We have a habit to justify everything. Be it related to us or not is a different question. But justification is a quality we pick up very early in our life. As soon as we start talking, and become capable of making mistakes, we start to justify.
It is a habit. We justify our actions, our words, our looks to everyone around us. Be it our parents, our neighbors, friends, or even the unknown person who may be sitting besides us in a public transport. And if we are not with a company, we justify to ourselves!
It may be a good thing to justify. But I feel that it takes the fun out of everything we relish. I mean, why do we have to justify if we have one more bar of chocolate if we like it, or take a drive at 3 am if we like quiet roads, or for that matter, just speak what we think is right? We have to justify, or rather we are in a habit of doing so, for every single thing we do.
Odd it seems, that those who do not justify things are branded anti socials. Why is it always necessary for us to make others understand our point of view, or our line of thought? Why can we not just live our lives like we like to live? Instead we just do those things which we can justify convincingly. Why is it so?
I will not answer that. Because then, I will be justifying our social norms!
Friday, May 16, 2008
Difficult.
What is the most difficult thing to do? This is a question on which I took a poll. Many answered, ‘maths’ some said, ‘living in Mumbai, others said ‘asking a girl out.’
Maybe it is difficult. According to me, it is overcoming our fears. Difficulty lies, not in achieving the results, but in initiating the things which we are afraid of.
I distinctly remember one such incident. Once I witnessed a scalp suturing early in my medical school. And I fainted. I still remember the bright red blood oozing out as the Mama was doing the contused lacerated wound suturing. I don’t know why I fainted. I mean, I was pretty much stable at the sight of blood and all. May be because I felt the bacchu’s pain, or I was on an empty stomach (not an excuse. Seriously!) but the fact is that I fainted.
Long afterward, I could do everything but suturing. Then dawned my surgical posting as an intern. Now as an intern, there are always two ways out of a situation: do the thing, or simply feign ignorance! I said, “Beta, kaam to karna hai. Surgery hai to taka to padega.” I learnt suturing, and now can do it with either hands ( an advantage if you are left handed). Now that is not something great, but I was happy that I could just overcome one of my many fears!
Maybe it is difficult. According to me, it is overcoming our fears. Difficulty lies, not in achieving the results, but in initiating the things which we are afraid of.
I distinctly remember one such incident. Once I witnessed a scalp suturing early in my medical school. And I fainted. I still remember the bright red blood oozing out as the Mama was doing the contused lacerated wound suturing. I don’t know why I fainted. I mean, I was pretty much stable at the sight of blood and all. May be because I felt the bacchu’s pain, or I was on an empty stomach (not an excuse. Seriously!) but the fact is that I fainted.
Long afterward, I could do everything but suturing. Then dawned my surgical posting as an intern. Now as an intern, there are always two ways out of a situation: do the thing, or simply feign ignorance! I said, “Beta, kaam to karna hai. Surgery hai to taka to padega.” I learnt suturing, and now can do it with either hands ( an advantage if you are left handed). Now that is not something great, but I was happy that I could just overcome one of my many fears!
Ams.
That’s my brother. We used to call him Amu till recent times. But now he is in a degree college. So the mutation of the name.
He is a typhoon. He stays away at a hostel, comes home every 3-4 months. Mother is happy when he is at home and is always busy in the kitchen. I guess this is a universal way of showing motherly love!
For me, he is tolerable only on the first day. We usually give a bear hug when we meet first, often loosening a few bones. But after that, he is a total mess magician. I mean, my room starts looking like his hostel room overnight, like magic! He uses my clothes without asking, dumps soiled clothes and socks on my study table, takes the bike on a ride without asking, never dries himself in the bathroom, instead makes my room wet, uses my phone to call is friends, just as if he is the king of the world. On top of that, there is no regret, or remorse seen anywhere.
