As a couple of friends decided they were running the London Marathon for charity, another friend thought it would be a good idea if we volunteered as staff, advertised for by a volunteering group at our university. The meeting for volunteers was to take place on the Friday before the marathon; the same day as our exam. Luckily the lady offered to meet with us quickly afterwards as we couldn't make the time, and the two hour meeting that everyone else endured was summarised for us in ten minutes. We were also handed pull-string bags with the marathon logo emblazoned on the front, and inside was all sorts of stuff: lots of food as well as a cool t-shirt, cap and bib we were due to wear on the day (and a waterproof poncho that came in handy, but I still wonder why they packed that marathon foil stuff). As we walked out of the student union building, our excitement couldn't be contained, and we couldn't wait to be part of something big!
The morning of the marathon, and travel plans looked like they would be disrupted by the regular weekend works on the tube, but TFL had some mercy and the jubilee line was working for once. The first train leaving Neasden was at 7am, and I needed to get to Canary Wharf (the location of the mile our group was covering- mile 19) by half past 7. So I texted in to say I would be a bit late, and boarded the train wearing my white marathon t-shirt with 'STAFF' stitched into the front. There were a few people already on the train who looked like they were running it, and I just stood there as more and more marathon runners got on, feeling a little important inside, that I was made partly responsible for their safety.
Most runners got off at London Bridge while I stayed on until Canary Wharf, where I was met by a crowd of people wearing identical t-shirts and caps to me. After a bit we were showed around the course, and were dropped off in pairs at the locations we were supposed to steward at. My friend Farhaan and I were luckily placed just before the water station, where a lot of the action would take place, and were told that our job was to answer questions from the spectators and ensure that they didn't cross the barriers.
The buildings overhead were mighty, and we stood at the foot of The Canary Wharf building itself, helping the water people open the catches on the bottles, ready for the inevitable horde of runners to grab them. Suddenly we were all alerted to the presence of the oncoming wheelchair racers (who are traditionally the first to start), and they zoomed past ignoring offers of water bottles. With the crowd barely present at this stage, we thought we could liven things up by helping hand out water, so we grabbed a couple of bottles each. The small group of elite women runners passed next, again with no-one taking water. But as the elite male runners with their entourage of motorbikes and cameras passed, one Kenyan lagging behind did snatch a bottle from Farhaan, who was ecstatic at his achievement (Farhaan that is, not the runner).
Slowly slowly, the average Joes and Janes began to trickle through; the fastest way out in front, with the less able and the more wackily-dressed coming later in their droves. The spectators were behaving themselves so we decided that water distribution would become a more permanent role of ours, and the helpful feeling inside was overwhelming; now multiply that thousands of times for all the runners that needed hydrating, and you got one hell of an altruistic buzz. It was surprising how many people actually said 'thank you' or 'cheers mate'; when they should've been concentrating every muscle fibre on running, they made the effort to be polite even in times of exhaustion. Such are the formalities of Brits I suppose!
Water was getting scarce on our side of the road, so we had to dodge runners to get to the other side and bring back soggy cardboard crates of new bottles, whose numbers needed further replenishing just after a few minutes (and towards the end we realised people further down our side had loads of bottles). As we were both bent over opening caps on new bottles, we got a tap on the back. It was one of our participating friends who noticed us, when it should've been the other way around! Such a surprise, inducing feelings of awe as he had covered 19 miles and still sped along, not having time to stop and have a chat. About four hours of handing out bottles with wide smiles across our faces, and sticky feet due to the lucozade bottles runners were disposing of at our feet, the numbers began to dwindle, and the water distributors began to leave. The two of us were finally left with barely any water to hand out and to cheer on the remaining few stragglers. A few still persisted with their costumes, which were clearly weighing them down; like a few rhinos, a massive doll, a stormtrooper and a replica of the Angel of the North (but missing its wings).
After an exhausting but enthralling day full of photos and videos (which I have yet to go through and edit), and which involved the indecisive sunny/rainy weather, we received a text from our group leader to say that we could return to the station and sign out. We were told that we'd be getting our silver volunteers' medals soon (yes, we get medals!), and encouraged to take part in more events; and if this was anything to go by, you could count us in! You can learn so much about people just by being exposed to them, albeit for an average of three seconds each, but I've learnt much about myself as well; that helping complete strangers can sometimes give me the greatest satisfaction I can ever find.
