As salaam alaikum,
I've been busy but not busy, if that makes any sense. I've been mentally and emotionally busy, preparing myself for graduation for residency. This included taking (and passing, alhamdulillah) my boards, getting my work schedule arranged for when I start my new job in September, tidying things up for my patients before I hand them off to the new resident, moving...
Ya girl's been busy.
There is also a lot of background noise right now, honestly, that has gone on for the last three years. My faith has been challenged in a very specific way that I have not shared on this blog, because it is a moment in progress. When this metamorphosis of sorts is complete, I will speak more openly and frankly about it. For now, sorry, you just get tidbits.
But alhamdulillah, I have completed residency and I am now a family physician practicing family medicine with obstetrics. This morning, getting up and not going to clinic, I felt starkly naked in a way I never have before in my life. I said at first that I felt naked because I was no longer a resident, but in truth, I've been a resident for only 3 years. It seems like nothing and it seems like forever at the same time.
I gaze at pictures of my co-residents and feel like I miss them already and that I never truly got to know them at the same time. They are a group of 11 people that I love and with whom I have experienced something unique that will not replicate. I feel like I've known them forever and for not that long at the same time. They are excellent people and I hope we continue our road to excellence.
I went in three years from being an insecure medical school graduate, not ready to embrace myself as a physician, to a board certified family physician with no insecurities about my capabilities. Again, alhamdulillah.
This moment, however, reminds me of a song Elis Regina sang, called, "20 Anos Blues."
Ontem de manhã quando acordei / olhei a vida e me espantei. / Eu tenho mais que vinte anos. / Eu tenho mais que mil perguntas sem respostas. / Estou ligada a um futuro blue.
Yesterday morning when I woke up, I looked at life and I startled myself. I am more than 20 years old. I have more than a thousand questions without answers. I'm tied to a blue future.
And while I do not believe I'm tied to a blue future, there were all of those ways, over the past few years, that I realized that I was not my 20 year old self. I am not who I was when I began this journey to be a physician, to be a better Muslimah, to make my own contribution to social justice.
I'm not 20 years old anymore. My grandfather is not on this earth anymore and my brother is an adult with autism who is unemployed, unskilled for most vocations and lives at home with my aging parents. I am a family physician continuing a very separate life on the West Coast, away from my aging parents and away from my brother. My personal life bears harsh realities that I did acknowledge, in a highly dramatized form at 20 years old, but that are more eminent now, as I begin to make plans for marriage and a family of my own.
At the same time, I'm not 20 years old anymore and I don't look for ways to save the world at every turn, in every crevice and with every issue. I'm looking for very specific ways I can make an impact in matters that I care most about and that I know most about.
I'm not 20 and I'm not premed, I'm a family physician. I don't love a man absently who I have no access to, I love one who is here, on earth, with me, who is not a character I created but a real man who doesn't always follow the ideal script for our lives but who is here regardless. I don't look outward for my Muslim identity, I look inward.
So I begin this two months off before starting work period resuming Ramadan (Ramadan Mubarak to all) after the Feminine Interruption. I return to focusing on The Compassionate.
Showing posts with label Ramadan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ramadan. Show all posts
Monday, June 29, 2015
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
All I Want to Be
Salaam,
As another Ramadan approaches, I'm starting to become more reflective and introspective at a time that my incoming rotation will not allow me to be. I'll be on a surgery inpatient service for the duration of Ramadan. I just have to get in enough calories and hydrate enough during suhoor and before I begin my shifts at 5am, and I think I'll be fine, iA.
But also, as another Ramadan approaches, I reflect on all of the things I've wanted to be over the years, all of the things I want to be, and all of the things that I've tucked away, at least temporarily. One of them is a better Muslim. That definition has shifted over time and looks a bit different than it did 11 years ago when I fasted my first full Ramadan outside of my parent's home as an 18-year-old college freshman.
It looks different than it did when I was a new, 21-year-old hijabi.
It looks different than it did when I was a 24-year-old medical student, struggling with the fear that my first Muslim brother-crush, who was marrying someone else, was maybe the best, the last and the only chance I'd ever get at love.
It looks different than I did when I was 27, newly disillusioned with love and certain aspects of my religion and moving from east to west coast with hopes to realize my dream career.
I think that, more than any time in my life, my self-definition is fluid. That sounds wishy-washy. I mean that I realize that parts of who I am are continually evolving as I grow and learn. I do not expect to reach my destination and still have life left to live.
In essence, I will not attain "better Muslim" at once and then sit pretty for the rest of the time. It will be one of those life goals I will work toward until the end, whether that is the end of my life or the terminal decline of my cognition.
And while one could say that my Islam is all-encompassing of the most important things of my life, I also have other aspects of my life for which I recognize that I will not reach a destination before the end. These identities of mine are constantly growing and changing, and I thank God for that. It means I'm very much alive.
It also means I can't close my eyes and see where I want to be at any given time. I used to be able to close my eyes and see such vivid detail, from the color of my clothes to the height of my husband, to how many kids we'd have at our sides. With maturity these details have necessarily become more vague or are now nonexistent, replaced with an intangible placeholder named insha'Allah.
Because I couldn't have made up the last two years of my life when I was an 18-year-old freshman or a 21-year-old hijabi or a 24-year-old medical student.
And that removes the pressure I feel to be all that I want to be. I no longer feel pressure to be all of these things soon, as if it would never happen otherwise. I no longer feel pressure to be all of the things I want to be at once.
I no longer feel the urgency of being all the things I want to be. It's all insha'Allah, and for the first time in a couple of years, insha'Allah doesn't feel daunting to me.
I guess this is what it means to Submit.
There's so much that I am that I want to be as much of my life as I can, but I cannot, because of the earthly limits of space and time. I want to be all of these things, including a writer, an artist, a singer, a musician - a family physician, a public health practitioner, possibly a medical director - a mother, a wife, a daughter-in-law--while carrying with the things I already am--a Muslim, a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a friend, the list probably goes on. I want to be all of these things at once because I enjoy each of them, in each of them I find meaning and purpose, in each of them I express a little of myself, and to several of them I aspire absolutely.
And for the first time, I'm okay with the fact that there may be some things that I'll never be. I'm not despairing right now with the possibility of never bearing my own children, but maybe I'll adopt or foster. I may never publish a fiction piece, but I'll keep writing. I may never marry, but I'll love and nurture those who are in my life. Not saying that they would not be hard to come to terms with, but I'm accepting.
Whereas when I was a teen, when I saw the future, I saw black, bleak, dark--whereas when I was in my early 20s, I saw future as a series of detailed ideals with a backdrop of grave anxiety--I can't see the future now, as I never was able to, really, and I'm placing my trust in God, the best of planners, while moving forward prayerfully with my own purposeful plans in the meantime.
By God's grace, I will be able to be all I want to be.
As another Ramadan approaches, I'm starting to become more reflective and introspective at a time that my incoming rotation will not allow me to be. I'll be on a surgery inpatient service for the duration of Ramadan. I just have to get in enough calories and hydrate enough during suhoor and before I begin my shifts at 5am, and I think I'll be fine, iA.
But also, as another Ramadan approaches, I reflect on all of the things I've wanted to be over the years, all of the things I want to be, and all of the things that I've tucked away, at least temporarily. One of them is a better Muslim. That definition has shifted over time and looks a bit different than it did 11 years ago when I fasted my first full Ramadan outside of my parent's home as an 18-year-old college freshman.
It looks different than it did when I was a new, 21-year-old hijabi.
It looks different than it did when I was a 24-year-old medical student, struggling with the fear that my first Muslim brother-crush, who was marrying someone else, was maybe the best, the last and the only chance I'd ever get at love.
It looks different than I did when I was 27, newly disillusioned with love and certain aspects of my religion and moving from east to west coast with hopes to realize my dream career.
I think that, more than any time in my life, my self-definition is fluid. That sounds wishy-washy. I mean that I realize that parts of who I am are continually evolving as I grow and learn. I do not expect to reach my destination and still have life left to live.
In essence, I will not attain "better Muslim" at once and then sit pretty for the rest of the time. It will be one of those life goals I will work toward until the end, whether that is the end of my life or the terminal decline of my cognition.
And while one could say that my Islam is all-encompassing of the most important things of my life, I also have other aspects of my life for which I recognize that I will not reach a destination before the end. These identities of mine are constantly growing and changing, and I thank God for that. It means I'm very much alive.
It also means I can't close my eyes and see where I want to be at any given time. I used to be able to close my eyes and see such vivid detail, from the color of my clothes to the height of my husband, to how many kids we'd have at our sides. With maturity these details have necessarily become more vague or are now nonexistent, replaced with an intangible placeholder named insha'Allah.
Because I couldn't have made up the last two years of my life when I was an 18-year-old freshman or a 21-year-old hijabi or a 24-year-old medical student.
And that removes the pressure I feel to be all that I want to be. I no longer feel pressure to be all of these things soon, as if it would never happen otherwise. I no longer feel pressure to be all of the things I want to be at once.
I no longer feel the urgency of being all the things I want to be. It's all insha'Allah, and for the first time in a couple of years, insha'Allah doesn't feel daunting to me.
I guess this is what it means to Submit.
There's so much that I am that I want to be as much of my life as I can, but I cannot, because of the earthly limits of space and time. I want to be all of these things, including a writer, an artist, a singer, a musician - a family physician, a public health practitioner, possibly a medical director - a mother, a wife, a daughter-in-law--while carrying with the things I already am--a Muslim, a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a friend, the list probably goes on. I want to be all of these things at once because I enjoy each of them, in each of them I find meaning and purpose, in each of them I express a little of myself, and to several of them I aspire absolutely.
And for the first time, I'm okay with the fact that there may be some things that I'll never be. I'm not despairing right now with the possibility of never bearing my own children, but maybe I'll adopt or foster. I may never publish a fiction piece, but I'll keep writing. I may never marry, but I'll love and nurture those who are in my life. Not saying that they would not be hard to come to terms with, but I'm accepting.
Whereas when I was a teen, when I saw the future, I saw black, bleak, dark--whereas when I was in my early 20s, I saw future as a series of detailed ideals with a backdrop of grave anxiety--I can't see the future now, as I never was able to, really, and I'm placing my trust in God, the best of planners, while moving forward prayerfully with my own purposeful plans in the meantime.
By God's grace, I will be able to be all I want to be.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Two AM Insomniac
Salaam,
I just got off of a pediatric emergency department rotation that ended with a week of night shifts ranging from 5am-2am, 2pm-2am and 7pm-7am. As a result, for the past few days, I have been very awake at 2am and 3am. Yesterday, I was only able to get back to sleep at 3am. This is also fueled by the expectation I have for a patient who is in early latent labor right now and could go into labor at any minute...or in several days. Also fueled by being very worried about a patient that I picked up and hoping she survives the night...for several reasons.
So now I'm awake. And I could have just sat in bed and reflected and tried to go back to sleep for hours, but I guess I've already slept four hours and I have until 8am to get up, so what better to do when having insomnia than to get up in front of a screen for a few minutes?
...actually, no, bad. Screen time is not the way to go back to sleep, and this doctor knows that. The fact that I do most of my major activities in this bed these days (including working, eating some meals, leisure time, practicing my clarinet and sleeping) also doesn't help.
The bed is very comfortable, though.
I had a fitful time getting to sleep, too, with all sorts of pre-sleep hallucinations about being awaken shortly after taking melatonin to go attend to a delivery. If it weren't for the whole continuity delivery thing, second year would be easier than first year. I'm going to have to find a way to deal with that.
That, and my plans for an elective are currently up in the air because I've just been so busy with inpatient rotations I haven't had time to adequately prepare and plan. That, and it is so hard to get to faculty to help me out in the matter.
The past few weeks have been filled with a mix of excitement, sadness and challenges. There have been bachelorette parties and weddings, conferences and night floats, a very isolated Ramadan again without being able to attend Eid prayer because of work, Trayvon Martin and The New Jim Crow. It has been an emotional roller coaster and the fact that I'm waking up afraid for my patient's life, unsure about this rotation and, indeed, unsure about my future, make the perfect recipe for my insomnia.
I just lay on my stomach and prayed desperately for a while. The place of prayer in my life has morphed over the last several months.
I also wonder about this relationship I'm in, with a man that I'm pretty sure no person whose ever known me would imagine for me or may not even want for me. I made the decision a while ago that this didn't matter. However, it does make certain aspects of life more isolating.
I think this is a road, no matter what the outcome, that I must travel, though. It is a lesson for me and it will inspire humility. After years of being disappointed that MTQ couldn't see past our racial and ethnic differences to try to make something out of our mutual attraction--I now see how hard that is when you face your loving family's disapproval.
I don't have the strength right now to deal with the "you could do better" and "what's wrong with black men?"
