Too Blessed to be Stressed!

The title of this post comes from a lady's tote that I saw last week.  It had a picture of 3 women walking into Church, in their Sunday best, and had this quote written across the bottom.

"Too Blessed to be Stressed." How true it is.

As I reflect on this past month, there are so many blessings for others -- and myself -- that I have witnessed. I have endured countless reminders of what I have. I have a functioning brain (...that could be debatable at times, lol), so it was devastating to see so many kids after severe brain injuries, brain surgeries, whatever it was!! How can God let someone live through that??

But it was beautiful... because I got to witness many of them regaining basic abilities that we all take for granted. Some made full recoveries... others were a little slower, taking a couple days to regain a function as simple as lifting their left thumb up.

I have movement in my fingers. I have the ability to walk to an elevator on my lazy days, and up the stairs when I have a little fried cafeteria food to burn off. I have the ability to speak words and sentences to make my wishes and thoughts known -- not always understood, but at least they are out in the open and fair game.

I have my eyesight. A seizure-free life so that I can drive at any moment to go home. The ability to coordinate the activities of chewing and swallowing, so that I don't require a feeding tube, and I can savor the taste of my mom's homemade Indian cooking. I can dance with my friends, sing obnoxiously to a Nicki Minaj song, and contort my face into what must be ridiculous expressions.

I have a home, with an amazingly dedicated, unwavering set of parents. I have a mother and father who are able to speak up for my needs and wants at the moments in life where I haven't been able to... I don't remember everything from when I was 6... but I remember things clearly from when I was 21. The feeling of being so jaded, so limp and lifeless, unable to respond in full sentences and explain how you are truly feeling, even when you are fully conscious of your every breath; the fact that you just want the complications to stop, and for someone to just make the exhaustion and sickness go away.......... you feel helpless. And for a while you are vulnerable, understanding that life isn't all about "independence" the way our American society makes us believe. Rather, it's about your relations with all those around you. Understanding the compromises and sacrifices that must sometimes be made for others -- because perhaps one day, they will be your lifeline. They will love you no matter what. And they will make the right decisions for you so that you can continue, once again, to remind yourself that you are "too blessed to be stressed."

I am not sure, though, if it's fair to even try to relate my situation and experience to those of the children I've seen this month. I am not the 8-year-old child who lost her mother in a car accident, and ended up a quadriplegic as a result. I am not the infant who has clearly been shaken by someone multiple times, to the point that he can no longer grasp onto a caretaker's hand, suck on a pacifier, or cry.

To my friends and family: thank you for always putting up with my nonsense.

I really am trying to remind myself to not be so stressed. Whatever the situation in life, things always work out the way they should.

I hope that all of you can take some time to appreciate all the reasons that you are blessed!

Goodnight, and wishing you all a happier tomorrow :)

A mother's angel

I have to write about one of the most precious moments I witnessed today in the hospital. Kids are always a joy, and even a simple game of peek-a-boo with a smiling child is enough to make my time in the hospital more than worth it.

This month I'm rotating on pediatric neurology. It's been such an exhilarating month, and working with the kids and their families has definitely been a gratifying experience. But this afternoon, my most memorable was not seen in the ED, or on the inpatient floors... but instead occurred within the walls of the outpatient clinic.

The resident presented the case to us med students, as well as the attending. It was a mysterious story. As the resident dictated the details of the history to all of our listening ears, we tried to develop our differential. That's the routine: discuss, plan... and be prepared to say what you need to the family.

We entered the room, and seated inside the room was the father, mother, and 2 adorable little girls. You would guess they were twins, from how they were dressed! Both had matching hello kitty outfits, and they were playing peacefully in the corner. I glanced at mom, and noticed her eyes were red from crying. As we explained our thoughts, and proposed plan of action, the mother continued to sit quietly in tears, as the father did most of the talking. I slid the box of tissues closer to her on the counter, and just gave her a friendly rub on the shoulder. The usual. But I could understand her frustration and fright (I mean, I'm not a parent... but... you get the point). This was something new for them, and I can't imagine hearing 4 doctors within 2 days say, "We don't really know what this could be." As the neurologists, we were the final resort, and yes, we were #4 to say we don't REALLY know. But we had a plan to develop a starting point for workup. This is someone's child, and they deserve an answer... or at least a strong effort to try to arrive at one.

