Take a Seat - Make a Friend?

Here is a fun and interesting video that ties in something I mentioned in my last blog post, Flaws. It's also just something that will put a smile on your face. Enjoy!

Flaws

I haven’t written any blog posts in a while because, to be honest, I am just content.  There isn’t much that bothers me, saddens me or angers me. I haven’t been in a writing mood much lately because I find myself using any extra time outside of studying or my duties in the hospital for pleasure reading, relaxing, working out and sleeping more—things I enjoy.  The drive to/from Athens from/to Atlanta is a great one for putting the windows down and playing some music.  Various thoughts inadvertently come through my head during these long drives.

I was discussing flaws with a friend of mine some time ago and there is something about that topic that I can say with conviction:  I love flaws. 

Flaws make a person more real.  Actually, most of these “flaws” are just things that we consider different.  How are any of us to judge what is considered a flaw and what is not?  For example, is the fact that I'm in a wheelchair a flaw?

I meet and have met a lot of people.  I have spoken to them and sometimes listened to their stories.  And sometimes I am surprised; it really surprises me the way some people—a lot of people—think.

It seems like a lot of people are obsessed with trying to live a perfect life, raise perfect children, become the perfect student/professional/husband/wife and expect their plans to unfold as perfectly as possible.

But we are not perfect.  Life isn’t perfect.  Things rarely unfold as expected.

We do things that our family and friends don’t know about.  We do things other elders or religious folks would look down upon.

We make mistakes.

Sometimes, we are the mistakes.

And that’s okay.

We all have a collection of life experiences.  Sometimes when I see people striving towards being perfect to the point that they judge or look down upon others, I somewhat have pity on them.

It baffles me sometimes when I think how close-minded some people are, even by most of those who do not consider themselves close-minded at all.  I encourage everyone to try meeting new people regularly, especially those completely different from us and who “our parents told us to stay away from”.  But do not limit it to just “meeting” these people.  Almost everyone has contact with new people all the time.  People should take this one step further and learn about the person.  Learn about their experiences, their views, their “flaws”.  Listen to their stories.

In the same manner, I also somewhat have to shake my head when I speak with those who have never truly left their small circle.  They may attend college or have jobs but they still live in the same locale that they always have, they have not left their security and safety nets, they still have the same “type” of friends that they always have had and some even have lived at home with their families most of their lives.

I write to express myself.  I write to think things through.

Another big part of why I write is to show people that though I may be different, others can relate.  My experiences may be unique but so are others’.

When I meet people who have lived in a metaphorical “box”—and there are many like this—I am not very impressed, no matter how intelligent or pious they may seem to others.  Who do I admire more?  Those who have experimented, who have messed up, who know the disturbances life can bring to people, who have tried and failed—and kept going, despite all of this, and have changed their circumstances so that they are in a different place, figuratively and possibly even literally speaking.

Move out.  Move away.  Explore.

Widen your circle of compassion.  It’s okay to fall.

UGA PreMed Magazine

Woohoo! I'm on the cover of the UGA PreMed magazine, a magazine for pre-medical students at the University of Georgia. Check it out and read the article:

Those around you

I know I haven’t written anything in a while.  There’s a reason for that.  I feel like a change has come over me, especially since I spoke at the TEDx conference.  I only had a few days to prepare for the talk that I gave and as I have told many people who have asked me about it, I am not really happy with my performance.  But I must say, I opened up my heart to the crowd and left it out on that stage.  When I left the stage, I felt like something had been lifted off of me.

As I mentioned earlier, I am currently on clinical rotations.  This is much more interesting than reading books and taking tests, although I still have to do that when I’m not seeing patients.

This thing we call life is a lot simpler than people make it out to be.

An interesting thing happened when seeing a patient with chronic anxiety and major depressive disorder in the psychiatry clinic. 

“Dr. Aslam, do you have any questions for this patient?” the psychiatrist asked me.

“No, nothing in particular.  All the questions I had were answered,” I replied.

“I have a question for you, actually,” the patient said to me.  “How did you get in a wheelchair? What happened to you?”

I was surprised by this question. “I got into a car accident about three and a half years ago,” I replied.

“Oh, well, I was going to say something.  As soon as I walked in here I noticed you sitting there and thought to ask you.  See, I was in a bad car accident a few years ago.  I got plates put into my leg and had to walk with a cane for a while.  My ribs were broken and everything.  Since then I’ve just been so blah.  But seeing you makes me think, ‘Hey, if he can do it. I can do it.’  That’s very inspirational. If you can do it, then why am I always letting this bring me down?  It’s an inspiration for my depression.  I just wanted to say that.”