In all, life is really hard, it's an uphill battle and a slippery slope. The feeling of God wavers from familiar to distant and more things are subjective than I'm comfortable with. So boo.
I just got off of a pediatric emergency department rotation that ended with a week of night shifts ranging from 5am-2am, 2pm-2am and 7pm-7am. As a result, for the past few days, I have been very awake at 2am and 3am. Yesterday, I was only able to get back to sleep at 3am. This is also fueled by the expectation I have for a patient who is in early latent labor right now and could go into labor at any minute...or in several days. Also fueled by being very worried about a patient that I picked up and hoping she survives the night...for several reasons.
So now I'm awake. And I could have just sat in bed and reflected and tried to go back to sleep for hours, but I guess I've already slept four hours and I have until 8am to get up, so what better to do when having insomnia than to get up in front of a screen for a few minutes?
...actually, no, bad. Screen time is not the way to go back to sleep, and this doctor knows that. The fact that I do most of my major activities in this bed these days (including working, eating some meals, leisure time, practicing my clarinet and sleeping) also doesn't help.
The bed is very comfortable, though.
I had a fitful time getting to sleep, too, with all sorts of pre-sleep hallucinations about being awaken shortly after taking melatonin to go attend to a delivery. If it weren't for the whole continuity delivery thing, second year would be easier than first year. I'm going to have to find a way to deal with that.
That, and my plans for an elective are currently up in the air because I've just been so busy with inpatient rotations I haven't had time to adequately prepare and plan. That, and it is so hard to get to faculty to help me out in the matter.
The past few weeks have been filled with a mix of excitement, sadness and challenges. There have been bachelorette parties and weddings, conferences and night floats, a very isolated Ramadan again without being able to attend Eid prayer because of work, Trayvon Martin and The New Jim Crow. It has been an emotional roller coaster and the fact that I'm waking up afraid for my patient's life, unsure about this rotation and, indeed, unsure about my future, make the perfect recipe for my insomnia.
I just lay on my stomach and prayed desperately for a while. The place of prayer in my life has morphed over the last several months.
I also wonder about this relationship I'm in, with a man that I'm pretty sure no person whose ever known me would imagine for me or may not even want for me. I made the decision a while ago that this didn't matter. However, it does make certain aspects of life more isolating.
I think this is a road, no matter what the outcome, that I must travel, though. It is a lesson for me and it will inspire humility. After years of being disappointed that MTQ couldn't see past our racial and ethnic differences to try to make something out of our mutual attraction--I now see how hard that is when you face your loving family's disapproval.
I don't have the strength right now to deal with the "you could do better" and "what's wrong with black men?"
In all, life is really hard, it's an uphill battle and a slippery slope. The feeling of God wavers from familiar to distant and more things are subjective than I'm comfortable with. So boo.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
A Stick, A Stone / é pau, é pedra
As salaam alaikum,
I just listened to Obama's full speech reflecting on the Trayvon Martin case. As one of my friends said on facebook, "My President is Black." And honestly, this is one of the first times that I have felt that in a positive way in a while.
As in, I recognize my president is black and not because of hateful comparisons to monkeys or reference to as the antichrist or anything overtly racist like that. And not because of the many covertly racist ways that he is regarded.
He explained so eloquently why the case is so painful for us, black people, in a way that was appropriately delicate but detailed.
I'll say it this way. I'm called to mind of my grandfather, who in his youth was instructed to act like he had a developmental disability if a white woman tried to talk to him so he would not face violence from her white relations (i.e. lynching and the like). See the case of Emmett Till. Spoiler alert: those who killed him were acquitted. And I think, will I have to teach my sons to fall to the ground, face down, with their hands raised if confronted by a white man who appears to feel threatened by them? Is that really what's going on here?
It's bad enough that I may have to defend my sons against teachers who, by the age of five, believe my sons to be aggressive, out of control, and want to kick them out of the classroom, expel them, enroll them in special ed. It's bad enough that I'll have to fear for my sons' life at the hands of peers, depending on where they live.
This case sent a dangerous precedent that set race relations in this country back decades. Back to the time of the Emmett Till murder, back to the time when the last black body swung from a tree.
As I thought of this, however, the following words came to my mind: é pau, é pedra, é o fim do caminho...
It's a twig, it's a rock, it's the end of the road...
Or, as the English version goes, "A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road."
My favorite song of all time is "Aguas de Março" by Tom Jobim. My favorite version of it is Elis Regina's, though I like almost every version of the song, ever.
And I thought of the song, and it took on new meaning to me.
I love that I can shift and think in another language. I love that I'm fluent in Spanish and can hold my own in Portuguese. I love that I can slide fluidly into this world and meld with a people whose mindset is different about race (far from perfect, far from racial utopia, just different) and escape from the brand of ugly we have here.
I love that I can shift into a language with it's own music with unique lyrics and sentiments I haven't necessarily heard in English-language songs. And today, "Aguas de Março" expressed a sentiment that it hadn't for me before, that I don't think I could find in another English-language song.
It's a long version of my SO's "oh well" when something falls outside of his hands, though is regretable.
A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road, it's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone.
I learned all of the words in Portuguese, which took me months, but now I know it by heart. Categorically naming all of the objects in his surrounding, from a cut on his toe to the car stuck in the mud...and the mud, and the mud...then carefully translated into English, using no words that had Latin roots, Tom Jobim ingeniously crafted the Waters of March with an arrangement that sounds like a gentle but persistent rain.
Each of these little objects makes up a landscape, the psychological landscape of the Waters of March. The song tonight sounds to me like surrender...peaceful, wet, gradual surrender, piecemeal, to life, to reality, to beauty in pieces. Still existing in spite of the rain, in spite of the end of summer.
They're the waters of March, closing the summer. It's the promise of life in my heart.
I listened to the speech by Obama and it gave me hope. It made me feel less desperate. Seeing so many of my non-black friends applauding it on facebook made me feel less alone. Not that I needed their validation, but I'm glad to see black people weren't the only ones who cared. And seeing Obama, who I have personally felt has compromised many of what he said were his values in the name of maintaining his position, be real in front of the press and explain what it felt like to be black and hear that verdict--the world isn't quite as bleak as I thought it was for a while.
It's part of the human condition that we make life bleak for one another. But it is excellence of the human condition when we are able to do right by each other, bring each other up.
But Trayvon is dead, George Zimmerman is acquitted, several other unarmed black boys and young men died because they were suspicious, even more black boys and young men died because of senseless violence, and so many black boys and young men are in jail, out of jail or on the conveyor belt to jail. What I experienced tonight was beauty, but beauty is always bittersweet in the face of sorrow.
And that's what a lot of Brazilian music is for me. Bittersweet beauty in the face of sorrow. The beauty is always lovely sounding to those who don't understand the lyrics. In the lyrics is the pain.
So "Aguas" breaks it down for me...it makes that beauty elemental. A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road, it's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone. It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun, it is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun...
On a slightly related note, the video of the children expressing shock about that controversial Cheerios ad renewed my intense desire to have children of my own. So cute! Little people are amazing.
I just listened to Obama's full speech reflecting on the Trayvon Martin case. As one of my friends said on facebook, "My President is Black." And honestly, this is one of the first times that I have felt that in a positive way in a while.
As in, I recognize my president is black and not because of hateful comparisons to monkeys or reference to as the antichrist or anything overtly racist like that. And not because of the many covertly racist ways that he is regarded.
He explained so eloquently why the case is so painful for us, black people, in a way that was appropriately delicate but detailed.
I'll say it this way. I'm called to mind of my grandfather, who in his youth was instructed to act like he had a developmental disability if a white woman tried to talk to him so he would not face violence from her white relations (i.e. lynching and the like). See the case of Emmett Till. Spoiler alert: those who killed him were acquitted. And I think, will I have to teach my sons to fall to the ground, face down, with their hands raised if confronted by a white man who appears to feel threatened by them? Is that really what's going on here?
It's bad enough that I may have to defend my sons against teachers who, by the age of five, believe my sons to be aggressive, out of control, and want to kick them out of the classroom, expel them, enroll them in special ed. It's bad enough that I'll have to fear for my sons' life at the hands of peers, depending on where they live.
This case sent a dangerous precedent that set race relations in this country back decades. Back to the time of the Emmett Till murder, back to the time when the last black body swung from a tree.
As I thought of this, however, the following words came to my mind: é pau, é pedra, é o fim do caminho...
It's a twig, it's a rock, it's the end of the road...
Or, as the English version goes, "A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road."
My favorite song of all time is "Aguas de Março" by Tom Jobim. My favorite version of it is Elis Regina's, though I like almost every version of the song, ever.
And I thought of the song, and it took on new meaning to me.
I love that I can shift and think in another language. I love that I'm fluent in Spanish and can hold my own in Portuguese. I love that I can slide fluidly into this world and meld with a people whose mindset is different about race (far from perfect, far from racial utopia, just different) and escape from the brand of ugly we have here.
I love that I can shift into a language with it's own music with unique lyrics and sentiments I haven't necessarily heard in English-language songs. And today, "Aguas de Março" expressed a sentiment that it hadn't for me before, that I don't think I could find in another English-language song.
It's a long version of my SO's "oh well" when something falls outside of his hands, though is regretable.
A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road, it's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone.
I learned all of the words in Portuguese, which took me months, but now I know it by heart. Categorically naming all of the objects in his surrounding, from a cut on his toe to the car stuck in the mud...and the mud, and the mud...then carefully translated into English, using no words that had Latin roots, Tom Jobim ingeniously crafted the Waters of March with an arrangement that sounds like a gentle but persistent rain.
Each of these little objects makes up a landscape, the psychological landscape of the Waters of March. The song tonight sounds to me like surrender...peaceful, wet, gradual surrender, piecemeal, to life, to reality, to beauty in pieces. Still existing in spite of the rain, in spite of the end of summer.
They're the waters of March, closing the summer. It's the promise of life in my heart.
I listened to the speech by Obama and it gave me hope. It made me feel less desperate. Seeing so many of my non-black friends applauding it on facebook made me feel less alone. Not that I needed their validation, but I'm glad to see black people weren't the only ones who cared. And seeing Obama, who I have personally felt has compromised many of what he said were his values in the name of maintaining his position, be real in front of the press and explain what it felt like to be black and hear that verdict--the world isn't quite as bleak as I thought it was for a while.
It's part of the human condition that we make life bleak for one another. But it is excellence of the human condition when we are able to do right by each other, bring each other up.
But Trayvon is dead, George Zimmerman is acquitted, several other unarmed black boys and young men died because they were suspicious, even more black boys and young men died because of senseless violence, and so many black boys and young men are in jail, out of jail or on the conveyor belt to jail. What I experienced tonight was beauty, but beauty is always bittersweet in the face of sorrow.
And that's what a lot of Brazilian music is for me. Bittersweet beauty in the face of sorrow. The beauty is always lovely sounding to those who don't understand the lyrics. In the lyrics is the pain.
So "Aguas" breaks it down for me...it makes that beauty elemental. A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road, it's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone. It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun, it is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun...
On a slightly related note, the video of the children expressing shock about that controversial Cheerios ad renewed my intense desire to have children of my own. So cute! Little people are amazing.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
All I Want for Ramadan
As salaam alaikum,
As I approach my last two nights of the night shift, I find myself getting accustomed to being a day zombie and night warrior. And by night warrior, I mean ambling around the hospital at 2am to answer a page about a patient, wrapping my fleece around me to prevent the shivers as my body tries to convince me to sleep.
Anyway, I'll be glad when nights end. I spend most of my morning sleeping then most of my day lounging around. My seniors suggest that I do nights next year during Ramadan, because that would "be perfect." No, thank you. There are various reasons why Ramadan this year was a little haphazard (or a lot haphazard, heh) compared to years past, part of that is my fault, but night shift disrupts Ramadan for me. It disrupts the spirit of fasting if I'm sleeping part of the day away to work a 12 hour shift at night.
Plus, it's very hard to sleep during the day without taking sleep aids, and if you're fasting, you can't take sleep aids. Having to stop eating by 4:30am also means no caffeine to get you through the rest of your shift when you have to go until 11:00am (that's me on Saturday, iA!).
So no, night shift is not ideal for Ramadan. Next year, iA, I'll do an outpatient month or something. That way, I'll be sure to be able to do my reading that year. Insha'Allah I also plan to check out the mosque in Northgate at some point; looks like Eid is going to be held at a convention center. Having a car makes this easier, but working most days does not help.
Ramadan has been a little bit isolated this year because I don't have my medical school Muslim group weekly iftars or local MSA events to sample, but interestingly, it's been one of my least lonely Ramadans on record. I am super happy about my residency program, I've made family here with my co-residents, I'm learning a lot...I've given up on marriage...
And really, I could not be happier.
