Balance

Remember when you were young and into Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and other things quasi-martial arts/ninja related, and you would draw yin-yangs randomly on things or wear them on necklaces just because you thought it looked cool? Well, I mean, at least that’s what the guys I knew and I did when we were kids.

The idea of two opposite forces in harmonious balance is an interesting one. I do not claim to know about Eastern philosophy (or any philosophy, for that matter) or what certain symbols/ideas exactly represent, but I do appreciate the idea of balance.

One thing that people have asked me is, “Why you? Of all people, why you?”

I have never dwelled on thoughts questioning, “Why me?” I have always believed that things happen for a reason. At times, it is beyond our feeble minds to grasp how this is possible. To me, this is related to the butterfly effect, where one small change results in significant differences at a later state.

Anyways, back to the idea of balance—

People are confused/amazed when I tell them that I was not alone in the vehicle at the time of my accident. In fact, I was in the passenger seat of our SUV with both my parents and both of my younger sisters in the car. The end result was that I was the only one who sustained significant injuries. I am the only one who continues to feel the effects.

But in the end, I would not have it any other way. By that I mean that I would prefer putting up with the injuries that I have than witnessing another family member, or other family members, deal with these injuries. I would rather have this happen to me than any of my friends. In fact—and I have said this since the beginning as I lay in my hospital bed—I would not wish the things I’ve been through on anyone, not even my worst enemy (if I had a worst enemy).

How can we know joy without experiencing pain? How can we feel true happiness without feeling true sadness?

If this had not happened to me, would it have happened to someone else and would that person be dealing with it daily, instead of me?

I honestly hope not.

I have not been posting as much lately because I am continuing to refine the way my brain and body work, and these days, I am in a state of peace.

In line with the ideas mentioned above (everything happens for a reason, the butterfly effect, etc.) I feel like everything I have been through since I was young and everyone I have ever met have prepared me to deal with my situations.

We all have our set of experiences and we all have our own set of obstacles to overcome. Some of us have it better; some of us have it worse. But who we are will allow us to handle them. That’s why we are dealt our hand. Do not pity the ones who have it hard; pity the ones who have it easy, for they lack mental fortitude and are unable to show a full understanding and appreciation of things.

Random appreciation

One thing that means a lot to me that people don't realize is when they ride in the elevator with me when everyone else is taking the stairs. It gets lonely in there and I always wish I could join everyone in using the stairwell instead of the elevator. So it's good to have someone who chooses not to join the rest of the group and leave me by myself--even if it's just out of laziness from not wanting to use the stairs. Stupid, I know, but it's true. Thank you, friends and classmates.

Clearing my mind

I started to apologize for the scant amount of blog posts for the past month or two, but I deleted it. I don’t feel like I need to apologize.

It’s been great. I’ve been clearing my mind.

If you kept up with my blog posts from the past school year and when I finished up first year, you may have noticed that I had a lot on my mind. I carried a big load on my shoulders: a load consisting of stress, insecurities, and feelings of potential failure—in all senses of the word. After our final exam on the last day of school, those feelings did not stop.

I remember when our class had a specialty roundtable one evening. Physicians participating in different specialties in the community sat with us and answered questions. Somehow the topic of relaxation came up, and one physician advised that if given a certain amount of vacation time per year, one should take vacations of at least two weeks off, not one week. The first week will be spent unwinding, and then the second week can be enjoyed.

When I was finally free of responsibility for a few months, it took me about a week to de-tense.

I decided in May that my plan for the summer was just self-development and recovery. I was going to read a lot, exercise a lot, re-learn guitar, and get a lot of sleep.

My ADHD got the best of me as I started a few books but put each of them down after about forty pages. The guitar stayed in its case in my closet. I got a decent amount of sleep when I wasn’t staying up late watching movies or chatting with friends. I exercised a lot but burned out and took a couple of weeks off before school started up again.

But it was all great. I feel like a new person.

Sometimes it surprises me at how little people think—not about certain things, but anything, even about nothing.

This world is a noisy place. Our minds are noisy places. Don’t you wish there was a mute button for both the world and for our minds?