We examined the 4-year-old on her mother's lap. Meanwhile, the slightly older sister (my guess is she was 5-years-old), walked up to her mom and sister. She wanted to be held too. Siblings often do that, when one gets attention, the other one also wants some love.

What I didn't expect was for this little 5-year-old girl to grab a tissue, fold it gently, and dab at her mother's eyes. It was the way a mother would delicately dab at her child's tears... I could tell she was being soft and cautious. And then she leaned closer to her mother and whispered, "Don't cry, momma. It'll be okay," and continued to dry her tears. She then planted the softest kiss on her mother's cheek.

All I could think is how lucky this mother was to have such an incredibly mature, caring daughter. She's so young, and I have never seen a child perform those actions so flawlessly. I've seen kids plant kisses on their parents' cheeks. I've heard them say things like "mommy! don't cry!" (usually without any effort to say it quietly, lol). I've also seen the child who doesn't know what to do except look frightened, or even start their own crying, at the sight of their parent's tears (I believe I'm usually the latter, unfortunately). It really was like watching a young angel, planted here on earth, to take care of those she loves. I was left in awe at that moment. No, I don't believe she was an "overly" mature child, because aside from that she was playing like a typical 5-year-old girl, holding her doll tightly, and maintaining her shy, soft-spoken demeanor around us.

One day she WILL be the caretaker of her own mother, and I hope she remains as angelic then as she is now. I wish I had taken a minute at the end of the visit to tell her to ALWAYS love her mother the way she does now. I hope she continues to dry her mother's tears, and that she will never be the one causing them to fall.

And -- to my own mom -- I may not say it, but I Love You. :)

God: why?

Sometimes we feel God isn't listening. Or wonder why He makes certain things happen.

It is deeply saddening to me that I am writing another post in response to a massacre. A crime committed through gun violence, and so much hate.

This time, it was directed at members of the same religion as me: Sikhism. A way of life. A religion that preaches equality amongst its members, with men and women sitting side by side. A religion where your standing in society means nothing; everyone sits on the same ground during prayers, and is served the same food afterwards. It doesn't matter whether you are the Queen of England, or homeless.

It is unfortunate that there is so much misunderstanding about our identity, especially after 9/11. I don't agree with the targeting of Muslims after the attacks, but what is disheartening is how Sikhs have been entangled seamlessly in this vicious cycle of hate that has been multiplying over the last 11 years.

Did you know it was a SIKH who was killed in the first deadly hate crime post-9/11? Did you know his name was Balbir Singh Sodhi, and that he was shot in the back as he laid flowers and American Flags in front of his gas station? His act of honoring the victims made him into another victim.

A SIKH. His identity misunderstood because of his beard and turban... the turban is a religious symbol for us. It is NOT tied in the same manner as Osama Bin Laden's. And Bin Laden's turban sure didn't have the same meaning of humility before God as the Sikh turban does.

So what sense can I make of this?

It seems the only conclusion is that this is God's cry to just STOP THE HATE! There have been isolated cases here and there, of students being harassed at schools, to violence being committed against my people who are so brave to don the turban day in and day out and are willing to stand out in this country. We have taken small steps as Sikhs to try to educate others on our religion. My friend, Simran Gill, and I had even hosted an event several years back in response to hate directed at a Sikh student on the Michigan State University Campus. I remember we were proud of the turnout.

A few years later, through the help of friends and many organizations on campus, I started an event titled "Tunnel of Oppression." I am grateful to my friend, Zain Ali Shamoon, for keeping the show alive. It just completed it's 5th year in April 2012, with the largest turnout yet.

But this is the first massacre I know of -- at least in the United States. Maybe the fact that this hate resulted in the loss of not 1 or 2, but SEVERAL lives, will finally bring attention to our religion in a broader scope. Perhaps this was God's way of saying our efforts as a Sikh community have simply been too minimal thus far, and this is the opportunity we need to seize to spread teachings about our religion.