Ramadan for me is not only a time of reflection, of prayer, of God-consciousness, of self-control, but it's also always been a miraculous time for me. It's a time when Satan is at bay, when God will answer all of the prayers of those who fast and remember Him...and I take advantage of that every year to pray for myself and my family, about anything that's going on in the world, anything pressing.
Because while I believe that God always answers prayers, I felt like Ramadan held greater promise. Ramadan, I was more focused.
So for the last several Ramadans, many of my prayers had to do with marriage, future spouses, etc. Every salat with some istikhara in between. And every year, the same thing...no yield. But I was convinced that when the time was actually right, God would provide. I always am, always will be. Unless it is not God's desire for me to marry, which is also a possibility.
But if Ramadan is a time when all of your prayers are answered, why is this one never answered? Was I doing things incorrectly? Did I wait too long to make up my missed days from menstruation?
The fact of the matter is...Ramadan is still a special time for me, a time when God's grace feels ever nearer. But it's just like every other day of the year when prayers are not answered in a way that is apparent to you or in a time that is what you desire. Every other prayer I've prayed to God has been answered in a self-evident way. When I prayed about marriage, all I got was an empty feeling in return.
So I gave up. I prayed about it in the beginning of Ramadan, but I lost heart. I lost heart and I lost resolve. And maybe it's okay. Ramadan isn't like my personal Christmas and God is not Santa Claus. Ramadan is greater and God is Greater and why I couldn't get married is just something I'll never understand.
So I didn't want anything in particular this Ramadan, but the preservation of the blessings I've already been given. Health, vitality, that of my family and friends, safety...the ability to carry out my duties as a new physician, the intellect necessary to improve as time goes on...
And I pray for a better Ramadan next year, one that is more replete with God-consciousness and in that, blessings for myself and my loved ones. One that is more pure, not as disjoint and interrupted as this one has been. I should give myself somewhat of a break, because I changed cities and am working for the first time, but on the other hand, it's so disjoint because of deliberate choices that I've made...
All I want for Ramadan is for God to have mercy on me as I stumble forward in life, being less the woman I had the potential to be, being less the believer that I can be, making mistakes...getting lost. Being my worse enemy. Realizing my personal failure.
As I approach my last two nights of the night shift, I find myself getting accustomed to being a day zombie and night warrior. And by night warrior, I mean ambling around the hospital at 2am to answer a page about a patient, wrapping my fleece around me to prevent the shivers as my body tries to convince me to sleep.
Anyway, I'll be glad when nights end. I spend most of my morning sleeping then most of my day lounging around. My seniors suggest that I do nights next year during Ramadan, because that would "be perfect." No, thank you. There are various reasons why Ramadan this year was a little haphazard (or a lot haphazard, heh) compared to years past, part of that is my fault, but night shift disrupts Ramadan for me. It disrupts the spirit of fasting if I'm sleeping part of the day away to work a 12 hour shift at night.
Plus, it's very hard to sleep during the day without taking sleep aids, and if you're fasting, you can't take sleep aids. Having to stop eating by 4:30am also means no caffeine to get you through the rest of your shift when you have to go until 11:00am (that's me on Saturday, iA!).
So no, night shift is not ideal for Ramadan. Next year, iA, I'll do an outpatient month or something. That way, I'll be sure to be able to do my reading that year. Insha'Allah I also plan to check out the mosque in Northgate at some point; looks like Eid is going to be held at a convention center. Having a car makes this easier, but working most days does not help.
Ramadan has been a little bit isolated this year because I don't have my medical school Muslim group weekly iftars or local MSA events to sample, but interestingly, it's been one of my least lonely Ramadans on record. I am super happy about my residency program, I've made family here with my co-residents, I'm learning a lot...I've given up on marriage...
And really, I could not be happier.
Ramadan for me is not only a time of reflection, of prayer, of God-consciousness, of self-control, but it's also always been a miraculous time for me. It's a time when Satan is at bay, when God will answer all of the prayers of those who fast and remember Him...and I take advantage of that every year to pray for myself and my family, about anything that's going on in the world, anything pressing.
Because while I believe that God always answers prayers, I felt like Ramadan held greater promise. Ramadan, I was more focused.
So for the last several Ramadans, many of my prayers had to do with marriage, future spouses, etc. Every salat with some istikhara in between. And every year, the same thing...no yield. But I was convinced that when the time was actually right, God would provide. I always am, always will be. Unless it is not God's desire for me to marry, which is also a possibility.
But if Ramadan is a time when all of your prayers are answered, why is this one never answered? Was I doing things incorrectly? Did I wait too long to make up my missed days from menstruation?
The fact of the matter is...Ramadan is still a special time for me, a time when God's grace feels ever nearer. But it's just like every other day of the year when prayers are not answered in a way that is apparent to you or in a time that is what you desire. Every other prayer I've prayed to God has been answered in a self-evident way. When I prayed about marriage, all I got was an empty feeling in return.
So I gave up. I prayed about it in the beginning of Ramadan, but I lost heart. I lost heart and I lost resolve. And maybe it's okay. Ramadan isn't like my personal Christmas and God is not Santa Claus. Ramadan is greater and God is Greater and why I couldn't get married is just something I'll never understand.
So I didn't want anything in particular this Ramadan, but the preservation of the blessings I've already been given. Health, vitality, that of my family and friends, safety...the ability to carry out my duties as a new physician, the intellect necessary to improve as time goes on...
And I pray for a better Ramadan next year, one that is more replete with God-consciousness and in that, blessings for myself and my loved ones. One that is more pure, not as disjoint and interrupted as this one has been. I should give myself somewhat of a break, because I changed cities and am working for the first time, but on the other hand, it's so disjoint because of deliberate choices that I've made...
All I want for Ramadan is for God to have mercy on me as I stumble forward in life, being less the woman I had the potential to be, being less the believer that I can be, making mistakes...getting lost. Being my worse enemy. Realizing my personal failure.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Day in the Life of a Family Medicine Intern
As salaam alaikum,
It's been a while! Between being behind on my Qur'an reading this Ramadan and rotating through inpatient medicine, that supposedly gives me four days off, but two of those days are, like, 7pm-7pm days off (cheating!), I haven't had time to just sit down and chit-chat.
That, and this whole living one day at a time thing has led me to make some interesting life decisions that I have to process in a less public forum. It happens from time to time! I will be back, insha'Allah.
But alhamdulillah, I'm blessed to be in a wonderful residency program that suits all of my needs surrounded by loving co-residents and super supportive faculty, indeed, everything I need. I do miss home from time to time, especially after spending one month there before moving out west, but I recognize that I'm realizing part of my purpose of life by being here.
A while back, I asked if anyone had any questions about me that I don't address here, and the only question that came from that query (I'm still open to any!) was for me to describe a day in the life of an intern. I told that person, who posted anonymously (so I'm not sure who you are...hopefully you're still reading!) that I would wait until I was in the thick of my inpatient rotation and get back to you. So here I am, in the thick of my inpatient rotation, getting back to you.
You asked for a day in the life. I'll give you a day. I'm about to start night shift for six days...that should be really interesting, as well. For the sake of HIPPA, I'm not detailing anything about my patients. This is a public blog and I think the reason that I don't really post about the hospital is because HIPPA is sticky business. I'm also not going to give any hospital identifiers, etc. But it's fairly representative of my day, anyway, hehe.
So, I was on call last Sunday. Call isn't properly call any more. Back when I was a medical student, call meant overnight call, 24 hours. As an intern, you would come in at 12pm on one day and leave 12pm the next. This was awesome as compared to the days of 30-hour call that most of my attendings were trained in. As a medical student at the general hospital, our call was 10am to 12pm, because we had to be present for teaching. Sometimes we'd be in the hospital from 7am to 5pm, though, because of required classes.
So, last Sunday, I did weekend day call, from 6:30am to 8pm. Not bad at all. Even better than my Sub-I, where weekend call was 6:30am and you admitted patients until 8pm, so you could very well leave at 11pm or however long it took you to finish working up your patient.
But I don't mind the 6:30am to 8pm call on the weekends because this inpatient service is Q3, meaning you're doing long day call every three days. All other systems I worked in, you were Q4. There's something intrinsically more painful about working long shifts every three days instead of four.
To top it off, this is Ramadan, so most of the day, my few morning calories (I'm usually only able to eat fruit and drink milk in the morning...talk about stomach shrinkage) are gone before noon and I run on pure adrenaline in the evening. Alhamdulillah, I've been able to be a good intern the while fasting. It's been a good month.
So, last Sunday, I was on day call. I got in at 6:30am in time for group sign-out. Different from during the week, all of the patients are signed out to the interns and the seniors together. The seniors are the second and third years (oddly...I went to a medical school where second years were juniors). Sign out means you take the entire list with the important information about the patients and the night senior tells you what happened over night after giving a little one-liner about the patient to orient everyone. As the weekend intern on call, you pay attention to all of the patient's information, even though in the morning you're only rounding on 1/3 or 1/4 of the patients. The work is split between you, the night intern from the night before who is staying on to help with work rounds, the weekend rounder, who is a senior who stays through rounds and sometimes the day senior, who splits his or her time between the medicine service and the obstetrics service.
As the day call intern, you could round on anywhere between four and eight patients in the morning. Mercifully, our service hasn't capped, so weekend rounding usually means four or five patients.
After sign out, I peel off and work on progress notes for the morning. As a rule, anyone admitted the day before prior to midnight needs a progress note. Any other patients need a short addendum to their H&P or a small, separate note updated the plan. I tee up my notes, looking at notes left by specialists or attendings the day before and updating the plan accordingly. I also look at overnight events, vitals, new labs (sometimes not in yet, because they're drawn at 7am), and update the plan for patients.
That usually takes me 30 minutes to an hour, depending on how many patients I'm carrying and their complexity. My inpatient service has an open ICU, meaning we admit patients to the ICU and we follow them as they go to the step-down unit and back on the floor and everything in-between. It makes for great quality of care, but takes away the stress of having a dedicated ICU rotation as a family physician who doesn't plan on being a hospitalist.
After getting the notes together, I go and round on my patients. It's nice, because our electronic medical records include not only notes, but vitals and medication administration records, so unlike medical school, rounding doesn't mean looking at the EMR, finding the gray chart for any paper progress notes and nursing notes left, finding the green chart for the vitals and the slender blue charts for medications. I have no idea how I rounded on so many patients in that system while writing paper progress notes! Going to a program with a great EMR is great to improve efficiency.
So when I round on patients, I go in and see them, and that's it. It usually takes me 45 minutes to an hour to see four to six patients in the morning, usually because 1-2 of my patients do not speak English or have big families present (or both). Since we have patients who speak Asian languages, I do use an interpreter, and those visits usually take twice as long, also because not all of the specialists bother to use an interpreter (d'oh!) so sometimes I have to clean-up misunderstandings. When I see the patients, I ask them how things are going, update them on the plan for the day and for the coming days, ask if they have any questions, and then conduct a focused exam. Our program has a low intern cap (only 8!), and ICU patients count as two. Our service caps at 24. I trained at places where the list capped in the 30s, but they also had four interns on service and not just three. Since we have sub-interns usually, they help us carry part of the list.
After I see the patients, I update the note with my exam, any alterations in the plan based on my discussion with the patient, refresh any new labs and studies, and then print them out in preparation for work rounds. Work rounds are table rounds. Attendings come to our workroom and we go around the table, presenting our patients in five minutes or less. For me, this is different from what I was used to in medical school, because usually for new patients, you gave the more full, seven minute H&P that was complete with HPI, PMH, etc. The most I give these days is an abbreviated HPI, relevant past medical history, pertinent positives in exam and then spend most of my time on my assessment and plan. One of the hospitals I did rotations in during third year had special rounds for the new patients. All old patients were presented in brief SOAP format.
So work rounds, almost all patients, even new ones, are presented in SOAP format. That's because, unlike my old system, we staff patients as they are admitted to the on-call physician. In the other system back in medical school, patients were staffed by the floor attending in the morning, thus requiring a fuller H&P.
Anyway. I'm still not past morning rounds, and I feel like I've written a lot! I'll keep going...
During rounds, the attendings may teach a few pearls or teach some topics, depending on how many patients they are carrying. We usually round with three or four attendings who represent the clinics where our patients are coming from. We round with the hospitalist for any ICU or step-down unit patients. We update our plans according to discussions during rounds and then make sure our notes are in and signed before around noon. At noon, we do teaching.
I work in a community hospital, but I come from a place where there was noon conference every day. In exchange for that type of system, my program has weekly teaching every Tuesday afternoon. When on inpatient, you only make that teaching once a month. As an intern, you're only required to make teaching 50% of the time. Topics repeat, so you're not left out, necessarily.
So, the Sunday on call started like any other weekend day on call. During the week, your senior also rounds on your patients (but doesn't write a note) and you meet before work rounds and go over the plan, but on the weekend, it's up to you.