As I quoted in my blog post “Mad Cow”: “In the midst of movement and chaos, keep stillness inside of you.” – Deepak Chopra

For most of us, our first impulse when we get in a car, especially if we are going on a long drive, is to turn on the music. I admit, I’m the same way. But I continue to grow more and more fond of turning off the music, silencing my cell phone, and rolling the windows down. Then it’s just me, myself, and I in the car. Quiet.

Sometimes I think about things deeply. Everyone thinks about things, but this isn’t forced thinking or the thinking one does under pressure or in crisis.

And then sometimes, I enjoy just not thinking, maintaining a state of “no mind”. This is a meditative state that is practiced in people of almost all cultures and faiths. It's essentially about not worrying about the past, about what has happened, about the future, about what will happen—it’s about concerning oneself only with the present moment.

Because of this, I sometimes find myself forgetting about my current state of affairs. It’s not until I see people rushing somewhere or talking about playing sports that I remember that I am in a wheelchair. Maybe it’s because I have gotten used to who I am, physically and mentally.

As anyone can imagine, coming to terms with a physical disability is not an easy task. Certain people never grow accustomed, and they may end up committing suicide. Because my currents tasks require me to use my intellect, coming to terms with how differently I am now mentally has been harder for me over the past year. But I think I am getting there.

I still do think about the past and about the future, so don’t hold me accountable for any future thoughts, but I must say that I am much more at peace.

It’ll be alright.

Character flaw

“He’s stubborn,” the faculty member told my mother and aunt, “real stubborn. But his stubbornness is what got him through this.”

My khala (that’s an Urdu term for mom’s sister) was visiting so I took her, my mom, and sisters to Athens with me one day to show them around. We stopped by my medical college and met with a few of my professors and deans from this past year.

My khala was telling them how the rest of my extended family in Pakistan is always concerned about my well-being and how I am getting by and doing things, such as attending medical school. She said it was good that she came and saw things for herself so could reassure everyone back in the motherland that I was doing well.

One faculty member at my school told my mother and khala how I’m really stubborn, how they’ve had to fight against my stubbornness, and how she thinks I’m coming around now. “But his stubbornness is what got him through this,” she also noted.

Before I started medical school, my mom said she was going to quit working for a little while and live with me. But I was stubborn. I refused. I wouldn’t let my parents ever bring it up. Then the next phase was that they wanted a nurse to live with me. Again, I refused. Next, they wanted me to live with a roommate who would be willing to help me if I ever needed it. I turned it down again. This whole process went on for a few months. Finally, I settled upon allowing my parents to visit for a few hours on Sundays to help me clean up my place. I wanted to live on my own without anyone’s help, and I made sure I got what I wanted. I’ve had my share of obstacles—I’ve fallen onto the floor a few times and had to muscle my way back onto my chair or sofa, I recently got a second degree burn on my leg from a mistake in the kitchen, etc—but it’s been an invaluable experience and I’m glad I was stubborn.

I tend to also resist help from friends, fellow students, and faculty members. This just made me get stronger—physically, mentally, and emotionally. There were times when I felt like I shouldn’t be doing this, when I felt like I should have taken another year off to recover—physically, mentally, and emotionally. But I had started it, so I was going to finish it.

I have just a little over a week left before we start classes again and there will be no break until who-knows-when. This year brings its own set of challenges: mandatory patient exams which I still cannot perform properly due to physical/structural limitations, harder material, visits to the hospitals a few times a week for our clinical skills class, and the most important standardized exam we will take in our medical careers (after the MCAT, of course). But I’m stubborn. It’ll help.

Time

[Originally written on July 13, 2011 but finished today. Well, it still seems unfinished but I'm posting it anyways]

Last week, I had a birthday, and it got me thinking.

Yesterday, I found out my neighbor who is my age died at a party the night before, and it got me thinking.

Today, I went to the Shepherd Center, and it got me thinking.

I started thinking about time.

Like time, there's always time
On my mind
So pass me by, I'll be fine
Just give me time

How quickly time does pass. When I was my younger sister’s age, one year meant seemed like forever. Being 20-something felt so far off. It seemed so old. I remember in third grade thinking that by mid-20’s, I’d be working, married, and established.

