchair, haha. Stupid me.

Today was one of those days that I had to just laugh at. I’m usually fine with lack of sleep early in the mornings but this morning I was feeling sour for some reason. At least I made sure to deck out in a shirt and tie. The first event planned for today was brunch with the whole class and the professors. The lounge area is up a couple steps, so there is a wheelchair elevator next to it that I can use. I got inside, closed the door, and pushed the button to go up. It started to go up for a second, but then it shut off. I was stuck. A few professors, deans, and students came to help me. After the initial embarrassment, I was laughing the rest of the time at the timing of the situation. The campus dean brought my breakfast there and a fellow student stopped by a little later to take my plate and ask me if I wanted anything else. I had to be taken out (minus my wheelchair) by a professor and a few students. The faculty apologized to me and commended me for my patience and good spirit throughout the process.

I asked the faculty member who helped me out if we could get the maintenance guys to put in some piece of soft padding on the doors of the elevator so they wouldn’t be so loud when they slammed shut. “We could, but don’t worry about it. No one cares about the noise. It doesn’t disturb anyone. We’re all family here,” he replied. Yeah, yeah we are.

We had lunch with the deans of both campuses a few hours later. The campus dean gave a wonderful talk and I tried to force myself to think, “Yeah, Hammad, you did it. You’re going to make it.”

A day before, our campus dean was commending one member of the administration for doing so much work “behind the scenes” to get the new campus up and running. This woman later introduced herself during lunch and had a chat with me. She told me how they have only had one other person in the history of the medical college who was also in a wheelchair. She said how his classmates loved him and that it was a balancing act for them with allowing him to be independent and offering assistance. The key, she said, is to know when to ask for help so that others become used to any associated limitations, while giving freedom the rest of the time.

In the evening, we were all invited to dinner in the dean’s backyard. I was told to go down the side of the house so I could get to the back. As soon as I started going down the hill, my chair got caught on the grass, tipped forward, and I fell onto the ground with my chair on top of me. The dean’s husband came out just when that happened and came to help, as did my friend who had dropped me off at the house. When I got back in my chair and was going to the backyard, the dean’s husband let me know casually that it’s okay to ask any of them for anything.

The dinner was good and I was able to chat it up with my classmates. I felt more comfortable with them this time. I even asked someone if I could get a ride back to my place. When we were getting ready to leave, the dean mentioned to me and several other students how she was really glad that I was able to make it to dinner. She said she’s thinking about having the other students take turns being in a wheelchair for a day just to see what it’s like. The dinner and her talk with us made me really feel like I don’t need to be self conscious about everything in front of my peers. No one is judging me and we are all a family. There are only forty of us on this new campus. I told all my friends before I came here that everyone better be cool since there are so few of us and I’m sure we will all be pretty close. I am confident that that will be true. And like the dean said to us and another faculty member repeated, we made it. We did everything to get this far and we will make it all the way. There will be times when we will think that the admissions committee made a mistake and that we shouldn’t be here, but everyone will be thinking that. We are all ready. It’s time to enjoy these next few years. I’ll just have more obstacles to overcome than the rest of my class, but it’s nothing that can’t be done with a smile.

First Impressions of Earth

Written August 1, 2010

I’ve been in Athens since Monday, July 26. I left here in December 2008 when I graduated from the University of Georgia. I am back here for medical school at the MCG/UGA Medical Partnership campus.

Being back in Athens to live has certainly been an experience. The people and places are still amazing. The first day I was here, several friends from Atlanta and from the Athens helped me move in and set everything up. I wasn’t even friends with a few of the Athens folks, but they didn’t mind lending a helping hand. That night, I went to the local mosque and saw our beloved imam who left a few years ago. The next few days comprised of seeing friends that I haven’t seen in forever. It was great!

Things became bittersweet as I was riding with my bud at night through the city on a fast food run. A line from a movie kept coming to me, “How irreparably changed my life has become.” My, how true that line has become.

I try not to think about “the way things were”. Thinking about certain things will just get me nowhere. But being back in Athens brought back a rush of emotions and memories. If you ask people here what they like about the city so much, most will simply state some of the simple pleasures of the city.

It’s not the same for me anymore. But I don’t really sit around and feel sorry for myself and stuff. I know I have been given this challenge for a reason. Nothing good comes easily. Let's see what the rest of this week (and the next four years of med school) brings.

Giving 100%

Guy: So are you still in therapy?
Me: No.
Guy: How long were you in therapy?
Me: Several months.
Guy: How many months?
Me: About 7-8 months.
Guy: So 8 months?
Me: Yes, about.
Guy: Why did you stop?
Me: Because insurance only pays for a certain amount of time.
Guy: Did you see any improvement or are you still the same?
Me: Well, yes and no. Um, I got a lot stronger. And um, I wasn’t able to lift up my right arm at all. Now it’s almost back to normal.
Guy: Can you write with your right hand?
Me: Um, yes.
Guy: Do you feel like going to therapy was worth it or do you think you would have gotten those things on your own over time?
Me: Yes, I think it helped and it was worth it.

Haha, that’s a conversation I had the other day with a guy at a friend’s graduation party. I had never met this guy before and I wasn’t friends with him. I think I may have seen him around somewhere, but that’s all. He kept asking me questions and they kept getting more and more personal. I answered him with short, annoyed responses after a while. He then stopped asking me questions and started asking my brother, who saved us both by saying that we had to leave.

This morning, I was thinking about the conversation I had with this guy and the way he was prodding me about therapy.

I actually have another blog as well. It was started a few years ago and I used it at first to just copy and paste tidbits of health, nutrition, and fitness articles that I had found worthwhile on the internet. It’s a private blog and I used it also to make little notes to myself. I stopped posting to myself in that blog after my accident, until my friend said something really great two weeks ago. I then wrote the first and only post on there in over a year.

One post that I written four months before my accident was titled “Giving 100%, 100% of the time”. It was after I had watched a football movie and I had noticed that the young players, in order to overcome the shortcomings that they had, had to muster every ounce of strength that they had for the duration of the whole football game. That got me thinking about how easy it is for us to go full force in the beginning, yet back it off once the going gets tough. I asked myself, “What does it take to give 100%, 100% of the time?”

I had noted in this post from January 2009 that this question has implications in almost all areas of life. Sports, working out, school, and even relationships are just a few areas. Giving it your all will certainly yield pleasing results. And if they don’t, at least you know you didn’t hold back.

Then I started thinking about a time in my life when “giving it my all” just wasn’t good enough, it seemed. That’s why the annoying guy continued to prod me with questions about therapy and if I felt it was worth it. Spinal cord injuries are not like almost all other things in life where working extremely hard will yield satisfying results. What annoyed me about this guy was that he was asking me these questions in a condescending tone, implying that I probably didn’t work hard enough or long enough and that is why I was still in a wheelchair. This isn’t like slipping a disk or breaking multiple bones—as displayed in movies, TV shows, books, and told in stories—where through grinding teeth and overcoming pain one can pick themselves up from the broken pieces and then recover himself, achieving the admiration and hearts of those around him. This is something where every day for months and months one can give 100%, with the results being not what one would expect.

Do I feel like working hard in therapy was a waste? Heck no. The physical (and mental?) strength that I gained is something that made it all worth it. Sure, the results weren’t what I expected and I wasn’t sprinting like Usain Bolt out of the hospital after a few months, but at least I can rest knowing that I gave it my all, no matter what other people think. I hope I can say the same with everything else in my life.