There needs to be more mention of Sikhs in our schools and the textbooks that reach our children. I remember being excited the ONE TIME my religion was mentioned in my World History textbook (I think this was 9th grade). That excitement was quickly followed by disappointment, since it only made mention of Indira Gandhi's 2 Sikh bodyguards who were presumed to have been involved in her assassination. It never discussed the fact that Indira Gandhi was the force behind the violent killings of countless Sikhs -- men, women, EVEN CHILDREN -- and even within the walls of the Golden Temple, one of our holiest temples. Can you imagine how I felt in class that day? I was one of two Sikh kids in my entire high school that year. It made me more insecure than I already was at my different identity - a discomfort that I didn't finally overcome until I started undergrad at Michigan State University and found Sikh students living amongst me in my dorm building, and participating in the same organizations I chose to associate with.

All I can ask for right now is two things:
1) To my fellow Americans: please know many of us love this country even more than our own "motherland" of India, and that we were born and brought up here. Please take the time to read the basics of Sikhism, and understand who we are.
2) To my fellow Sikhs: we need to create a largescale fight for educating the men and women we reside amongst. Continue sharing our religion and its teachings to your neighbors and friends.

Instead of returning this act of violence with further hate, let's turn this into something positive. A chance for Sikhs to teach, and non-Sikhs to learn. After all, Sikhism is part of this "melting pot," and we only wish to continue living in peace, without fear, in this great country.

Kind of ironic, that I ended up attending prayers at Gurudwara today. Today - of all Sundays - after not being at Gurudwara for something like 2-3 months. It's even more ironic that today concluded the Hemkunt Foundation international competition, a weekend-long event for children of all ages. In our Plymouth, Michigan Gurudwara (Hidden Falls), Sikhs from all over the country (and even some from the UK!) came together to watch our youth compete in areas such as speeches, and reciting our prayers in front of a large Sangat. I was left in awe at the ability of these Sikhs, all younger than me, to sing our shabads beautifully, singing the words of our Guru's while playing a variety of instruments from the harmonium, to tabla, to the sarangi... even the sitar.

Waheguru Ji Ka Khalsa, Waheguru Ji Ki Fateh.

Chesny's Keswick Manor: A mom & daughter getaway!

Who knew a trip to Bay City, Michigan would be just what I needed?

At the conclusion of my 3rd year of medical school, I pestered my parents to plan a trip. Anywhere. The duration didn't matter. My only request was that it was after my board exams, before the start of 4th year, and neither in Lansing nor Detroit. I hadn't seen anything else since February 2011, when I took a weekend trip to Chicago with some close friends. That's almost a year and a half! I was starting to feel caged up, and I'm sure studying was only exacerbating that tension.

We originally tried booking a place in Traverse City, but it seemed every place we called was completely booked due to some lacrosse tournament and film fest.

Long story short, my mom and I booked one night at a little bed and breakfast in Bay City, by the name of Chesny's Keswick Manor. I had never been to a bed and breakfast, nor that particular city. Initially, I was unsure if I would like this... and assumed I would be bored to the point of feeling like I was back home anyway. But it was quite the contrary!

My mom and I started off by making the drive, just about 1 hour and 45 minutes. We pulled into the bed and breakfast, and a soft spoken gentleman, Graham (the owner), greeted us at the entrance. He got us checked in, and showed us to our room. He asked if we had any special dietary requests, and asked us what time we wanted breakfast to be served the next morning.

We had booked the Coryell Suite. It was quite green, to say the least... with a very pink bathroom. But it was CLEAN. The sheets were white, crisp, and spotless. We got situated, and I started to search for things to do in this small city that we were both unfamiliar with. I found some yarn and fabric shops, so we began our little getaway by exploring the little boutiques.
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OH -- before I forget! On our way out for the evening, a couple was just coming to the B&B and checking in. More on them later :)
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Eventually, we ended up at Brewtopia, a place that reminded me of Zuma in Birmingham, Michigan (which recently closed, unfortunately. And to add to that, Zuma was WAY better than this place!). It was a rainy day, so we both ordered some tea, and a snack to go with. By the time we finished, the skies had cleared, so we decided it was an opportune time to make our way to the waterfront area.