I am none of those three. And that’s okay. I am just making a point about the absurdities of time.

When we were going through the Shepherd Center, I was reliving memories—good and bad—that I had during my stay there. My former doctor and therapists recognized me and when I told them that I was there two years ago, their mouth dropped when they realized how long it had been.

My neighbor who passed away was also so young. “We saw him mowing the lawn and running just the other day,” my family kept staying. “He would always take care of our cats when we would go out of town.” Death is a thief that robs people’s loved ones without any warning or preparations. Life and time are such fragile things that must be protected and valued above all other things.

The other day when my youngest sister was sitting in bed next to me reading, I thought about how she probably doesn’t remember me being able-bodied. She probably only knows “wheelchair Hammad”.

There is no time: there is no time for grudges; for arguments; for unhappiness; for hate; for all things negative. We need to let go. We need to stop keeping people around us that make us unhappy and stop doing things that we know are self-destructive.

Being in a wheelchair sometimes makes me feel like a silent observer in the world around me, like I am sitting still while the world around me is running around at great speeds. I wish I could just slow things down. Put a hold on time.

There’s always time. On my mind. So pass me by, I’ll be fine. Just give me time.

It’s time to let go.

“It’s the little things that you miss the most.”

During this last summer break for the rest of our MD lives, I am conducting research in Athens. I am researching the cardiovascular response to functional electrical stimulation in patients with spinal cord injuries. One of the patients that comes in is a “regular”. He’s quite animated and all of us researchers enjoy it when he comes in. The other day, he said something to us that I think only I fully understood.

“It’s the little things that you miss the most,” he told us. He described the ability to cough. He recalled how he initially was not able to cough strongly or cough up things. I zoned out a bit as I thought back to my experiences, but I caught the end of his discussion of the topic when he said, “I miss being able to do those kinds of things. People think it’s about the big stuff like walking, but it’s the little things that you miss: being able to cough, man.”

My mother and a good friend would describe how they had to give me water with a dropper. Another good friend told me how I once woke up in the middle of the night choking and gasping for air. When the nurses rushed there, they stuck a tube down my throat and removed a tiny bit of mucus present, due to pneumonia, which had been obstructing my airway. This was all when I was delirious and coming out of a coma. I don’t remember any of it. My ribs had broken off and had punctured my lungs and my throat and airways were constricted, which I assume were a side effect of the spinal cord injury or possibly due to other injuries.

I became fully conscious and able to form memories after I reached the Shepherd Center in early June. I could not speak above a whisper and after saying a few words, I would become out of breath and fatigued. Two best friends of mine who were always there with me told me that despite this, I made sure to talk to everyone who came in. I guess I felt rude not talking to people if they came to see me—some from far away. Months later, I would receive the encouraging compliment from my therapists, “Nice sneeze!!!” if I let out anything that was even barely audible.

For a long time, I was not able to eat solid food or drink normal fluids. My food was pureed like baby food and my fluids had to be thickened with corn starch. If you read my last birthday post, you may recall that that was when I was finally allowed to eat solid food and drink normal fluids. The reason my drinks had to be thickened is because normal fluids could go down the wrong tube, causing the fluid to enter my lungs (aspiration) and making me prone to pneumonia. As stated in the birthday post, pneumonia is the number one cause of death among people with spinal cord injuries and I already had it twice.

I stated in this blog post and in this interview that even a year later, I could not talk loud and I feared running out of breath whenever I spoke. Tonight while driving, I was thinking back to what our patient had said and about my own experiences and I decided to test out how strong my lungs had become. I remembered how I had a pretty good sneeze earlier that day and I was feeling pretty cocky. So I let out a loud shout and a yell with this song playing through my speakers. If you listen to the song you can see why that's ironic. I smiled.

It’s the little things.

Really?

I recently interacted with a surgeon and a therapist, both South Asian, on different occasions during appointments.

They were, as most people are, surprised to hear I'm going to be in my second year in medical school and that I already completed one year like this.

Then, they are even more surprised to hear that I am living by myself in my own apartment. And that I drive myself to where I need to go.

Is it really that hard to believe?

Things are different, but you adapt.