After that, the night intern from the previous night gets to go home after his or her 7pm-11am shift, the weekend rounder also goes home, and all that is left is you and the day senior, who is also covering obstetrics, to cover the list, which may have anywhere from 14-24 patients, and take care of any admissions.
So that Sunday, two patients were being transferred from a neighboring hospital's emergency department and were to be admitted to our service. They came at the same time, unfortunately, and hit the floor at the same time. My senior, who can also help with admissions, asked if I would like to do both admissions or split them. Being the self-sufficient girly that I am, I said no, I'll do both admissions. That's my job as an intern, I feel. The seniors in my program provide a lot of support for interns for discharge paperwork. Though discharge summaries are the job of the intern, sometimes your seniors will help you, because they are due within 24 hours of discharge for patients discharging to home and upon discharge for patients discharging to facilities, and sometimes, your plate is too full as an intern to make those deadlines. On the weekends, seniors will sometimes do some of the admissions. I trained in systems where that was always, always the job of the intern, even if you get slammed. You peak in on the patient, you "skeletonize" orders, you see your sickest patients first and work backwards, H&P be damned!
I still feel the urge to operate like that, but this program splits the work and we'll even call in backup. I actually like this, because it improves patient safety.
Anyway, I was admitting my first patient, who required an interpreter. That patient was on the floor for almost an hour with skeletonized orders before the interpreter showed up. While I was in with the patient, I got a page that the second patient was on the floor and needed orders. That was fine, I figured. I'd be done with this patient soon enough.
Then, in the middle of my admission, I get a page that a patient that I'm cross-covering for wants to leave AMA, against medical advice, and to come talk to them. I had a patient leave AMA earlier, frustratingly, only to return a few hours later to the emergency department. But I was in the middle of the admission of this patient. I would respond to that page within the next five minutes, but I wanted to tie things up. Next thing I know, I hear a violence code called over the loudspeakers and get a second page that the violence code was called on my cross-cover patient, and I needed to be there, now!
I explain the situation to the interpreter, tell her I'll be back in 10-15 minutes, and run to the step-down unit where security guards are already surrounding the area. By the time I get there, the patient is still in bed but belligerent. I talk them down and convince them to stay. Somewhere in there, I page my senior's personal pager through my phone and he comes running in. I stay for about 15 or 20 minutes more to ensure that the situation deescalates before I return to admitting my patient with the interpreter. Because of the interruption, though, I'm now behind admitting the second patient, and my senior skeletonizes orders for her and looks in on her. Within the hour, I admit both patients and work on their H&P's. My senior in the meantime is getting slammed in obstetrics and I have my wish, to be on my own admitting patients.
I staff both patients by about 6pm, meaning I give an over-the-phone H&P to the admitting attendings, who make any updates to my assessment and plan. I tidy up the rest of the note and update our sign-out, which is a word document that lets the night team know what is left to be done for patients and any cross-cover issues to know about (like the cross-cover patient with the tendency towards violence and leaving AMA).
Time flies when you're super busy, and before we know it, it's time to sign out patients. The senior lets me do sign out for my own patients and then they usually sign out the rest. In the mornings on weekdays, the night intern signs out to the day intern who follows the patient, and the night senior signs out to the day seniors and signs out obstetrics to the maternal-child health resident. And then I tidy up anything undone and I'm kicked out by 8pm so I don't violate duty hours.
This past week, the week that began with that Sunday, I worked for 83 hours. The cap is 80. I technically do not violate duty hours because I have to work less than 80 hours on average for the entire rotation. This is the only week I'll violate hours. On nights, you work 12 hour shifts and you only do six nights in a row, so I'll probably work 76 hours that week (including the one night where I stay on until 11am). I've fasted Ramadan while working nights before...it's just odd, because you only eat during a small portion of the night. You realize just how short the night is in the summer when you do that.
...so that is a standard day in the life of a family medicine intern on service. It was a pretty tranquil day with just two admissions. My co-intern got slammed on Friday with, like, four admissions between noon and six. I just did call on Saturday and admitted no one, but discharged a bunch of patients. Diuresing the list, if you will. The days vary, but that's good, or else you'd be constantly tired...
I just slept for about 10 hours last night, from 9:30pm to 8am, waking for salat and suhoor. I need to also nap during the day prior to my shift, insha'Allah, although, unlike the rest of the rotation, I'll be able to drink caffeine to keep me awake!
Anyway, I'm here, still in bed, lounging around before I go into the hospital at 7:30pm to begin my night.
Let me know if anyone has any other questions for me! This was a long post, sorry, but I haven't written something not a discharge summary in a while!
It's been a while! Between being behind on my Qur'an reading this Ramadan and rotating through inpatient medicine, that supposedly gives me four days off, but two of those days are, like, 7pm-7pm days off (cheating!), I haven't had time to just sit down and chit-chat.
That, and this whole living one day at a time thing has led me to make some interesting life decisions that I have to process in a less public forum. It happens from time to time! I will be back, insha'Allah.
But alhamdulillah, I'm blessed to be in a wonderful residency program that suits all of my needs surrounded by loving co-residents and super supportive faculty, indeed, everything I need. I do miss home from time to time, especially after spending one month there before moving out west, but I recognize that I'm realizing part of my purpose of life by being here.
A while back, I asked if anyone had any questions about me that I don't address here, and the only question that came from that query (I'm still open to any!) was for me to describe a day in the life of an intern. I told that person, who posted anonymously (so I'm not sure who you are...hopefully you're still reading!) that I would wait until I was in the thick of my inpatient rotation and get back to you. So here I am, in the thick of my inpatient rotation, getting back to you.
You asked for a day in the life. I'll give you a day. I'm about to start night shift for six days...that should be really interesting, as well. For the sake of HIPPA, I'm not detailing anything about my patients. This is a public blog and I think the reason that I don't really post about the hospital is because HIPPA is sticky business. I'm also not going to give any hospital identifiers, etc. But it's fairly representative of my day, anyway, hehe.
So, I was on call last Sunday. Call isn't properly call any more. Back when I was a medical student, call meant overnight call, 24 hours. As an intern, you would come in at 12pm on one day and leave 12pm the next. This was awesome as compared to the days of 30-hour call that most of my attendings were trained in. As a medical student at the general hospital, our call was 10am to 12pm, because we had to be present for teaching. Sometimes we'd be in the hospital from 7am to 5pm, though, because of required classes.
So, last Sunday, I did weekend day call, from 6:30am to 8pm. Not bad at all. Even better than my Sub-I, where weekend call was 6:30am and you admitted patients until 8pm, so you could very well leave at 11pm or however long it took you to finish working up your patient.
But I don't mind the 6:30am to 8pm call on the weekends because this inpatient service is Q3, meaning you're doing long day call every three days. All other systems I worked in, you were Q4. There's something intrinsically more painful about working long shifts every three days instead of four.
To top it off, this is Ramadan, so most of the day, my few morning calories (I'm usually only able to eat fruit and drink milk in the morning...talk about stomach shrinkage) are gone before noon and I run on pure adrenaline in the evening. Alhamdulillah, I've been able to be a good intern the while fasting. It's been a good month.
So, last Sunday, I was on day call. I got in at 6:30am in time for group sign-out. Different from during the week, all of the patients are signed out to the interns and the seniors together. The seniors are the second and third years (oddly...I went to a medical school where second years were juniors). Sign out means you take the entire list with the important information about the patients and the night senior tells you what happened over night after giving a little one-liner about the patient to orient everyone. As the weekend intern on call, you pay attention to all of the patient's information, even though in the morning you're only rounding on 1/3 or 1/4 of the patients. The work is split between you, the night intern from the night before who is staying on to help with work rounds, the weekend rounder, who is a senior who stays through rounds and sometimes the day senior, who splits his or her time between the medicine service and the obstetrics service.
As the day call intern, you could round on anywhere between four and eight patients in the morning. Mercifully, our service hasn't capped, so weekend rounding usually means four or five patients.
After sign out, I peel off and work on progress notes for the morning. As a rule, anyone admitted the day before prior to midnight needs a progress note. Any other patients need a short addendum to their H&P or a small, separate note updated the plan. I tee up my notes, looking at notes left by specialists or attendings the day before and updating the plan accordingly. I also look at overnight events, vitals, new labs (sometimes not in yet, because they're drawn at 7am), and update the plan for patients.
That usually takes me 30 minutes to an hour, depending on how many patients I'm carrying and their complexity. My inpatient service has an open ICU, meaning we admit patients to the ICU and we follow them as they go to the step-down unit and back on the floor and everything in-between. It makes for great quality of care, but takes away the stress of having a dedicated ICU rotation as a family physician who doesn't plan on being a hospitalist.
After getting the notes together, I go and round on my patients. It's nice, because our electronic medical records include not only notes, but vitals and medication administration records, so unlike medical school, rounding doesn't mean looking at the EMR, finding the gray chart for any paper progress notes and nursing notes left, finding the green chart for the vitals and the slender blue charts for medications. I have no idea how I rounded on so many patients in that system while writing paper progress notes! Going to a program with a great EMR is great to improve efficiency.
So when I round on patients, I go in and see them, and that's it. It usually takes me 45 minutes to an hour to see four to six patients in the morning, usually because 1-2 of my patients do not speak English or have big families present (or both). Since we have patients who speak Asian languages, I do use an interpreter, and those visits usually take twice as long, also because not all of the specialists bother to use an interpreter (d'oh!) so sometimes I have to clean-up misunderstandings. When I see the patients, I ask them how things are going, update them on the plan for the day and for the coming days, ask if they have any questions, and then conduct a focused exam. Our program has a low intern cap (only 8!), and ICU patients count as two. Our service caps at 24. I trained at places where the list capped in the 30s, but they also had four interns on service and not just three. Since we have sub-interns usually, they help us carry part of the list.
After I see the patients, I update the note with my exam, any alterations in the plan based on my discussion with the patient, refresh any new labs and studies, and then print them out in preparation for work rounds. Work rounds are table rounds. Attendings come to our workroom and we go around the table, presenting our patients in five minutes or less. For me, this is different from what I was used to in medical school, because usually for new patients, you gave the more full, seven minute H&P that was complete with HPI, PMH, etc. The most I give these days is an abbreviated HPI, relevant past medical history, pertinent positives in exam and then spend most of my time on my assessment and plan. One of the hospitals I did rotations in during third year had special rounds for the new patients. All old patients were presented in brief SOAP format.
So work rounds, almost all patients, even new ones, are presented in SOAP format. That's because, unlike my old system, we staff patients as they are admitted to the on-call physician. In the other system back in medical school, patients were staffed by the floor attending in the morning, thus requiring a fuller H&P.
Anyway. I'm still not past morning rounds, and I feel like I've written a lot! I'll keep going...
During rounds, the attendings may teach a few pearls or teach some topics, depending on how many patients they are carrying. We usually round with three or four attendings who represent the clinics where our patients are coming from. We round with the hospitalist for any ICU or step-down unit patients. We update our plans according to discussions during rounds and then make sure our notes are in and signed before around noon. At noon, we do teaching.
I work in a community hospital, but I come from a place where there was noon conference every day. In exchange for that type of system, my program has weekly teaching every Tuesday afternoon. When on inpatient, you only make that teaching once a month. As an intern, you're only required to make teaching 50% of the time. Topics repeat, so you're not left out, necessarily.
So, the Sunday on call started like any other weekend day on call. During the week, your senior also rounds on your patients (but doesn't write a note) and you meet before work rounds and go over the plan, but on the weekend, it's up to you.
After that, the night intern from the previous night gets to go home after his or her 7pm-11am shift, the weekend rounder also goes home, and all that is left is you and the day senior, who is also covering obstetrics, to cover the list, which may have anywhere from 14-24 patients, and take care of any admissions.
So that Sunday, two patients were being transferred from a neighboring hospital's emergency department and were to be admitted to our service. They came at the same time, unfortunately, and hit the floor at the same time. My senior, who can also help with admissions, asked if I would like to do both admissions or split them. Being the self-sufficient girly that I am, I said no, I'll do both admissions. That's my job as an intern, I feel. The seniors in my program provide a lot of support for interns for discharge paperwork. Though discharge summaries are the job of the intern, sometimes your seniors will help you, because they are due within 24 hours of discharge for patients discharging to home and upon discharge for patients discharging to facilities, and sometimes, your plate is too full as an intern to make those deadlines. On the weekends, seniors will sometimes do some of the admissions. I trained in systems where that was always, always the job of the intern, even if you get slammed. You peak in on the patient, you "skeletonize" orders, you see your sickest patients first and work backwards, H&P be damned!
I still feel the urge to operate like that, but this program splits the work and we'll even call in backup. I actually like this, because it improves patient safety.
Anyway, I was admitting my first patient, who required an interpreter. That patient was on the floor for almost an hour with skeletonized orders before the interpreter showed up. While I was in with the patient, I got a page that the second patient was on the floor and needed orders. That was fine, I figured. I'd be done with this patient soon enough.