Still, I love that guy. He has grown a beard, and suddenly started talking something sensible. He gives me advice on various topics and has turned a bit patient. He has this ‘one look and you will fall in love with me’ kind of personality. He is a completely irritating person, will drive you nuts. But still, he is my bro, and we keep it that way. Still when the day comes when he is about to leave, I start becoming restless. I have seen him growing up, and now I am going to miss those golden years of his maturation.
Though he irritates me with, “dada, majha recharge kar na please!” calls, or convinces me to talk with his hostel incharge as his father, I miss him when he is not around. Now, I don’t know how to show my love at this age, but before he leaves, I still take him to the nearest convenience store and ask, “ kaunsa chocolate khaega?”
He is a typhoon. He stays away at a hostel, comes home every 3-4 months. Mother is happy when he is at home and is always busy in the kitchen. I guess this is a universal way of showing motherly love!
For me, he is tolerable only on the first day. We usually give a bear hug when we meet first, often loosening a few bones. But after that, he is a total mess magician. I mean, my room starts looking like his hostel room overnight, like magic! He uses my clothes without asking, dumps soiled clothes and socks on my study table, takes the bike on a ride without asking, never dries himself in the bathroom, instead makes my room wet, uses my phone to call is friends, just as if he is the king of the world. On top of that, there is no regret, or remorse seen anywhere.
Still, I love that guy. He has grown a beard, and suddenly started talking something sensible. He gives me advice on various topics and has turned a bit patient. He has this ‘one look and you will fall in love with me’ kind of personality. He is a completely irritating person, will drive you nuts. But still, he is my bro, and we keep it that way. Still when the day comes when he is about to leave, I start becoming restless. I have seen him growing up, and now I am going to miss those golden years of his maturation.
Though he irritates me with, “dada, majha recharge kar na please!” calls, or convinces me to talk with his hostel incharge as his father, I miss him when he is not around. Now, I don’t know how to show my love at this age, but before he leaves, I still take him to the nearest convenience store and ask, “ kaunsa chocolate khaega?”
I wish i were a girl.
I wish I were a girl. Now, people reading this might doubt my integrity or sexual orientation. I mean, who wants to be a girl? (Read it as, guys want to be macho, not feminine.) here again I wish to say, I don’t want to change myself. I just wish that I was born as a girl.
There are many things in my life, which have changed just because I am a guy. There are many social pressures you have to succumb to. One has to set up a family, earn a living, has to forego most of the joys to be an early earner. A guy has to hide his sensitive side, lest he is branded as gay. He cannot shed tears while watching a movie, or later accept the fact that he did so!
I underwent through all this, and I wish I were a girl. Agreed I would have to undergo a lot of physical torment, the PMS, the actual periods and all that. Living in a society where dominant equates with the male sex is difficult.and competing with pigs is more difficult than competing with bitches! But, things would be different. I would be free to laugh and cry, paint and dance, be weird, act stupid and still not be ridiculed at. i would be able to choose my future without much stress on starting an early income! That would be a free life I think. Lesser bindings despite innumerable bonds!
P.S. i know that the grass is always greener on the other side. still, it is a pleasant sight to lean over the fence and watch the greenery.
There are many things in my life, which have changed just because I am a guy. There are many social pressures you have to succumb to. One has to set up a family, earn a living, has to forego most of the joys to be an early earner. A guy has to hide his sensitive side, lest he is branded as gay. He cannot shed tears while watching a movie, or later accept the fact that he did so!
I underwent through all this, and I wish I were a girl. Agreed I would have to undergo a lot of physical torment, the PMS, the actual periods and all that. Living in a society where dominant equates with the male sex is difficult.and competing with pigs is more difficult than competing with bitches! But, things would be different. I would be free to laugh and cry, paint and dance, be weird, act stupid and still not be ridiculed at. i would be able to choose my future without much stress on starting an early income! That would be a free life I think. Lesser bindings despite innumerable bonds!
P.S. i know that the grass is always greener on the other side. still, it is a pleasant sight to lean over the fence and watch the greenery.
