My body

I watched a video about China's insane beauty standards and how it's causing an uprise in eating disorders all over the country. It was an amalgamation of different people's experiences. What was great was the video also included one positive experience of a healthy-looking girl who just lost enough weight through diet and exercise that she's happy with her body now. 

I love the middle ground here. Where everything is accepted, and above all, what's accepted is the right to one's own comfort. 

I wouldn't say I've had serious problems on this front, but yes, the shape and size of my body has made me thoroughly uncomfortable on several occasions. Getting called out for it is always very traumatic for me. 

But you know what? That's because I'm not in possession of the body with which I'm comfortable. And the fault lies within me. If I was an even slightly overweight gym instructor or zumba teacher who didn't have any comorbs, I don't think I would even think twice about a self-absorbed uncle that asked me to "Walk. No, run, run a lot". I'd know I'm doing my best and I'm healthy, if not living upto insane beauty standards. 

Luckily I'm not at the impressionable age nor do I care enough that I would develop an eating disorder; but I do eat my feelings. And it's time to stop using "all body types should be accepted" as an excuse to give into my gluttony. 

Fit, healthy, comfortable and happy- that's the goal. 

Stop To Smell The Roses

It's odd to be the one writing this, because generally I would have been the one needing to hear it. But the past 2 months have found me happier than ever and maybe this is the reason why. 

I'm stopping to smell the roses-- such a cliché, right? 

Most of my circle, we're all high powered, driven people. We wanted to do something that matters. Being a doctor was the obvious choice, so we studied hard to become one, and we studied hard to specialise. And once we gave it a good 10 years, we were hit in the face by a dead end. The cold, dry realisation that being a doctor isn't worth the God-complex you imagined you'd have. It's just a job, like any other employee at our age, but with a lot more working hours and much worse pay. The struggle never ends; we aren't helping struggling patients anymore, in fact, we're the ones struggling to find any patients. There's actually enough of us, we aren't precious to our country anymore, we worked hard to reach here, but the next guy to take our seat would have done just the same that what we do now. 

The dream to live a life beyond normal seems bleak now. This doesn't seem to be the way to create a change anymore, it's a world full of doctor-haters and patients completely sceptical to your advice. The same people who would listen and simply believe an RMP, a relative, or a baseless article on the internet won't believe you as easily. 

Ten or more years of medical education seem pointless, the decision seems misguided once we realise everything isn't what they seem to be. The 'dark underbelly' of medicine is just ugly. 

Damn. 

Beyond this existential crisis, I believe there lies a different way to look at this unexpected turn our lives have taken. 

How many of us actually enjoy being with our patient? Do we see our knowledge and expertise come in handy at the right time to them, and appreciate ourselves for it? This appreciation isn't something we can expect from anybody else. 

In today's cut-throat competition between us all, it's a given that we're all competent-- if we want to be. Our demeanour, tone, and manner of speaking is everything. The profession of a clinician has it's roots in empathy, and I genuinely believe that's the only thing that can set us apart. The way you handle a bad situation, the percentage of yourself and your feelings that you allow to get involved in your work-- these things matter. 

Do you stop to smell the roses? 

Do you play with the babies you deliver? Do you take a moment to assimilate the difference between before and after a patient comes to you? 

Also--

Do you ask about your patients' story? Do you know their life beyond their medical history? Do you know their problem, and not just their presenting complaint? Do you let them confide in you? Do you go to work to do a more sincere job than the next person in your place would have done? Do you spend time to cross check if everything is done? Do you slow down, to learn it the right way? Do you study for the day that this Information will enrich someone else's life? Do you take the extra step to do good for someone else? Is your work, beyond work? 

I guess we've reached a point of change in society, where we have no choice but to do our job for us. To go to bed at night knowing that we did something that makes us happy and nobody else. To know that we had a chance to stop to smell the roses, and they smelled absolutely wonderful. 

To you, from the Arctic

I'm writing from 250 kilometres north of the Arctic circle -- Santa's own home. 