Then, in the middle of my admission, I get a page that a patient that I'm cross-covering for wants to leave AMA, against medical advice, and to come talk to them. I had a patient leave AMA earlier, frustratingly, only to return a few hours later to the emergency department. But I was in the middle of the admission of this patient. I would respond to that page within the next five minutes, but I wanted to tie things up. Next thing I know, I hear a violence code called over the loudspeakers and get a second page that the violence code was called on my cross-cover patient, and I needed to be there, now!
I explain the situation to the interpreter, tell her I'll be back in 10-15 minutes, and run to the step-down unit where security guards are already surrounding the area. By the time I get there, the patient is still in bed but belligerent. I talk them down and convince them to stay. Somewhere in there, I page my senior's personal pager through my phone and he comes running in. I stay for about 15 or 20 minutes more to ensure that the situation deescalates before I return to admitting my patient with the interpreter. Because of the interruption, though, I'm now behind admitting the second patient, and my senior skeletonizes orders for her and looks in on her. Within the hour, I admit both patients and work on their H&P's. My senior in the meantime is getting slammed in obstetrics and I have my wish, to be on my own admitting patients.
I staff both patients by about 6pm, meaning I give an over-the-phone H&P to the admitting attendings, who make any updates to my assessment and plan. I tidy up the rest of the note and update our sign-out, which is a word document that lets the night team know what is left to be done for patients and any cross-cover issues to know about (like the cross-cover patient with the tendency towards violence and leaving AMA).
Time flies when you're super busy, and before we know it, it's time to sign out patients. The senior lets me do sign out for my own patients and then they usually sign out the rest. In the mornings on weekdays, the night intern signs out to the day intern who follows the patient, and the night senior signs out to the day seniors and signs out obstetrics to the maternal-child health resident. And then I tidy up anything undone and I'm kicked out by 8pm so I don't violate duty hours.
This past week, the week that began with that Sunday, I worked for 83 hours. The cap is 80. I technically do not violate duty hours because I have to work less than 80 hours on average for the entire rotation. This is the only week I'll violate hours. On nights, you work 12 hour shifts and you only do six nights in a row, so I'll probably work 76 hours that week (including the one night where I stay on until 11am). I've fasted Ramadan while working nights before...it's just odd, because you only eat during a small portion of the night. You realize just how short the night is in the summer when you do that.
...so that is a standard day in the life of a family medicine intern on service. It was a pretty tranquil day with just two admissions. My co-intern got slammed on Friday with, like, four admissions between noon and six. I just did call on Saturday and admitted no one, but discharged a bunch of patients. Diuresing the list, if you will. The days vary, but that's good, or else you'd be constantly tired...
I just slept for about 10 hours last night, from 9:30pm to 8am, waking for salat and suhoor. I need to also nap during the day prior to my shift, insha'Allah, although, unlike the rest of the rotation, I'll be able to drink caffeine to keep me awake!
Anyway, I'm here, still in bed, lounging around before I go into the hospital at 7:30pm to begin my night.
Let me know if anyone has any other questions for me! This was a long post, sorry, but I haven't written something not a discharge summary in a while!
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Almost Perfect
As salaam alaikum,
When I started practicing Islam, I was a perfectionist. There is nothing in Islam that would discourage this. I came to this faith as a nominal Muslim teenager who knew a few rituals, salat and a few heavily-accented (as in English accent) Arabic utterances, not nearly enough to convince anyone I was Muslim. So I played major catchup.
But I digress. I came into practice of this faith because I believed that it was the straight way (and I still do), and I wanted to follow that way. This was the way for me to be almost perfect, almost completely perfect as God commands us by avoiding the major sins and seeking daily (five time daily and once annually, through Ramadan) forgiveness for all of my faults. My sins would be as good as erased every Ramadan, and anyway, they'd be tiny ones because, having been shown the straight way, how could I err?
Wouldn't I be a disbeliever upon erring?
I came into the practice of this religion without properly knowing that the straight way is not singular or self-evident in terms of steps one should take to achieve that almost perfection I aspired to.
I keep making mistakes. Sometimes I make them multiple times. I tried so hard for almost perfect but I never was.
So where does this leave me? If I decide to no longer try being almost perfect, then where does that leave me?
When I started practicing Islam, I was a perfectionist. There is nothing in Islam that would discourage this. I came to this faith as a nominal Muslim teenager who knew a few rituals, salat and a few heavily-accented (as in English accent) Arabic utterances, not nearly enough to convince anyone I was Muslim. So I played major catchup.
But I digress. I came into practice of this faith because I believed that it was the straight way (and I still do), and I wanted to follow that way. This was the way for me to be almost perfect, almost completely perfect as God commands us by avoiding the major sins and seeking daily (five time daily and once annually, through Ramadan) forgiveness for all of my faults. My sins would be as good as erased every Ramadan, and anyway, they'd be tiny ones because, having been shown the straight way, how could I err?
Wouldn't I be a disbeliever upon erring?
I came into the practice of this religion without properly knowing that the straight way is not singular or self-evident in terms of steps one should take to achieve that almost perfection I aspired to.
I keep making mistakes. Sometimes I make them multiple times. I tried so hard for almost perfect but I never was.
So where does this leave me? If I decide to no longer try being almost perfect, then where does that leave me?
Monday, July 23, 2012
Ramadan and Returns
As salaam alaikum,
First of all, to all my readers and the Muslim blogosphere in general, I want to wish everyone Ramadan Mubarak! This is the first day of fasting in earnest for me, thanks to traveling (awesome camping trip with my co-residents) and one of the many pleasures of being a fertile woman, alhamdulillah. Heh, we'll leave it at that. It's kind of off-setting to begin Ramadan four days in, but insha'Allah this shall be a much needed month of spiritual revival.
Insha'Allah. Because I certainly need it!
And also, inna lillahi wa inna ilayi raji'un...
My uncle's wife, my aunt, died sometime last night after battling metastatic cervical cancer. She has a teenage boy and two young sons. My uncle and one of my aunts were there by her side. I will be praying for her and her family this Ramadan, insha'Allah. It's been a long and hard journey for the family, and this is the beginning of a new one.
Anyway, off to a doctor's appointment! My first appointment as a physician, heh.
One day, I'll stop laughing after every time I say I'm a doctor. One day...
First of all, to all my readers and the Muslim blogosphere in general, I want to wish everyone Ramadan Mubarak! This is the first day of fasting in earnest for me, thanks to traveling (awesome camping trip with my co-residents) and one of the many pleasures of being a fertile woman, alhamdulillah. Heh, we'll leave it at that. It's kind of off-setting to begin Ramadan four days in, but insha'Allah this shall be a much needed month of spiritual revival.
Insha'Allah. Because I certainly need it!
And also, inna lillahi wa inna ilayi raji'un...
My uncle's wife, my aunt, died sometime last night after battling metastatic cervical cancer. She has a teenage boy and two young sons. My uncle and one of my aunts were there by her side. I will be praying for her and her family this Ramadan, insha'Allah. It's been a long and hard journey for the family, and this is the beginning of a new one.
Anyway, off to a doctor's appointment! My first appointment as a physician, heh.
One day, I'll stop laughing after every time I say I'm a doctor. One day...
Friday, November 18, 2011
Delaying Motherhood for Education
As salaam alaikum,
I read this line in this article a few days ago, and I was livid!
Okay...maybe not livid, but offended, maybe? Put-off? I'm struggling to find the word that correctly describes the sentiment...irritated?
Anyway, here's the article: Fertility Math? Most Women Flunk, survey finds.
The article discusses that most women are not aware that your fertility drops markedly between the ages of 30 and 40, and they often do not seek fertility specialists until too late and then bear the frustrations of fertility treatments. Since I've been in medical school (and I think before this), this was not news to me. I knew that women had a narrow reproductive window between puberty and menopause. In medical school, I was told by one of my (female) professors that since the majority of the women in the class were over 23, we had passed the optimum age of childbearing. I was aware that amniocentesis becomes indicated for women at the age of 35, the age at which your risk of miscarriage with amniocentesis becomes equal to your risk of having a child with Trisomy 21 (Down's syndrome).
And I remember seeing the graphs showing the exponential increase in risk of having a child with Down's contrasted with the exponential decrease in a woman's fertility.
And I have come into my womanhood in a veritable state of horror as I watched each year pass...23, 24, 25, 26...
I will have celebrated five birthdays in medical school. I was a young, nubile 22 when I started, and I will be a nubile though not-as-young 27 when I graduate. I'd hoped that I would meet someone during medical school. And try as I might to secure something for myself, I was unable to.
And then articles like this rub salt into my wounds:
DING DING DING! You guessed it, lack of a partner!
And I'm not sure if it was my choice, rightfully, to postpone children in order to pursue my education or my career. It's not like eligible bachelors have been knocking on my door. Without griping about the quality of men--which I won't, because, genuinely, there are good men out there--suffice it to say that a man who fits into my life hasn't come along yet. Could it be because I've spent four years of college, four years of medical school and one year of public health school pursuing my education and am about to, insha'Allah, spend 3 years in residency, working towards my career?
I mean, because you could put it that way. If I had at least stopped in college and got a job, maybe it would have been easier for a man to fit into my life. Now, with all of the years of professional school, I'll have more letters behind my name than I'll have a chance to have children because my fertility window is narrowing...
I'm not sure if that's the message they're going for, but really, I think for most women, it's more complicated than a choice to have children earlier.
Married or otherwise partnered women who want to have children someday and are in their 20s and wait until their mid-to-late 30s to start trying to have children? Okay, maybe they are ones who you should tell, start having babies now...and even then, I don't know anyone like that. Most women who I know who are having children later are doing so because they were married or partnered later in life. I'm not yet 27, but I'm almost 27. That could be me!
I just get...defensive, yes, that's the word I'm looking for! ...I get defensive reading these things. No, I am not delaying childbearing to my mid-30s because of my career. I know the biology of fertility very well and, yes, with a family history of endometriosis and other unforeseeable elements that could limit my fertility, I want to have children sooner rather than later as will make sense in whatever my future relationship is. Don't wave a finger at me, faulting me for my later childbearing...
Because, for that matter, I could be a mother now. I almost had a high school boyfriend who would have been my first, the way he was interested in me, if I had not put him down because (1) I wanted to come into my Muslim identity and I didn't think he'd be supportive and (2) I wanted to focus on my studies. I was a sophomore in high school when we exchanged letters, back and forth, in which he told me I was the one. His touch was tempting, but I knew Islam was the way I wanted to live and I knew I wanted to go to college. There would be more boys later.
He was my last chance...for early childbearing. Since then, I've come into Islam and am coming into my own, graduated from college, completed my MPH and insha'Allah will graduate medical school. He graduated from college, too, and now has a toddler with a woman who would not have fertility problems because she was in her 20s. I had no other potential suitors until 25, but even then, I had adopted the "no children until 2015" model, the year I would insha'Allah graduate residency.
What do I say to this? Yes! Delay children, for sure, for education. Too many studies, here and abroad, point to children and families thriving more the more educated mom is. Can you come back and continue education after children? Yes! But should you rush into some relationship for the purpose of having children? No!
And I know, I know...the article is not calling on women to do that. According to the survey, women really do not know that their fertility declines so much as they age. Fair. Let them know that. But the tone just sounds like it's pooh pooing women for delaying motherhood for education or career.
My position? Do what makes sense! As I have been exploring, we all find our mates at different times in life. Those of us who are married or partnered can make a choice about when to have children that is best for the pair. And we should not feel guilty if the desire for children was not great in our lives and then becomes stronger as we age. Those of us who are unmarried and single do not have that luxury, and we should not feel bullied, guilted or pressured into settling for men who do not make sense in our lives for the tick-tocking of a biological clock. As a Muslim, I know that God will provide.
Even if I were to conceive my first child at 39, with a 5% chance each month of getting pregnant and with a higher risk of Down's Syndrome, God will provide because such has been the substance of my prayers.
...
That being said, women, be smart! Especially "educated" women, educate yourself about your body, your fertility, so you know the risks of choosing to have a child when.
I read this line in this article a few days ago, and I was livid!
Okay...maybe not livid, but offended, maybe? Put-off? I'm struggling to find the word that correctly describes the sentiment...irritated?
Anyway, here's the article: Fertility Math? Most Women Flunk, survey finds.
The article discusses that most women are not aware that your fertility drops markedly between the ages of 30 and 40, and they often do not seek fertility specialists until too late and then bear the frustrations of fertility treatments. Since I've been in medical school (and I think before this), this was not news to me. I knew that women had a narrow reproductive window between puberty and menopause. In medical school, I was told by one of my (female) professors that since the majority of the women in the class were over 23, we had passed the optimum age of childbearing. I was aware that amniocentesis becomes indicated for women at the age of 35, the age at which your risk of miscarriage with amniocentesis becomes equal to your risk of having a child with Trisomy 21 (Down's syndrome).