I was so surprised that I stuttered a thank you in reply as a bashful smile crept across my face.

That’s the first time a patient has ever said something like that to me so explicitly.

I don’t think my life is anything special.  I do what I do without noticing anything different now. Everything is a habit.  I have grown used to having to make adjustments to the point that they are no longer “adjustments”; they are simply how I do things.

I have been staying at my family’s home in my hometown these past few days since the offices I am going to are closer to here than to my apartment.  It’s always good being with family and reconnecting with friends—both best friends that I always keep in touch with and old friends that I haven’t seen in a long time.  They have been there with me since I have known them, through thick and thin.

Last night, someone very close to me said something that shook the establishment of what I had come to know as reality.

Last year, a classmate and I went to a support group for people who had suffered a stroke and their families.  My classmate and I were shocked and disappointed by the guest speaker there who was making exaggerated and even outright incorrect scientific claims regarding an expensive treatment that he said could cure the nervous system symptoms of those who had a stroke.  The people present at the support group were amazed and seemed ready to give their money for this “snake oil” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snake_oil).

“People in dire situations look for something—anything—that gives them hope.  I fell for snake oil myself a few times early in my situation,” I wrote on a piece of paper and showed my classmate.  He nodded in understanding.

I remember how hopeful I was in the beginning, as I discussed in this blog post.  I felt like everything would soon be okay.  Everything would be back to normal like they once were.  I would regain movement, slowly but surely, and start walking again.  All my friends would be happy for me.  Then, I would go on living like I had always thought I would live.

Some people close to me have never lost this hope.  It hurts my heart sometimes knowing that things fell short of the hopeful expectations of those around me.  This does not mean that those close to me are not proud of me.  Of course they are.  I think I just realized that without knowing when or how it happened, I have accepted things.

And that’s okay.

It just hurts me when I am let down and it hurts me even more knowing that other people have been let down.

I know as a physician, that is something that will sadden me.  When people have high expectations for themselves or for their family members or friends (for example, surviving terminal cancer), and are then let down, it can break them.  That is probably what Red from The Shawshank Redemption meant when he said, “Let me tell you something, my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.”

So what are we to do? Give up hope?

No.

That eager, poetic, child-like hope that people have early on when facing extreme struggles is what creates miracles.  Nothing happens from just lying back and taking the beating.  Hope in my situation still hasn’t given me the results for which I had hoped.  So what?  It has led me to do other things that no one thought was possible.  And it has led me to affect those around me in seemingly magical ways.

We have the power to affect any individual we meet.  Be your best.  Leave them with some hope.

Neuro thoughts

Today was my first day of my neurology rotation.  I knew this was going to be interesting since I have first-hand experience in some of the things I was going to see.  After seeing some patients and talking to the attending physician, I became very thankful.

I was thankful not only to my family and friends, but also to myself.  I know that sounds odd, but I was thankful that I didn't take the easy way out.

Doc:  "You had a similar injury to your shoulder?"
Me:  [I explain my injuries]
Doc:  "What happened to you?"
Me:  [I talk about the car accident and how I was the only one in my family seriously injured]
Doc:  "Did it take long to adapt and learn to get around?"
Me:  [I explain how I took one year off after my accident before moving out, living on my own, and attending medical school]
Doc:  "I'm sorry if I'm asking so many questions."
Me:  "No, no.  No one has asked me these questions in a long time.  I sometimes forget about these things.  It's good to talk about them with someone who knows about the nervous system."

Talking about these things made me reminiscent and really thankful for how things turned out.

I remember when I wasn't able to use my right arm at all due to a nerve injury affecting my right shoulder.  I was unable to lift my arm and using this arm gave me a lot of pain.  The therapists didn't listen to me at first and made me continue to try and work with it until I confronted the doctor about getting it tested for any possible nerve damage.

I remember the intense neuropathic pain it caused me.  I refused any serious pain medications besides a simple dose of Tylenol at night so I could fall asleep through the pain.

I remember how the therapists and hospital staff tried to convince me to get a motorized wheelchair because of the weakness in my right arm.  They also tried to convince me to get a van that I could simply roll my wheelchair into and not have to transfer onto the driver's seat.  I refused both.  I knew using a manual wheelchair that I would have to push would make my arm stronger.  I didn't want to drive a van because it embarrassingly screamed, "Look at me. I have a handicap!"  I wanted to drive a car like a "normal" person.  I knew it would be tough at first trying to take apart my chair and putting it in my car multiple times a day.  But it was something that I wanted to do.  I just wanted to be normal.