A few years back, I looked at a picture of Kakslauttenen arctic resort and their glass igloos and hoped that sometime in life, I would be able to stay there. To lie on a hotel bed while Aurora borealis did it's thing outside my ceiling was a dream. And having Saurav on the bed next to me was a part of that dream. It was him who first told me what the Northern Lights are, and how he wants to see them with me. I don't know which part of the past month is more surreal-- we got married, and it was a beautiful couple of ceremonies. I stayed with him and his parents for over a week and got to know my new, wonderful family. And then we came to Finland for our honeymoon. This is definitely a changeover from the past 20 years when Hyderabad was the only thing that was real to me. 

Ivalo is so picturesque that it feels like I'm watching a beautiful movie on a screen, until I step outside the indoors into the biting cold of -14 degrees Celsius.  

I'm looking around right now and realising JUST HOW LUCKY I AM, from inside and out of the very same igloo that was once just a dream. 

Really, anything is possible. 

A Happy Change

My life changed again today, with a profound epiphany. 

It changed once a few years back when I realised that everything I do gets evaluated by others; that when I dance, people characterise it as good or bad, and when I sing, people think of it as off-tune or a worse version of the original song. Why do I have to constantly strive to keep my shortcomings private, never to ever be exposed? 

Why can't I just drive, without being told that I'm a "typical woman driver"? And why can't I enjoy warm sunlight on a cool day without being told that it'll make me even darker? Why can't I go out without being conscious of my faulty figure, my small eyes and my bald spots? Why can't I just smile as much as I want, without being told that it's "too much"? I'm happy, dang it. 

Why do I have to keep up with the trend, instead of wearing what makes me comfortable? Why can't I just be left to my own personal style?

Why can't I just love me for being me? 

Why do I have to give up my lifelong dream, just because I'm afraid of being judged for a conservative lifestyle? Why do I have to be scared of not being able to post glamorously on Instagram? Happiness means different things to different people; why can't I be left without judgement for my idea of it? 

Just today I realised, once again, with previously missing pointedness-- that most people don't care. I'm free to do as I like! 

Every person is so busy with their own life and their own insecurities that they don't have time to create new ones for me. In fact if anyone does that, it's only a reflection of how overwhelmed they are by their own insecurities -- and judgement by such characters doesn't bother me at all, not in the least. 

If I'm really turning into a comic piece, so be it! I love making people laugh. I'm getting myself one step closer to the gift of acceptance. Removing the weight of everyone else's (possible) judgements has made me feel so much lighter. 

Better Than the Strain Within

I forgot what it used to feel like 

To lie in peace 

To enjoy each task

To sing while I drive 

And dance in the shower 

To watch a program 

Or make something pretty 

Without any reason. 

Endless activity around me

Each activity causes a diversion 

A diversion of thought 

Each thought carries weight 

Together, it adds up

To the weight of the world on my shoulders 

From the shoulders I'm bogged down 

Hanging now only by a thread 

With unspeakable tension in it 

Oh, when will the thread break 

That seems like a better scenario 

That tolerating the strain within 

Kakatiya Medical College, Warangal.

My institute is in the news for all the wrong reasons. It makes me feel as though public doesn't understand the medical profession. It's probably since we're a closed community. I have explained at least a dozen times to my family that a "night duty" lasts for 36 hours, from a  morning to the next evening. Yet they still assume that it means a night shift, probably a maximum of lasting 12 hours. 

Is it so hard to fathom? Over 3 years into it, I can't believe that it's unimaginable for many. 

Being a doctor isn't just a profession like any other; it's a way of life. You can't eat as often as you'd like, you often have to hold in your "nature calls" until you have a suitable time to attend to them. This isn't confined to any single person. We as a group don't live our life as impulsively as the general population, because a practising doctor knows what's at stake if he doesn't do his job properly; when the situation demands it, we voluntarily give up our lunch in favour of a critical patient and don't consider it a big deal because that's how we would want our loved ones, or even ourselves to be treated if needed. 

We understand that our right to basic necessities aren't before another person's right to live and be healthy. We don't bestow health upon those who don't have it as if we are Gods. We do whatever best we can as humans, knowing the weight of our actions is much heavier to the patient than to us. 

We don't get maternity or marriage "leaves", we replace our duties with others who are willing to compensate for our work and take our patients under their wing, and we do the same even when we're sick. Even if I had an accident and was seriously injured on the way to my duty, as long as I was conscious I would try my best to convey to my hospital that someone would have to cover my shift for me. Whatever reason I don't turn up for, my absence means a lack of hands resulting in suboptimal patient care and possibly loss of life. And that has priority in my mind. 