And I remember seeing the graphs showing the exponential increase in risk of having a child with Down's contrasted with the exponential decrease in a woman's fertility.
And I have come into my womanhood in a veritable state of horror as I watched each year pass...23, 24, 25, 26...
I will have celebrated five birthdays in medical school. I was a young, nubile 22 when I started, and I will be a nubile though not-as-young 27 when I graduate. I'd hoped that I would meet someone during medical school. And try as I might to secure something for myself, I was unable to.
And then articles like this rub salt into my wounds:
The trouble is, such thinking can cheat a woman out of her options, Collura says. It’s one thing to postpone children in order to pursue education or a career, fully knowing it might be more difficult to get pregnant later. It’s another thing to be surprised by infertility.So, I'm in that age group where this woman tells us to start having babies now. I don't know about other women in the 25-34 demographic (now that I'm no longer in the 15-24 demographic for nearly two years now...), but not all of us are in the position to conceive babies nor raise those babies in stable homes because of...
“This is not about empowering women and women’s rights,” she says. “This is about science and biology 101.”
That is precisely Holly Finn’s point. She wishes she had realized earlier the effects that endometriosis and age might have on her ability to conceive. If she had her way, she’d tell women ages 26 to 34 one thing: "Start having babies now."
DING DING DING! You guessed it, lack of a partner!
And I'm not sure if it was my choice, rightfully, to postpone children in order to pursue my education or my career. It's not like eligible bachelors have been knocking on my door. Without griping about the quality of men--which I won't, because, genuinely, there are good men out there--suffice it to say that a man who fits into my life hasn't come along yet. Could it be because I've spent four years of college, four years of medical school and one year of public health school pursuing my education and am about to, insha'Allah, spend 3 years in residency, working towards my career?
I mean, because you could put it that way. If I had at least stopped in college and got a job, maybe it would have been easier for a man to fit into my life. Now, with all of the years of professional school, I'll have more letters behind my name than I'll have a chance to have children because my fertility window is narrowing...
I'm not sure if that's the message they're going for, but really, I think for most women, it's more complicated than a choice to have children earlier.
Married or otherwise partnered women who want to have children someday and are in their 20s and wait until their mid-to-late 30s to start trying to have children? Okay, maybe they are ones who you should tell, start having babies now...and even then, I don't know anyone like that. Most women who I know who are having children later are doing so because they were married or partnered later in life. I'm not yet 27, but I'm almost 27. That could be me!
I just get...defensive, yes, that's the word I'm looking for! ...I get defensive reading these things. No, I am not delaying childbearing to my mid-30s because of my career. I know the biology of fertility very well and, yes, with a family history of endometriosis and other unforeseeable elements that could limit my fertility, I want to have children sooner rather than later as will make sense in whatever my future relationship is. Don't wave a finger at me, faulting me for my later childbearing...
Because, for that matter, I could be a mother now. I almost had a high school boyfriend who would have been my first, the way he was interested in me, if I had not put him down because (1) I wanted to come into my Muslim identity and I didn't think he'd be supportive and (2) I wanted to focus on my studies. I was a sophomore in high school when we exchanged letters, back and forth, in which he told me I was the one. His touch was tempting, but I knew Islam was the way I wanted to live and I knew I wanted to go to college. There would be more boys later.
He was my last chance...for early childbearing. Since then, I've come into Islam and am coming into my own, graduated from college, completed my MPH and insha'Allah will graduate medical school. He graduated from college, too, and now has a toddler with a woman who would not have fertility problems because she was in her 20s. I had no other potential suitors until 25, but even then, I had adopted the "no children until 2015" model, the year I would insha'Allah graduate residency.
What do I say to this? Yes! Delay children, for sure, for education. Too many studies, here and abroad, point to children and families thriving more the more educated mom is. Can you come back and continue education after children? Yes! But should you rush into some relationship for the purpose of having children? No!
And I know, I know...the article is not calling on women to do that. According to the survey, women really do not know that their fertility declines so much as they age. Fair. Let them know that. But the tone just sounds like it's pooh pooing women for delaying motherhood for education or career.
My position? Do what makes sense! As I have been exploring, we all find our mates at different times in life. Those of us who are married or partnered can make a choice about when to have children that is best for the pair. And we should not feel guilty if the desire for children was not great in our lives and then becomes stronger as we age. Those of us who are unmarried and single do not have that luxury, and we should not feel bullied, guilted or pressured into settling for men who do not make sense in our lives for the tick-tocking of a biological clock. As a Muslim, I know that God will provide.
Even if I were to conceive my first child at 39, with a 5% chance each month of getting pregnant and with a higher risk of Down's Syndrome, God will provide because such has been the substance of my prayers.
...
That being said, women, be smart! Especially "educated" women, educate yourself about your body, your fertility, so you know the risks of choosing to have a child when.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Single Invisible Muslimah, Part II
As salaam alaikum,
Just a reminder of the backdrop of this piece:
"[...] as a community, we are so focused on grooming our women to be wives and mothers that we lose sight of the fact that this is not even our number one role.
"Servitude to Allah (swt) is our number one role. We need to use what He has given us, the means that we have at the moment we have, to worship Him in the best of ways." - Wifehood and Motherhood not only ways to paradise.
[CONTINUED]
Through much of this time, I have lamented being single. Through much of those phases of my life, there was some sort of emotional drama going on where I was depressed for some reason or another, or longing, or something. I chose medicine because I saw it as a most excellent way to serve God, to aid my fellow human beings through life (also service to God), to use some of the gifts that God has given me (academic and intellectual prowess with the love of science) and to have financial stability in this life. At some point, maybe not recorded in one of my many journals, I made this definitive decision as my form of worship outside of family life.
I grew up taking marriage and children for granted. As a three year old, I was asked if I wanted to learn how to drive. I said, nope, the daddy (my husband) will drive me. By fifteen, however, I dismissed that as I got behind the wheel of a car for the first time to practice in the parking lot of the local movie theater and as I navigated the winding roads of Ann Arbor. Even then, though, I just assumed that I would marry and have children someday. I didn't doubt it. My biggest worry at fifteen was that no boys that I wanted to be interested in me were interested in me at the time, but I didn't worry about never marrying.
I'm not sure when that started. I think it was in medical school, as I found myself upon the age that I imagined I would meet my husband and it didn't happen. Compound that with my trying to do things the halal way and not knowing how to go about it, the small pool of Muslim men and beginning to realize that my identity and my standards were more complex than most...and I continued to age...
And thus it has been. I think college was marked by wanting MQ specifically, and I didn't worry so much about being single. I think even more than being lonely, I began to doubt that I would find someone because of the different person I was becoming...or at the very least I realized that the road was going to be harder...
The problem I realize is that I never wanted my life in medicine to be the main dish. I took forming a family of my own for granted. I didn't even think about it. Everyone in my family had at least one child and had at one point been married (when I was young) (a point I haven't thought about, actually, in a while), and all of my friends obviously were family for their parent(s). Until and after I was married and started a family, I would become a physician and make that a mode of worship. I always assumed it would happen. Most people do. Who doesn't?
Those for whom it starts to take longer, like me. Those who are exposed to stories of women who "never." (There are no popular stories about men who never marry, although they are certainly out there and not all gay.) When I came into Islam and began hearing stories of Muslim women who never marry, then experience negated my somewhat naive belief that Muslims disregarded ethnicity as an absolute when choosing spouses in following the Qur'an and Sunnah (hahahahahahahaha!), then rereading the monthly issue of Essence or Ebony talking about the 74% of unmarried black women over the age of 25, the difficulties of professional black women to marry, the black men in jail...and putting those together, that black Muslim men prefer women who can speak Arabic, thus leaving many black Muslimahs behind, the shortage of black Muslim men, issues with Muslim men of quality in general, let alone black Muslims...
And this is where my "never" mentality came from. This is one of the ways that Satan can get me...whipping me into despair, catching me when I'm vulnerable and making me feel hopeless when in fact God is blessing me beyond measure.
Along with my delving into Islam and discovering some of the ugly realities about Muslims in America and the world at large (all of this done after 9/11, so I was already aware of some ugly realities), I adopted some maladaptive beliefs. I read about Jannah at the feet of mothers and fortified my lifelong interest in (or more aptly expectation of) having a family of my own with the belief that it was the most worthy thing that human beings can do.
Not just women, but men, too. Men, of course, can form families at any time. If men take care of themselves and are otherwise already able (thus barring primary or unforeseen secondary infertility), they can father children until they are elderly. We women have the window...the window I didn't start worrying about until I was 22 and when I was 23 when my endocrinology professor informed us that we had already passed the optimal age of childbearing (why would you tell women in medicine that, especially young, formative women?).
The most noble, the most honored thing for us to do, I believed was to marry and have children, raising those children in Islam. I began to believe that everything else paled in comparison. What had been a desire for companionship that I've had since I was that 12-year-old girl aspiring to go to graduate school had become a matter of religious importance, absently, combined with an unchecked desire that evolved into desperation because I thought I was entitled to do so.
And it all started with taking marriage and family for granted.
I have not loved the stage that I am in. That has to change.
If I can love the small sparrows that hop about on two stick feet, perch on branches as I walk to class and rub there beaks against the branch, cocking their heads from this side to that to gain the fabled birds-eye view they need to take flight...why can I not love the more complex and multifaceted entity which is my life? They are both God's creation, carefully, painstakingly and purposefully crafted into a greatness that is beyond our comprehension. But this bird is one of many that is hatched and dies several times over in my lifetime, whose instincts are simple, whose body is small and energy is compact. If I love so many other things to this detail about creation, why not love my life, where I am now, as I loved my childhood. As I've always loved being black. As I love being Nigerian. As I love being in medicine. As I love family medicine. As I love my classmates. As I love my hair. As I love my face. As I love my skin. As I've grown to love my body. As I love my writing. As I love my voice. As I love my eyes. As I love my feet. As I love my mother. As I love my father. As I love our family history. As I love my brother. As I love my relationship with my brother. As I love my grandparents. As I love my cousins, all hundreds of them. As I love the character that came out of our familial hardship.
As I love that plaintive feeling that comes from lyrical memories of trial, longing and pain. As I love soul and samba music.
God knows I will love when I am married, and I will love each moment of life with my children. Those two will be the greatest love I'll ever know, I know it. I feel it in me. God made me a nurtuerer, and it's true for my patients, family and friends and it will be true of my family. I am going to be the best wife and mother I can imagine, insha'Allah.
But that's not my stage right now, and it's not my place to throw myself into that, to love that just yet. It will just leave me longing, as one who fasts the day and thinks too much of iftar longs painfully for that food.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
Just a reminder of the backdrop of this piece:
"[...] as a community, we are so focused on grooming our women to be wives and mothers that we lose sight of the fact that this is not even our number one role.
"Servitude to Allah (swt) is our number one role. We need to use what He has given us, the means that we have at the moment we have, to worship Him in the best of ways." - Wifehood and Motherhood not only ways to paradise.
[CONTINUED]
Through much of this time, I have lamented being single. Through much of those phases of my life, there was some sort of emotional drama going on where I was depressed for some reason or another, or longing, or something. I chose medicine because I saw it as a most excellent way to serve God, to aid my fellow human beings through life (also service to God), to use some of the gifts that God has given me (academic and intellectual prowess with the love of science) and to have financial stability in this life. At some point, maybe not recorded in one of my many journals, I made this definitive decision as my form of worship outside of family life.
I grew up taking marriage and children for granted. As a three year old, I was asked if I wanted to learn how to drive. I said, nope, the daddy (my husband) will drive me. By fifteen, however, I dismissed that as I got behind the wheel of a car for the first time to practice in the parking lot of the local movie theater and as I navigated the winding roads of Ann Arbor. Even then, though, I just assumed that I would marry and have children someday. I didn't doubt it. My biggest worry at fifteen was that no boys that I wanted to be interested in me were interested in me at the time, but I didn't worry about never marrying.
I'm not sure when that started. I think it was in medical school, as I found myself upon the age that I imagined I would meet my husband and it didn't happen. Compound that with my trying to do things the halal way and not knowing how to go about it, the small pool of Muslim men and beginning to realize that my identity and my standards were more complex than most...and I continued to age...
And thus it has been. I think college was marked by wanting MQ specifically, and I didn't worry so much about being single. I think even more than being lonely, I began to doubt that I would find someone because of the different person I was becoming...or at the very least I realized that the road was going to be harder...
The problem I realize is that I never wanted my life in medicine to be the main dish. I took forming a family of my own for granted. I didn't even think about it. Everyone in my family had at least one child and had at one point been married (when I was young) (a point I haven't thought about, actually, in a while), and all of my friends obviously were family for their parent(s). Until and after I was married and started a family, I would become a physician and make that a mode of worship. I always assumed it would happen. Most people do. Who doesn't?