Human
There are times, when you are at the peak of sensitivity. You respond to everything, regardless of its miniscule nature. And there are times when your senses are so blunt, that you wonder, “am I the same person?”
I was doing my pediatric posting, and was posted in the Neonatal and Pediatric intensive care unit. I had nothing much to do as the day was light, so was engrossed in a novel. Suddenly I heard some commotion outside, and responded to it by getting up. A Bacchu of about 4-5 years was wheeled in. he was delirious, was calling for his mother, and was bleeding from all possible orifices. He had severely depleted platelets, which his reports revealed. He was immediately hooked up to all possible medical machinery, and his father rushed to get his platelets, and the rest of the relatives were firmly excused from the NICU.
I was standing there, momentarily numbed by the scene. Paediatric emergencies are spooky. They can knock the air off your lungs. Recovering from my trance, I made myself useful. My seniors were trying to intubate him, ( a process where a tube is put in the wind pipe, helping the doctor to achieve proper patient breathing.) now, intubating an adult is relatively easy. But it takes a bit of practice to intubate the children. We cound sense the boy’s end coming near, as he was brought to the hospital a little late. He was chanting his mother’s name, with the big fat tube in his mouth, and the mother was outside somewhere, probably chanting Allah’s name.
I cannot forget the scene. There were four efficient paedritics experts working on him, I was standing near his head, giving him manual breathing. The child was struggling to get free, to get it done with. Maybe he was fighting the ultimate peace. Sadly, the peace won. The boy quit struggling, we lost the pulse and the ecg was flat. Cardioversion was tried, without avail.
My resident (read immediate senior) took me aside. He asked me to accompany him to deliver the news to the parents. Meanwhile, the other residents were practicing the intubation on that dead bacchu. I wanted to scream, I mean the body was not even cold. He looked as good as asleep, and people were trying to practice skills on him.
My mind was asking me, is it human to do so? Does the boy deserve no peace? Immediately I answered back, it is necessary. This is how we learn. Maybe someday some other life may be saved.
I was doing my pediatric posting, and was posted in the Neonatal and Pediatric intensive care unit. I had nothing much to do as the day was light, so was engrossed in a novel. Suddenly I heard some commotion outside, and responded to it by getting up. A Bacchu of about 4-5 years was wheeled in. he was delirious, was calling for his mother, and was bleeding from all possible orifices. He had severely depleted platelets, which his reports revealed. He was immediately hooked up to all possible medical machinery, and his father rushed to get his platelets, and the rest of the relatives were firmly excused from the NICU.
I was standing there, momentarily numbed by the scene. Paediatric emergencies are spooky. They can knock the air off your lungs. Recovering from my trance, I made myself useful. My seniors were trying to intubate him, ( a process where a tube is put in the wind pipe, helping the doctor to achieve proper patient breathing.) now, intubating an adult is relatively easy. But it takes a bit of practice to intubate the children. We cound sense the boy’s end coming near, as he was brought to the hospital a little late. He was chanting his mother’s name, with the big fat tube in his mouth, and the mother was outside somewhere, probably chanting Allah’s name.
I cannot forget the scene. There were four efficient paedritics experts working on him, I was standing near his head, giving him manual breathing. The child was struggling to get free, to get it done with. Maybe he was fighting the ultimate peace. Sadly, the peace won. The boy quit struggling, we lost the pulse and the ecg was flat. Cardioversion was tried, without avail.
My resident (read immediate senior) took me aside. He asked me to accompany him to deliver the news to the parents. Meanwhile, the other residents were practicing the intubation on that dead bacchu. I wanted to scream, I mean the body was not even cold. He looked as good as asleep, and people were trying to practice skills on him.
My mind was asking me, is it human to do so? Does the boy deserve no peace? Immediately I answered back, it is necessary. This is how we learn. Maybe someday some other life may be saved.