This culture is understood amongst those already habituated to the profession, but newbies take some time to grasp the significance of what they're doing and how much of their lifestyle the job demands.

We don't leave early without a replacement. We've all done many-a-duty abusing painkillers, and delaying our check-ups to our doctors in the ways we tell patients not to. And I personally hold no one responsible for this except myself, who chose this profession over everything else. 

All of us have been scolded by our seniors and at the same time they've taught us what we need to learn to earn a living for the rest of our lives. Being scolded by a well wishing senior is far better than having a lawsuit against me one day for lack of proper training. Even worse, it's better than losing or harming the lives that were meant to be treated better by a person with my degree. 

We get trained for the hardships to come during the first year, and a good senior trains his/her juniors to be sincere and efficient during their first year of post-graduation. 

This first year on the job is when we work the hardest, learn the most and push our limits to make better doctors out of ourselves. This year makes us feel tortured, pained and stressed. It's the year we idly contemplate suicide as the easiest way out of this spiral we're now stuck in forever.

It always feels like we're singled out in this. But when we interact with others, we often find that we are in the same boat together with our peers. And when we hold out, we get to be a part of what I regard as the best profession in the world. 

It's worth it, for the feeling we get when we resuscitate our first patient, deliver our first healthy baby, conduct our first painless surgery; the achievement differs according to the specialisation. For the first heartfelt "thank you" for which you're responsible. I'm deeply saddened to know that a young soul didn't make it far enough to feel those amazing things. 

Maybe there are inherent flaws in our system. Maybe there is a lot to learn from foreign countries where training from MBBS to residency takes much longer than the 10 years it takes here. Maybe there is much more to be done for more even distribution of stress management over the years, standardisation of treatment protocols, and legalisation of a proper pecking order within the profession.  

We mustn't normalise illegal hierarchy, or ragging, or harassment. Then also, we shouldn't normalise the high expectations we have from our doctors to be Gods and give us everything we want when we demand it. We shouldn't normalise how severely understaffed we are and how junior doctors do many things they aren't meant to do. We shouldn't normalise young doctors working themselves to the point of hospitalisation. When a terminal patient is brought in and subsequently dies, we shouldn't normalise the relatives beating the doctor to death. Where's the news coverage on all these? Very rarely do we feel justice in our lives. So we train hard, to make our bodies work in overdrive so that we don't go wrong, even where normal humans would usually go wrong. 

The weight of this training can't be called as "ragging". And the blame definitely cannot be borne by a single person. 

Today I'm writing about something that's been deeply affecting me over the past few months; something I struggle with on a daily basis, I have to keep reminding myself that the path I'm on is the exact one on which I want to be. 

As an adult who lived in the US as a kid, I always had dreams that didn't involve going back out of the country. My life's experiences taught me otherwise, that true solace is inside, that aesthetics and glamour doesn't provide true happiness, and life is nothing if you don't seek true happiness. 

From the point of my mental maturity, I surrounded myself with the same kind of people, who believed in genuine closeness over pretention, and I believed that they were my constants.

One by one, and then another; each of these people have only left me behind, leaving this so-called path of true happiness, to choose luxury, affluence and beauty over their old life, the one we'd shared together. 

I try to tell myself that I haven't strewn, and that there's nothing sad about a NRI girl returning to a thriftily designed school, a strict and grimy junior college that gets you where you need to go, a undergrad school with all of the matter and none of the frivolity, ultimately to land in a tier-2 "city", for her post-graduation, a place that's changed her nature enough that no person from her past circumstance seems relatable anymore. 

I try to tell myself that a good night's sleep is more important than an attention-catching Instagram page. 

I try to tell myself that the touchy-feely events of each day, each human interaction that I worked this hard for, and each patient that I benefit are worth all the trouble and sacrifice. 

I try to tell myself that vernacular fluency and enjoying folk songs are never a bad thing, that these things are only bringing me closer to my ultimate goal. 

But how long can I hold out? 

The shiny offices, beautiful canyons, short clothes, toned bodies, wine glasses and skyscrapers are starting to look good now.