Those for whom it starts to take longer, like me. Those who are exposed to stories of women who "never." (There are no popular stories about men who never marry, although they are certainly out there and not all gay.) When I came into Islam and began hearing stories of Muslim women who never marry, then experience negated my somewhat naive belief that Muslims disregarded ethnicity as an absolute when choosing spouses in following the Qur'an and Sunnah (hahahahahahahaha!), then rereading the monthly issue of Essence or Ebony talking about the 74% of unmarried black women over the age of 25, the difficulties of professional black women to marry, the black men in jail...and putting those together, that black Muslim men prefer women who can speak Arabic, thus leaving many black Muslimahs behind, the shortage of black Muslim men, issues with Muslim men of quality in general, let alone black Muslims...
And this is where my "never" mentality came from. This is one of the ways that Satan can get me...whipping me into despair, catching me when I'm vulnerable and making me feel hopeless when in fact God is blessing me beyond measure.
Along with my delving into Islam and discovering some of the ugly realities about Muslims in America and the world at large (all of this done after 9/11, so I was already aware of some ugly realities), I adopted some maladaptive beliefs. I read about Jannah at the feet of mothers and fortified my lifelong interest in (or more aptly expectation of) having a family of my own with the belief that it was the most worthy thing that human beings can do.
Not just women, but men, too. Men, of course, can form families at any time. If men take care of themselves and are otherwise already able (thus barring primary or unforeseen secondary infertility), they can father children until they are elderly. We women have the window...the window I didn't start worrying about until I was 22 and when I was 23 when my endocrinology professor informed us that we had already passed the optimal age of childbearing (why would you tell women in medicine that, especially young, formative women?).
The most noble, the most honored thing for us to do, I believed was to marry and have children, raising those children in Islam. I began to believe that everything else paled in comparison. What had been a desire for companionship that I've had since I was that 12-year-old girl aspiring to go to graduate school had become a matter of religious importance, absently, combined with an unchecked desire that evolved into desperation because I thought I was entitled to do so.
And it all started with taking marriage and family for granted.
I have not loved the stage that I am in. That has to change.
If I can love the small sparrows that hop about on two stick feet, perch on branches as I walk to class and rub there beaks against the branch, cocking their heads from this side to that to gain the fabled birds-eye view they need to take flight...why can I not love the more complex and multifaceted entity which is my life? They are both God's creation, carefully, painstakingly and purposefully crafted into a greatness that is beyond our comprehension. But this bird is one of many that is hatched and dies several times over in my lifetime, whose instincts are simple, whose body is small and energy is compact. If I love so many other things to this detail about creation, why not love my life, where I am now, as I loved my childhood. As I've always loved being black. As I love being Nigerian. As I love being in medicine. As I love family medicine. As I love my classmates. As I love my hair. As I love my face. As I love my skin. As I've grown to love my body. As I love my writing. As I love my voice. As I love my eyes. As I love my feet. As I love my mother. As I love my father. As I love our family history. As I love my brother. As I love my relationship with my brother. As I love my grandparents. As I love my cousins, all hundreds of them. As I love the character that came out of our familial hardship.
As I love that plaintive feeling that comes from lyrical memories of trial, longing and pain. As I love soul and samba music.
God knows I will love when I am married, and I will love each moment of life with my children. Those two will be the greatest love I'll ever know, I know it. I feel it in me. God made me a nurtuerer, and it's true for my patients, family and friends and it will be true of my family. I am going to be the best wife and mother I can imagine, insha'Allah.
But that's not my stage right now, and it's not my place to throw myself into that, to love that just yet. It will just leave me longing, as one who fasts the day and thinks too much of iftar longs painfully for that food.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Single Invisible Muslimah, Part I
As salaam alaikum,
I don't know how I missed this article at AltMuslimah...it's totally what I needed to read, always.
"[...] as a community, we are so focused on grooming our women to be wives and mothers that we lose sight of the fact that this is not even our number one role.
"Servitude to Allah (swt) is our number one role. We need to use what He has given us, the means that we have at the moment we have, to worship Him in the best of ways."
Preach it, Sister! See the full article here: Wifehood and Motherhood not only ways to paradise.
This paragraph was also encouraging:
"God, in His Wisdom, has created each one of us differently and in different circumstances. Some recognize this, love any stage they are in, and develop their abilities to the fullest. Let us, too, use the time and abilities God has given us to maximize our worship to Him and work for the betterment of society and humanity as a whole. If wifehood or motherhood comes in the process, then at least we were using all of our ability to worship Him before it came and can continue to use the training and stamina we gained before marriage to worship Him with excellence once it comes along."
Ameen, sis!
The article starts out with a Muslimah aimlessly making her way through college, really just buying time until she finds a husband and marries so she can have children. In my heart of hearts, I felt like this was me.
No one else sees me this way, and when I talk this way, it seems incongruous with who I actually am.
I am the 12-year-old girl who helped her mother copy articles for her Auntie Florence's dissertation in Nigeria and aspired someday to attend graduate school. I am the 12-year-old girl that, in researching careers, was choosing not only between medicine and architecture, but considered specifically the specialty of OB/GYN. I am the 13-year-old girl who took two math classes in middle school so she could be in the advanced science-math track. I am the 15-year-old girl who participated in a conference and initiative to try to address the achievement gap with black American students. I am the 18-year-old girl who graduated in the top 5% of her high school class after taking 7 AP tests, all 4s and 5s, and had gotten into all of the colleges she applied to with a full tuition scholarship to the one she would eventually attend. I am the 17-year-old girl who definitively embraced Islam and decided to become more practicing once in college.
I am the 18-year-old girl who entered college toying with the idea of becoming an MD/PhD, focusing on genetics. I am the 18-year-old girl who fasted Ramadan for the first time. I am the 19-year-old girl that started to develop her social consciousness and the idea of entering medicine as a service career, serving Allah (swt) through serving fellow human being. I am the 19-year-old girl who found a dream medical school and began to develop myself in college to be able to gain admission there. I am the 19-year-old girl who decided to double major in Cellular and Molecular biology and Spanish. I am the 20-year-old girl who juggled her double major, working in the lab, volunteering in the Children's hospital, tutoring students in Spanish and helping Latino children and adults increase their literacy all the while delving into Islam head-first. I am the 21-year-old girl who began wearing the khimar, traveled abroad for the first time and applied to medical school all in the same year. I am the 22-year-old girl who graduated with a 3.9 and accepted admission at Harvard Medical School with aspirations to attain her MPH.
I am the 22-year-old woman who made the very hard decision to shed the khimar and find alternative ways to assume her Muslim identity.
I am the 22-year-old girl who thrived upon entering medical school. I am the 22-year-old girl who started writing her first novel, A Rose Much Desired, during anatomy class, where she sawed off a human leg. I am the 22-year-old girl who aspired to publish at least one work while in medical school. I am the 23-year-old girl who wrote her first story to be published, insha'Allah, which was renamed "The Hybrid Dance." I am the 23-year-old girl who co-directed a cultural show with her classmates that celebrated the African Diaspora and was musical director for her second year show, realizing the dreams of performance that she never allowed herself while studying through college. I am the 24-year-old woman who studied for and conquered USMLE Step 1. I am the 24-year-old woman who decided not to miss Ramadan because of tough coursework and fasted successfully through her OB/GYN rotation and still got her desired grade. I am the 25-year-old woman who survived third year of medical school. I am the 25-year-old woman who fell in love with family medicine. I am the 25-year-old woman who realized her aspiration and matriculated into the school of public health, studying family and community health and maternal child health. I am the 26-year-old woman who was an intern for a project to find solutions for homelessness of transition-age youth in Massachusetts. I am the 26-year-old woman who is applying to residency and interviewing across the country as I type this.
I am the 26-year-old woman who has made mistakes in the course of life but always has her home in Islam, alhamdulillah.
None of this is the mark of a woman who has been ambling through life, aimlessly waiting for her husband to come along. No. I don't know why I though that.
I don't generally like to lay out my life in this way, but for my own purposes, I had to. I had to slap myself in the face and see, in fact, that I've made some very purposeful decisions in my life, academic and leisure and otherwise, to achieve my goals.
As the quote above says so nicely, we are created differently and we are born into different circumstances. Some of us recognize this and love the stage we are in and develop our capabilities to the fullest. I think I recognize that we are born into different circumstances and I have developed my capabilities. What has not happened is that I have not loved the stage I am in.
I was constantly trying to be something else, be somewhere else. Thus the movement of I am more myself now than I have ever been.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
I don't know how I missed this article at AltMuslimah...it's totally what I needed to read, always.
"[...] as a community, we are so focused on grooming our women to be wives and mothers that we lose sight of the fact that this is not even our number one role.
"Servitude to Allah (swt) is our number one role. We need to use what He has given us, the means that we have at the moment we have, to worship Him in the best of ways."
Preach it, Sister! See the full article here: Wifehood and Motherhood not only ways to paradise.
This paragraph was also encouraging:
"God, in His Wisdom, has created each one of us differently and in different circumstances. Some recognize this, love any stage they are in, and develop their abilities to the fullest. Let us, too, use the time and abilities God has given us to maximize our worship to Him and work for the betterment of society and humanity as a whole. If wifehood or motherhood comes in the process, then at least we were using all of our ability to worship Him before it came and can continue to use the training and stamina we gained before marriage to worship Him with excellence once it comes along."
Ameen, sis!
The article starts out with a Muslimah aimlessly making her way through college, really just buying time until she finds a husband and marries so she can have children. In my heart of hearts, I felt like this was me.
No one else sees me this way, and when I talk this way, it seems incongruous with who I actually am.
I am the 12-year-old girl who helped her mother copy articles for her Auntie Florence's dissertation in Nigeria and aspired someday to attend graduate school. I am the 12-year-old girl that, in researching careers, was choosing not only between medicine and architecture, but considered specifically the specialty of OB/GYN. I am the 13-year-old girl who took two math classes in middle school so she could be in the advanced science-math track. I am the 15-year-old girl who participated in a conference and initiative to try to address the achievement gap with black American students. I am the 18-year-old girl who graduated in the top 5% of her high school class after taking 7 AP tests, all 4s and 5s, and had gotten into all of the colleges she applied to with a full tuition scholarship to the one she would eventually attend. I am the 17-year-old girl who definitively embraced Islam and decided to become more practicing once in college.
I am the 18-year-old girl who entered college toying with the idea of becoming an MD/PhD, focusing on genetics. I am the 18-year-old girl who fasted Ramadan for the first time. I am the 19-year-old girl that started to develop her social consciousness and the idea of entering medicine as a service career, serving Allah (swt) through serving fellow human being. I am the 19-year-old girl who found a dream medical school and began to develop myself in college to be able to gain admission there. I am the 19-year-old girl who decided to double major in Cellular and Molecular biology and Spanish. I am the 20-year-old girl who juggled her double major, working in the lab, volunteering in the Children's hospital, tutoring students in Spanish and helping Latino children and adults increase their literacy all the while delving into Islam head-first. I am the 21-year-old girl who began wearing the khimar, traveled abroad for the first time and applied to medical school all in the same year. I am the 22-year-old girl who graduated with a 3.9 and accepted admission at Harvard Medical School with aspirations to attain her MPH.
I am the 22-year-old woman who made the very hard decision to shed the khimar and find alternative ways to assume her Muslim identity.
I am the 22-year-old girl who thrived upon entering medical school. I am the 22-year-old girl who started writing her first novel, A Rose Much Desired, during anatomy class, where she sawed off a human leg. I am the 22-year-old girl who aspired to publish at least one work while in medical school. I am the 23-year-old girl who wrote her first story to be published, insha'Allah, which was renamed "The Hybrid Dance." I am the 23-year-old girl who co-directed a cultural show with her classmates that celebrated the African Diaspora and was musical director for her second year show, realizing the dreams of performance that she never allowed herself while studying through college. I am the 24-year-old woman who studied for and conquered USMLE Step 1. I am the 24-year-old woman who decided not to miss Ramadan because of tough coursework and fasted successfully through her OB/GYN rotation and still got her desired grade. I am the 25-year-old woman who survived third year of medical school. I am the 25-year-old woman who fell in love with family medicine. I am the 25-year-old woman who realized her aspiration and matriculated into the school of public health, studying family and community health and maternal child health. I am the 26-year-old woman who was an intern for a project to find solutions for homelessness of transition-age youth in Massachusetts. I am the 26-year-old woman who is applying to residency and interviewing across the country as I type this.
I am the 26-year-old woman who has made mistakes in the course of life but always has her home in Islam, alhamdulillah.
None of this is the mark of a woman who has been ambling through life, aimlessly waiting for her husband to come along. No. I don't know why I though that.