I remember how I had many arguments with my family as I tried to convince them to let me live on my own.  They wanted me to have a nurse or at least have a roommate living with me just in case I needed something. I didn't want that, though.  I wanted to live on my own.  I knew I could live on my own.

Those decisions may have seemed stupid by other people at the time, but I am thankful for them.  They are what made me stronger, both literally and figuratively speaking.  I didn't like taking the easy way out.

Don't take the easy way out.  Work through the pain and discomfort if it's going to get you to a better place. You'll thank yourself in the future.

Stages, part 2: Anger

Although I have a shelf exam next week, I thought it was time I finally finished the post “Stages”.  My talk at TEDxGeorgiaTech went alright but I know I could have done a lot better.  I really opened my heart and grew on that stage, so even if no one else was affected by my talk, I was affected.  I will post the video on here once it is posted online.

As I mentioned in the previous post on stages of grief, after denial comes anger.

My doctor and therapists sat down with my family and me one day, as they do with all patients at that hospital, to tell me about my injuries and my prognosis.  We were shocked.  I had no idea what some of the medical terms meant, but it didn’t matter.  I would show my doctors and everyone else that no one really knows what’s going to happen.  They can’t hold me back.  I’ll throw their silly statistics and prognosis back in their face and show them who’s boss.

Some people who suffer from a debilitating and life-changing injury become bitter, as I have previously mentioned on here.  I remember watching as a fellow patient became really mad at his wife because he thought she had misplaced his iPhone.  “My whole life was on there. That’s the last time I trust you with anything,” he said to her.

When misfortunes like this happen to us, it is perfectly reasonable to see why anger and frustration may arise.  We all like to have things the way we want them and the way we are used to having them.  Other people can’t do things the way we usually do them.  Mistrust and skepticism arise. “Why must things change,” we ask ourselves. “Everything was going so perfect, and then this had to happen. Ugh.”

Adapting to new things is hard.  Most of us do not like escaping from our comfort level.  What makes everything worse is when situations like this are thrown upon us without any warning.  Then, we have no choice but to adapt.  We have no choice but to once again relearn everything we once knew and learn how to do things in a new way.  It is in times of hardship that our true character is revealed.

My best friends who were and are always with me in my journey recall how scared I was when I first started physical therapy after I regained consciousness.  I was terrified.  I was on the edge of the mat and I was holding on tightly to the mat and the physical therapist.  My eyes were screaming, “Help me,” to my friends and family members.  I was convinced that I would fall off the mat and crack my head open.  Why was this so hard? What happened to me? Is this a dream? When will I wake up?

Several months later, a physical therapist gave me a toy Velcro ball/catcher’s mitt set one day during therapy.  She wanted me to sit on the mat and play catch with her.  The goal of this was to practice sitting up, moving my arms, and maintaining balance.  When a friend later asked me what I did in therapy that day, I was embarrassed to describe how I spent the day like a six month old child, learning how to sit and balance myself.

Why did I have to do all of this? What did I do to deserve this? No one I know has ever had to do anything like this.

A friend’s older brother one day gave me some of the best advice I was ever told.  He said, “Never ever ask, ‘Why me?’”  Asking myself, “Why me?” and becoming angry would not have gotten me anywhere.  In reality, it would have prevented my progression.

No, I wasn’t angry.  I was thankful.  I was thankful that although everyone in my family except my brother was in the vehicle, I was the only one injured. I was thankful that none of my friends had to experience what I had to experience.  I was thankful that through my injuries, I was rekindling old friendships, developing new friendships, and influencing my family and friends.

Admittedly, although I was never actually angry, I did become frustrated a few times.  It frustrated me that I had to put off future plans for an extra year.  It saddened me when I couldn’t play sports or go to certain places with friends.  It embarrassed me a year after my accident when the wheelchair elevator got stuck in front of all my classmates during the first day of medical school orientations.  But I never let it show.  In reality, I know that these things never completely bothered me.

If I let my hardship blind me and if I only perceived the difficulties, I would not be able to see all my blessings.  And if my situation affected my family and friends in such a deep and sometimes wounding manner, then I had to be the one to show them that even in times of complete darkness, the oft-forgotten and discarded candle brings light until the sun rises.

[It looks like I still haven't finished up with writing about all of the stages of grief. I may finish it up or I may move on to a different topic. My TEDx talk seems to cover the rest of it!]

TED

Please excuse me for not finishing my last blog post yet. Things have been really busy in the hospital. I was also asked on Monday to do a TED talk this Saturday! Unlike other TED speakers who have months of preparation, I only have a few days to come up with an idea and prepare. Let's hope I do okay. Only the best talks are posted online, so if I'm good enough, I will post the link on here.