I think this month has been the most enlightening when it comes to meeting patients; I have almost been blown away by the endeavours some patients have made to become well again and get on with normal life. Probably the most memorable was a patient we met during a MedSoc home visit; my most enlightening hour and a half spent with a patient ever,and it will probably stay that way for a long time. We arrived at the front door of his ground floor flat, the disability lift in full view, used to overcome the four steps to his front door. Probably an old-age pensioner we thought, and as we rang the doorbell, the doors eerily opened by themselves. But on the other side was a friendly, healthy-looking young man to greet us, except he was in a wheelchair. Not all disabled people are old, and by the time we sat down in his kitchen, the photos pinned to the notice board told us that he certainly wasn't without a family either.
Our patient suffered a spinal injury after he fell out of a tree (being a tree surgeon at the time), resulting in him losing all sensation and movement in his legs. He described the scene as he arrived at the spinal injuries ward, and how when his friends and family came to visit, they told him that he wasn't that bad compared to other patients in the ward. At the time, he felt as if his whole world around him was falling apart; all his plans and hopes for the future gone to waste. And although he was grateful for all the work the healthcare team did for him, he said they should focus more on the psychological well-being of the patient after such incidents, even if seeing such injuries was a normal occurrence for them.
He did admit that after taking it all in, he was quite well off compared to other wheelchair users; he retained his bladder and bowel function, and compared to many other wheelchair occupants, he wasn't spiralling into depression. But he did recall the seriousness of his injuries; even now, at any point could pressure build up against his spinal cord further up his back and cause more serious complications, leading to death if his breathing was impinged upon. And without his constant physiotherapy and daily exercises, he would barely be able to sit upright on his wheelchair as well as prevent muscle wasting.
His family and social life seemed very healthy. He had a wife and a young daughter who were the focus of his life, and with the obvious career change he had to undergo, it gave him a new perspective on life and people. He now writes columns in newspapers and his blog, and published a book about the experiences he had to endure. We discussed in detail the large-scale changes he had to make to his life and daily routine after the accident, and he was thankful for the disabled-access car he drives, so he is able to take his daughter out like a normal father should do.
His story was so complex and touching, and he spoke so eloquently and clearly, using clever anecdotes to describe his situation, that I couldn't help but feel empathetic towards him; that he was just a normal person trying to get on with his life, and adapt to it without the use of his legs. This is something that doctors maybe don't properly appreciate, that many patients with seriously disabling injuries had completely normal lives beforehand, and would probably need help adjusting psychologically to such sudden incidents and the state they have been left in. But they certainly do not need to live the rest of their lives alone and bored; albeit they will have to change their living patterns, but with the right support and mindset, they can lead very happy lives.
Our patient said he didn't agree with people who said that being in a wheelchair was the best thing that ever happened to them, because he would definitely change his state of not having the use of his legs if he could, but he copes and adapts and I think there are so many lessons that can be learnt and applied to the life of a doctor from patients such as these. If unexpected pressures and strains are suddenly put upon you, there is no point collapsing and giving up, because there are people that depend on you who may be in worse situations. The biggest lesson he has learnt in his life (something I ask every patient I meet) is that if there is a seemingly unachievable task at hand, there will always be a way around things to finally get it done.
So yeah, that massive chunk of text above was lifted straight out of my regular reflective piece of writing I have to do for my GP. Another day I saw a schizophrenic lady (just after talking to two alcoholics anonymouses). She looked twice the age she was, and listening to her story, quite understandably so. As a child she was sexually abused, and by her late twenties (after she was abused again), she realised that that not everybody felt the same she did; not everyone was experiencing the same depression and psychotic thoughts
she was. When I asked her how the strange experiences manifested themselves, she said that the voices she heard were 'outside of her head', like someone was in the room with her, and she recalled some terrifying hallucinations that she saw, even whilst sitting in the GP's office one day. Her poverty didn't help, and every bit of money that she could scrape together (from the jobs she couldn't keep due to her 'strangeness' with others), she spent on a therapist that she thought could help. This was a while ago when mental health services weren't as advanced as they are now.
