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.

Wheelchair pullups video #3

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PFA7TzfifJw

(From the description):

Someone asked me the other day if I was keeping up with pullups. Yes, I told him. I do them now at the beginning of my back workout. Here's just a quick video my brother shot when we were at the gym on June 3, 2010. I found this on my phone the other day.

Birthday 2009, my most memorable birthday ever

This is a post just to remind myself of my birthday last year. It's so I don't forget and so I stay grateful.

I told my close friend about a month ago how my birthday last year was probably the best I've ever had. He looked at me as if I was crazy. I had to explain myself.

The following are just a few notes/memories from last year:

• I spent my birthday in the hospital. I had not left the hospital (except to be transferred to the Shepherd Center from the MCG hospital while I was unconscious) since May 23, 2009.
  
• In the morning, my parents made me clean up a little. I didn't want to do anything that day and I didn't have anyone to impress. My self-confidence was shot and I didn't care how horrible I looked.
  
• I had to wear an oversized button-up shirt because my right brachial plexus (nerve) injury, in addition to the right scapula fracture, still prevented me from lifting up my right arm on my own. When the nurses would dress me, large button-up shirts allowed for the least amount of movement because anything more than that would give me intense pain.
  
• A day before, I was finally allowed to eat solid foods and drink normal fluids. I went from having water dropped in my mouth drip-by-drip by an eye dropper, to eating mashed food with thickened water, to finally being able to eat solid foods and fluids of normal thickness. I had to drink thickened liquids so it would go down my throat slowly. If I drank more than a very, very small sip—especially if the liquid was not thickened—then the liquid could go to my lungs and I could get pneumonia… again. That's the number one cause of death for spinal cord injury patients and I already had it once right after the accident and once when I was a child.
  
• The food services from the hospital had given me a free slice of cake from the cafeteria, and it just happened to be coconut cream pie—my favorite.
  
• My parents had me go down to the hospital cafeteria. I knew something was going on because after dinner, the empty cafeteria stays open and that's where we would go if more people came than what would fit in my hospital room.
  
• A lot of my friends had come to surprise me, including a few childhood friends and a few people who became close to me post-accident because they visited me a lot. That really touched me. My birthdays are usually pretty crappy and I had never been surprised by so many people like this.
  
• In addition to the birthday balloons that I received, one friend gave me a balloon that said, "Congrats!" because it was on sale, she said. A lot of people saw that and thought that whoever gave that to me must be crazy. It was great.
  
• My parents had gotten me Pizza Hut. During my days of eating mashed hospital food, I would always tell my family and friends how I was craving some hot Pizza Hut. I would think about it all the time and I would just close my eyes and remember the taste of the cheese and the buttery crust.
  
• Even the presents my friends gave me were great. I received numerous DVD's to help save me from the boredom of the hospital room.
  
• In the picture, I am wearing the neck brace and chest brace that I had to wear every day. The chest brace was the most uncomfortable thing ever. The neck brace just cramped my neck into one position, but the metal chest brace dug into my chest and caused me significant pain all day.
  
• I had not gotten a haircut or shaved since before the accident. My beard was so long and dirty around my neck that it had formed knots, as if it was in the process of forming dreadlocks. The hair covered up the nasty scars I had.
  
• The last time this many people wrote on my wall was on my birthday in 2009, and the messages were usually, "Happy Birthday! I hope you are feeling a lot better!"

"We are brothers in Islam, and we are also linked in a special way."

June 24, 2010, 12:15AM Saudi time

On this first trip to the Kaaba in Mecca while in a wheelchair, I am encountering lots of interesting people along my way. The Germans on our Lufthansa flight and those at the Frankfurt airport truly impressed me with their level of patience and care. Two people of note are the woman who personally escorted us through the large airport and made sure we reached the plane safely, and the passenger who stayed on the plane long after everyone had left and explained to the airport worker that I cannot stand or walk and needed the aisle chair to be properly brought to my seat.

In Mecca, I see plenty of wheelchairs in Masjid Haram (where the Kaaba is located) but they are almost all elderly people or small children who would get tired if they walked. I have never been asked this many times if I needed to be pushed (and in so many languages), although I always kindly decline. If you have been around me enough, you know I only accept that kind of help if I am dying or really struggling. If I have the ability to do something, why would I ask for assistance to make things easier? I wanted to be able to complete my Umrah on my own.

While in the food court in the mall in front of the masjid, I was stopped by someone with the Muslim greeting of peace and salutations. I guess it was the fatigued jeans and western-styled shirt that prompted him to speak to me in English.

"Is this your first time here for Umrah?" he asked.
"No. Well, I was here in 2004, but this is the first time since my accident, which was a year ago," I responded.
"Oh, it's been one year? I myself have been like this for four years. You know, God loves us. Really. Always remember that. These illnesses and trials we have to face in this life are actually blessings and we will be rewarded for them in the next life, if we are accepted inshaAllah." He made sure to smile very warmly at me as he spoke this.
"Yes, inshaAllah." I've heard people tell me that before, but of course it's different when someone who is in the same situation is saying it. I was glad he was saying it to me in front of my parents, too.
"We have to have patience. A lot of it. I am from France. Where are you from? Britain?"
"No, America."
"My nationality is Moroccon, but I lived in France. I am currently here teaching at an American university. You and I are connected. We are both Muslim and we are both connected like this."
"Haha, yes, yes."
"The first year or two of being in a wheelchair is the hardest. Absolute hardest. For both you and the family," he said, glancing at my parents. "I was not able to live independently. Now, I am living here with my son. See, I am taking care of myself and raising my young child!" His smile radiated and I could see how genuinely nice he was.
"Oh, wow, mashaAllah." He looked very young, so his son must only be a few years only. I did not ask where his wife was in this picture, in case he lost her in the event that led to his paralysis.
"Now, I really feel like my life is better than it was before all of this. It really is a blessing. And sometimes, I even forget that I'm in a wheelchair. It's only when I reach stairs or something that I even remember that I'm in a chair. Otherwise, things are a lot better overall."
"Haha, yeah," I said while laughing at the thought of both of us looking awkwardly when encountering a set of stairs. I could relate to what he was saying. I seem to forget a lot of times that I am in this situation, too. 
"How is your hotel? Everything good and accessible here in Mecca?"
"Yes, very. I'm surprised."
"You should see Madinah. Everything is even more accessible. Take my phone number. Call me if you need anything, please. I live here. You seem to be doing very well, mashaAllah. I can see the light coming from your face. SubhanAllah. Just call me any time. We are brothers in Islam, and we are also linked in a special way."

We talked for a little while longer about his job as a professor, my future plans, and some other things. I didn't expect to meet and talk to someone that cool here. I guess it's a hidden blessing.