Turns out sitting by the river (I believe it was the Saginaw River), was just what we needed. The temperature and breeze were perfect, and we had some good mommy-daughter chat. Eventually it got a little chilly (surprising, really, considering the extreme temps we've been having here in Michigan all summer), and dinner was next on our to-do list!

We ended up at Old City Hall, a venue where one half is split into a bar/lounge, while the other half is a sit-down restaurant. The first thing I noticed was the diversity of the crowd. I mean... diversity in terms of age. Not culture. It was very white!! And the only other non-white individual (besides us) was the black lady who had entered the B&B as mom and I left (just to clarify, her husband was white). Our table was actually next to theirs, and just as we were being seated, they were heading out. What pleasantly surprised me was that while I was completely oblivious (when am I ever very observant?), the couple noticed and remembered us, and very graciously said hello. It was sweet.

Well, dinner there was slow... but very good. My mom ordered some kind of salmon, while I decided to order their tandoori chicken. You see, I have a problem where I have to order any Indian dish at a non-Indian restaurant, out of curiosity to see how it compares. The two times I have done this, the result was actually great! This was one of the times. Their tandoori chicken wasn't really tandoori. It was just grilled chicken, BUT their version of naan was actually quite delicious! And people should know by now that I don't particularly like naan or roti; I'm more of a rice kinda gal. But this bread was good. And their CHUTNEY! I think it was cilantro and coconut? Something of that sort. They had a small side of rice... and fried onions, which was their version of pakora (that's what I assumed anyway). The only thing that disappointed me about the dish was their raita. But... that's okay, I did without it and survived! Who knew I could live through an experience of not eating raita placed in front of my face? I didn't think it was possible!!

So after my delightful Indian experience in a very non-Indian way, we headed back to the B&B. The couple again said hi to us as mom and I retreated to our room, and found slices of tiramisu waiting for us... courtesy of Graham! We settled in to watch some TV... eventually ate our dessert... and dozed off.

The next morning we were up for a 9:30am breakfast. As we opened our door to head down, you could already smell the amazing meal that Graham was cooking up for all 4 of us! It wasn't quite ready as we arrived downstairs, so we sat in the living area with the couple for a few minutes. When it was finally time for breakfast, all 4 of us sat together at the same table. It was definitely a treat. We mingled with this couple. And to go by the cliche, don't judge a book by its cover! At first glance, you would never think we had anything in common with them! But we did. We shared stories, and found out that they have a daughter-in-law who is from India! Half Punjabi, actually! They were a multi-cultural family, just as our own extended family is quite multi-cultural!

Eventually we discovered that health-wise, the sweet lady and I shared something as well. We both dealt with the same disease, and underwent similar types of surgery for it. It was kind of cool really, to be able to share that understanding... well, I think my mom and her shared that understanding, since I was quite young when I had my bout of the illness. And then we learned that her and my mom both share the hobby of knitting. It really was an enjoyable conversation!! But eventually, we all had to make a move, and get checked out.

We all finished our delightful breakfast (french toast filled with cream cheese and blueberries with a blueberry syrup, sausage links, fresh fruit, juice and coffee), said our goodbyes, got our belongings together, and left. On the way home, mom and I stopped at Birch Run, an outlet shopping mall -- where I probably bought more than I should have. Oh well. That happens when you're on break ;)

In the end, this 'shorter-than-24-hours' trip turned out to be perfect. It was just the getaway that I needed. And it was quaint. We explored. We braved a bed and breakfast for the first time. We met kind strangers who weren't as different as they appeared on first glance. And we had a wonderful host.

I recommend Chesny's Keswick Manor to anyone willing to give up formal Sheraton/Marriott/fancy hotel employees and cold strangers, for a homely bed and breakfast, a small city, a humble host, and the potential to share a lovely conversation with friendly strangers.

I'm already looking forward to my next bed and breakfast adventure!!! :)