It was extremely easy to empathise with her, due to her remarkable ability to re-enact what she said and thought so well, with such extreme emotion, and I felt so lost in her world. But there was a point in the conversation when I knew exactly what she meant; when she recalled picking up 'hidden meanings' in what people were saying and body language, and attaching significance to certain colours, as it's what I went through two years ago. It doesn't matter what someone is trying to tell you, your brain works overtime to link things together and produce a meaning that attaches to warped ideas you already had in your mind. It doesn't matter if someone is telling you how their day was or what they ate for lunch, certain words are picked out from the sentence, as well the tone of voice analysed to derive some hidden meaning, any meaning at all. Conversations between people are homed in on; adverts, noticeboards and headlines are closely scrutinised, and all the while you are sure in your own mind that everyone in the world around you is against you. When the psychotic thoughts are removed though, I have to admit that the faculties you have after being cured, of being able to pick up on subtle nuances in people's behaviour, is quite useful. I nodded in understanding to every word she told our group, and now she regularly takes medication, not suffering from any of the symptoms (apart from some drug side effects), and it looked like she was really appreciative of the work the health professionals did for her. But you can never tell with a previously psychotic, paranoid person; are they just saying it because they fear they're being watched, and they're trying to pass off as being 'well'? The acquired label of once being mentally ill seemingly never goes away.
Anyway, in other developments this month, I took part in the BBC Sport Relief mile (well actually, we ran 3). My friend asked me down about a month prior, and the night before I got the reminder. So after football, I manouvered my way past all the tube delays to arrive at Embankment; a gloriously sunny day with everyone happy beside the river, and ready to run. It was an extremely refreshing day alhamdulillah, and with my friend running the slowest three miles ever, it gave me a chance to stop every so often and just take in the atmosphere. The BBC cameras were on me as I approached the finish line, and just before I crossed it, I stopped, looked back, and encouraged my friend on, with us clutching each other across the finish line. It was definitely a Hollywood moment, looking great on the big screen (but I don't think it made the final cut :/), and we went off to collect our medals and bags of free goodies they had waiting for us.
On the back of the triumph of running three whole miles, I accepted an invitation to a slightly longer run of a half marathon in October, with Barts buddies this time. I know that even though I've got ages to train for the run, training is probably not going to happen. Things are always more exciting when you're caught unprepared.
This month I also found myself hosting my uni's Muslim Medics and Dentists annual dinner, which was very unexpected (I obviously knew before I arrived :P). I do remember one day a committee member saying it would be cool if I co-hosted it with him, but I thought it was just a passing comment. So a few days before the event, I was asked to write a script, and being the unrefusing dummy I am, I inserted it into my already packed schedule. The event itself went quite well alhamdulillah; as I was given free creative reign over the script, I thought I could insert jokes here and there. Proper jokes, and they did serve as good fillers when stuff was being sorted out in the background. I think people were amused more at the fact that I was telling jokes, rather than at the actual content; an extremely tough crowd, but I think I managed somewhat to induce smiles from an otherwise stern-faced bunch of Muzzies.
About a week later I was invited to another dinner hosted by Queen Mary, called Colours and Honours and where they give awards to various clubs and people. Basically just the Octagon building (an amazingly constructed 8-sided building with busts of ancient philosophers overlooking everyone), filled with over-excited barely-dressed girls and suited guys, all looking forward to the boat party afterwards. Charity Week was nominated for fundraising, and I and a couple of others were to represent MMD and collect the award if we won (which we did). It's not that I was particularly active during Charity Week, but I think it's supposed to be an introduction to me being next year's Charity Week rep, a position I found myself in, as a result of being elected to the MMD committee (another position I found myself in). It was during this glitzy evening (with halal food may I add) did I realise the extent to which the Barts-QM rivalry went, with everyone booing when as so much as our name was mentioned. It really took the biscuit when a highly controversial student article criticising our union president won article of the year. But overall it was fun, witnessing the type of event a lot of people dedicate their lives towards: just to go up on stage and pick up an award, receiving a moment of praise and appreciation for the work they put in.
My month in status updates:
feels privileged to be part of the exclusive group to have seen the elephant man's skeleton :D
should be asleep in bed, but is instead in a supermarket filming stuff with mates :D
being a policeman, destroying a supercomputer, taking over a TV studio... all in a night's work, standard! :D
My MedSoc is unmatched in levels of enlightenment!
has 600 friends... apparently
will be surprised if he didn't make the final cut for Sport Relief tonight.
In a museum full of diseased body parts, doing blind people experiments... Too good! :D
Shutter Island is my type of film!!
The video below is a cartoon that I used to watch so much as a child. It was part of a video collection of cartoons from MGM that were mostly slightly dodgy or racist; those old fashioned ones. But this cartoon I'd like to think was revolutionary at the time, with the ideas expressed and the humour envisaged. It has definitely contributed to the richness stage my humour has reached. Let's hope youtube don't take it down!
And finally, here's a quote that I was made aware of by my friend Adnaan:
If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you.- Oscar Wilde
[By the way, the word 'anonymous' is an adjective and so hasn't got a plural form...]