Luck
I do not believe in luck. I believe that it is just a mathematical probability. Look at it this way. A person cannot be just plain lucky. Something has to act in conjunction with luck. Thus is my belief.
Adding to my belief is my Faithful science background. So I have no belief in miracles or any sort of paranormal things. I believe that whatever happens has a face of logic in it. When I say face, it might not be visible all the times. So that adds fate to my ‘I do not believe in’ list.
It was a night like any other Saturday night. I was sitting in the emergency room during my surgical rotation. I was happy as there were a few surgical references as against a load of medical references, which someone else was handling. I know I sound selfish. Medicine makes a person selfish. So, as usual, I was finding peace in the chaos around me. It was around 2.00 – 2.15 am, that a huge man was wheeled in the casualty. He was accompanied with a dozen of relatives, and a police constable. It was a medico legal case, a usual customer on a Saturday night. It was a surgical reference, so I rushed in to have a ‘damage assessment’ look, termed as preliminary examination. He was sweating profusely, was cold with jumpy vitals. He had three stab injuries in his abdomen. History from the relatives revealed that the person had a drunken brawl and acquired the injuries. There was a need of a CT scan to assess the extent of injuries to internal organs. But the facility was not available at our establishment, so it was suggested that the person should be transferred to a better hospital.
While the necessary paperwork was being processed, my senior suggested me to do a digital examination of the wound. By this, he wanted me to poke my pinky in those stab wounds and feel the inside of his abdomen. Plainly speaking, I was not interested. The idea in itself was too gross. But I followed the ‘obey thy senior’ dictum, donned my latex gloves (they are a rare sight in the government hospital. you need to carry your own box!) and put my little finger in the gaping wounds. In the most upper wound, I could feel the heart beating. It was so near the heart, that had the stab been a centimeter above, or had the angle been a few degrees more, the person would have been wheeled in toe first in the morgue!
Was it his luck, or was it just a mathematical probability, I cannot say.
P.S. I don’t know what happened to the patient after he was shifted to KEM. One cannot trace all the patients you know!
Adding to my belief is my Faithful science background. So I have no belief in miracles or any sort of paranormal things. I believe that whatever happens has a face of logic in it. When I say face, it might not be visible all the times. So that adds fate to my ‘I do not believe in’ list.
It was a night like any other Saturday night. I was sitting in the emergency room during my surgical rotation. I was happy as there were a few surgical references as against a load of medical references, which someone else was handling. I know I sound selfish. Medicine makes a person selfish. So, as usual, I was finding peace in the chaos around me. It was around 2.00 – 2.15 am, that a huge man was wheeled in the casualty. He was accompanied with a dozen of relatives, and a police constable. It was a medico legal case, a usual customer on a Saturday night. It was a surgical reference, so I rushed in to have a ‘damage assessment’ look, termed as preliminary examination. He was sweating profusely, was cold with jumpy vitals. He had three stab injuries in his abdomen. History from the relatives revealed that the person had a drunken brawl and acquired the injuries. There was a need of a CT scan to assess the extent of injuries to internal organs. But the facility was not available at our establishment, so it was suggested that the person should be transferred to a better hospital.
While the necessary paperwork was being processed, my senior suggested me to do a digital examination of the wound. By this, he wanted me to poke my pinky in those stab wounds and feel the inside of his abdomen. Plainly speaking, I was not interested. The idea in itself was too gross. But I followed the ‘obey thy senior’ dictum, donned my latex gloves (they are a rare sight in the government hospital. you need to carry your own box!) and put my little finger in the gaping wounds. In the most upper wound, I could feel the heart beating. It was so near the heart, that had the stab been a centimeter above, or had the angle been a few degrees more, the person would have been wheeled in toe first in the morgue!
Was it his luck, or was it just a mathematical probability, I cannot say.
P.S. I don’t know what happened to the patient after he was shifted to KEM. One cannot trace all the patients you know!
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