I don't generally like to lay out my life in this way, but for my own purposes, I had to. I had to slap myself in the face and see, in fact, that I've made some very purposeful decisions in my life, academic and leisure and otherwise, to achieve my goals.
As the quote above says so nicely, we are created differently and we are born into different circumstances. Some of us recognize this and love the stage we are in and develop our capabilities to the fullest. I think I recognize that we are born into different circumstances and I have developed my capabilities. What has not happened is that I have not loved the stage I am in.
I was constantly trying to be something else, be somewhere else. Thus the movement of I am more myself now than I have ever been.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
Saturday, September 3, 2011
[uncensored]: Thirtieth Juz / Ramadan Reflections
As salaam alaikum,
I was unable to finish the last juz and reflect on it before starting my OB subI, so here we go. Just a couple of things, then I'll reflect on Ramadan in general, insha'Allah:
"Do, then, they [who deny resurrection] never gaze at the clouds pregnant with water, [and observe] how they are created? And at the sky, how it is raised aloft? And at the mountains, how firmly they are reared? And at the earth, how it is spread out?" (88:17-20).
How can we not observe life and know that we are creation, just as is everything around us, just as is, transitively, everything we make with our hands, with machines that we've made with our hands, with our minds that God created? How can we not look at the bird that regards the seed on the ground before it eats it and not marvel at creation, and that we are created?
Some people don't like nature. I don't understand that. While I'm not one to go traipsing around on hikes, I do enjoy observing nature, for that very reason...it's beautiful creation just like we are. So many things we do can be an act of worship if we just remember God as we take in the world around us...
And I will always love this, and I'll always get goosebumps from this:
"Read in the name of thy Sustainer, who has created --created man out of a germ-cell. Read--for thy Sustainer is the Most Bountiful One, who has taught [man] the use of the pen--taught man what he did not know!" (96:1-5).
So this month and every month, even as I tussle with the Arabic alphabet and aspire one day to learn enough to read the Qur'an in language it was revealed, I read the entire Qur'an in English. I think everyone who doesn't have command of Qur'anic Arabic should do this in addition to whatever else they do in Arabic...to read the Qur'an in the language they most understand. I mean, Allahu a'lam, but there are messages that can get lost if you don't understand what's going on. There's no way that I would have had access to the Qur'an if it were only available in Arabic initially unless I got some of its message translated in English. There's no way I would have had access to Islam if my mother hadn't read the Qur'an in English cover to cover several times over when I was a kid and imparted from it lessons that brought me back to Islam as an adult. There is more than one way to arrive to the straight way and we Muslims need to recognize this and not make things unnecessarily difficult for our brothers and sisters in Islam...
So I reflect on this Ramadan. This Ramadan ended with me passing out in the delivery room shortly after watching a delivery. There were various reasons I passed out...I think I was also stressed out at the time. But I had my last iftar in the conference room in the company of a resident. I broke fast with a bottle of water and two granola bars, which apparently was not enough to get me through the bloodiness of the next delivery. As I fell flat on my face (and bounced) and woke with a bleeding laceration on my forehead, I cried because I was embarrassed.
But I reflect on that night as another instance of hubris and nemesis. Excess pride and it's downfall. I wanted to be the best SubI I could be, and couldn't even stand my first delivery. But it was kind of fitting for a Ramadan in which the theme for me this year was humility.
Since the last Ramadan, I made a change in my life. I took a chance and started a relationship with a non-Muslim man. I thought I had to if I ever wanted to get married, as the market for Muslim men who will accept African American sisters is not that dense right now, and when there are some available, compatibility is not correct for an enduring marriage. Anyway...I went forward prayerfully, and then it ended abruptly, which I painfully concluded was because it wasn't right for me. I vacillate between being grateful for the experience and wishing it never happened. In the end, I'm grateful, because it allowed me to lower myself to a greater state of humility this Ramadan than the previous one, submitting myself more to God and recognizing even more my inherent errors as a human being, things that I did wrong before but didn't recognize.
I made a pledge to God during this Ramadan that I wasn't able to make before, something that I needed to do. And so here I am, insha'Allah upholding that pledge, insha'Allah leading myself towards a new level of God-consciousness that will ensure that I am on the path of the righteous, ensure that my destination is Heaven when I die...
This Ramadan was harder because, frankly, in a relationship with a man who is not Muslim (or a man in general), I crossed paths and was faced with decisions that I never had to make as a single Muslimah, potentially compromising my own chastity. As I read the Qur'an, I reflected how God protected me from falling into sin, and was reminded how grave it would have been. It was very hard for me in the beginning to read all of those things, and at first I was filled with remorse, and then relief. Though I could have gravely strayed, by the grace of God I was able to see the error in my ways and return...
Does this mean this is latersville for men who do not call themselves Muslim? No. This just means that I'm not going to waste time on men who are not striving, who are not trying to submit themselves to God, whether they call themselves Muslim or not.
I made a pledge with God, and in return I have more security than I ever have before in life that in time I will have the husband I always prayed for. In the meantime, I am finding more and more contentment in myself, in all that God has blessed me with, in my journey ahead, in all I aspire to be, as I remain single for a few more days, whatever the scale of time may be. Because no matter how great my husband will be, I have to answer to God alone, so I need to make sure I have my stuff in order, make sure I have everything together to make me spiritually ready to meet Him.
This Ramadan has left me with a sense of peace, a post-Ramadan nur that I've heard so many people talk about that insha'Allah will stay with me for a while. I celebrated Eid by myself, unable to attend prayers because of my head trauma, and for the first year in a while, I didn't feel lonely at all. This Ramadan was not lonely. It was filled, and I am filled with passion and purpose. I have beautiful things to look forward to...the beginning of my career in medicine with wonderful residency programs to visit and get to know, the decision of a lifetime coming up. It was a wonderful way to end my fast. Ending with my pledge to God was a wonderful way to secure for myself inner certainty...
Because even if I were to remain single and childless for the rest of my life (I would adopt children, I've decided, so I wouldn't technically be childless), what God has in store for me if I bring my soul to him is better than any marriage on this earth, any children on this earth, any family on this earth...any existence that He graces me with on this earth. So I have that inner certainty, but I also know that I will be married, in the coming days or whatever period of time it will be...
And therefore, a momentous thing has happened. I before thought my faith would be complete when God answered that prayer for me. When I was finally happily married. But my faith is complete now, with no suitor lined up, with no fiance in tow. And I think that's what I had to do in the first place...
So it was a blessed Ramadan, indeed. I get to deliver babies, I get to apply to awesome residency programs, I get to fall in love with all of life over and over again, and I get to love God, watching babies be born, so precious to their parents, so destined to be ingrates as they already cry in their mothers arms, not recognizing the residual pain she still feels for their deliveries.
And while some may say they did not ask to be born, neither did your parents ask that you specifically be their child...
I look at childbirth and it reminds me how we cannot possibly make ourselves from this time when the nurses clean off our naked bodies, place us in diapers and swaddle us in blankets until we look like little peanuts, handing us to our adoring parents, us closing our eyes because the light of this world is too bright, after we had become accustomed to the fluid-filled darkness of our mothers womb, bathing and ingesting endometrial fluid and our own urine...
It's a humbling entry into this world and a humbling exit out. The trick is to humble ourselves throughout...
I was unable to finish the last juz and reflect on it before starting my OB subI, so here we go. Just a couple of things, then I'll reflect on Ramadan in general, insha'Allah:
"Do, then, they [who deny resurrection] never gaze at the clouds pregnant with water, [and observe] how they are created? And at the sky, how it is raised aloft? And at the mountains, how firmly they are reared? And at the earth, how it is spread out?" (88:17-20).
How can we not observe life and know that we are creation, just as is everything around us, just as is, transitively, everything we make with our hands, with machines that we've made with our hands, with our minds that God created? How can we not look at the bird that regards the seed on the ground before it eats it and not marvel at creation, and that we are created?
Some people don't like nature. I don't understand that. While I'm not one to go traipsing around on hikes, I do enjoy observing nature, for that very reason...it's beautiful creation just like we are. So many things we do can be an act of worship if we just remember God as we take in the world around us...
And I will always love this, and I'll always get goosebumps from this:
"Read in the name of thy Sustainer, who has created --created man out of a germ-cell. Read--for thy Sustainer is the Most Bountiful One, who has taught [man] the use of the pen--taught man what he did not know!" (96:1-5).
So this month and every month, even as I tussle with the Arabic alphabet and aspire one day to learn enough to read the Qur'an in language it was revealed, I read the entire Qur'an in English. I think everyone who doesn't have command of Qur'anic Arabic should do this in addition to whatever else they do in Arabic...to read the Qur'an in the language they most understand. I mean, Allahu a'lam, but there are messages that can get lost if you don't understand what's going on. There's no way that I would have had access to the Qur'an if it were only available in Arabic initially unless I got some of its message translated in English. There's no way I would have had access to Islam if my mother hadn't read the Qur'an in English cover to cover several times over when I was a kid and imparted from it lessons that brought me back to Islam as an adult. There is more than one way to arrive to the straight way and we Muslims need to recognize this and not make things unnecessarily difficult for our brothers and sisters in Islam...
So I reflect on this Ramadan. This Ramadan ended with me passing out in the delivery room shortly after watching a delivery. There were various reasons I passed out...I think I was also stressed out at the time. But I had my last iftar in the conference room in the company of a resident. I broke fast with a bottle of water and two granola bars, which apparently was not enough to get me through the bloodiness of the next delivery. As I fell flat on my face (and bounced) and woke with a bleeding laceration on my forehead, I cried because I was embarrassed.
But I reflect on that night as another instance of hubris and nemesis. Excess pride and it's downfall. I wanted to be the best SubI I could be, and couldn't even stand my first delivery. But it was kind of fitting for a Ramadan in which the theme for me this year was humility.
Since the last Ramadan, I made a change in my life. I took a chance and started a relationship with a non-Muslim man. I thought I had to if I ever wanted to get married, as the market for Muslim men who will accept African American sisters is not that dense right now, and when there are some available, compatibility is not correct for an enduring marriage. Anyway...I went forward prayerfully, and then it ended abruptly, which I painfully concluded was because it wasn't right for me. I vacillate between being grateful for the experience and wishing it never happened. In the end, I'm grateful, because it allowed me to lower myself to a greater state of humility this Ramadan than the previous one, submitting myself more to God and recognizing even more my inherent errors as a human being, things that I did wrong before but didn't recognize.
I made a pledge to God during this Ramadan that I wasn't able to make before, something that I needed to do. And so here I am, insha'Allah upholding that pledge, insha'Allah leading myself towards a new level of God-consciousness that will ensure that I am on the path of the righteous, ensure that my destination is Heaven when I die...
This Ramadan was harder because, frankly, in a relationship with a man who is not Muslim (or a man in general), I crossed paths and was faced with decisions that I never had to make as a single Muslimah, potentially compromising my own chastity. As I read the Qur'an, I reflected how God protected me from falling into sin, and was reminded how grave it would have been. It was very hard for me in the beginning to read all of those things, and at first I was filled with remorse, and then relief. Though I could have gravely strayed, by the grace of God I was able to see the error in my ways and return...
Does this mean this is latersville for men who do not call themselves Muslim? No. This just means that I'm not going to waste time on men who are not striving, who are not trying to submit themselves to God, whether they call themselves Muslim or not.
I made a pledge with God, and in return I have more security than I ever have before in life that in time I will have the husband I always prayed for. In the meantime, I am finding more and more contentment in myself, in all that God has blessed me with, in my journey ahead, in all I aspire to be, as I remain single for a few more days, whatever the scale of time may be. Because no matter how great my husband will be, I have to answer to God alone, so I need to make sure I have my stuff in order, make sure I have everything together to make me spiritually ready to meet Him.
This Ramadan has left me with a sense of peace, a post-Ramadan nur that I've heard so many people talk about that insha'Allah will stay with me for a while. I celebrated Eid by myself, unable to attend prayers because of my head trauma, and for the first year in a while, I didn't feel lonely at all. This Ramadan was not lonely. It was filled, and I am filled with passion and purpose. I have beautiful things to look forward to...the beginning of my career in medicine with wonderful residency programs to visit and get to know, the decision of a lifetime coming up. It was a wonderful way to end my fast. Ending with my pledge to God was a wonderful way to secure for myself inner certainty...
Because even if I were to remain single and childless for the rest of my life (I would adopt children, I've decided, so I wouldn't technically be childless), what God has in store for me if I bring my soul to him is better than any marriage on this earth, any children on this earth, any family on this earth...any existence that He graces me with on this earth. So I have that inner certainty, but I also know that I will be married, in the coming days or whatever period of time it will be...
And therefore, a momentous thing has happened. I before thought my faith would be complete when God answered that prayer for me. When I was finally happily married. But my faith is complete now, with no suitor lined up, with no fiance in tow. And I think that's what I had to do in the first place...
So it was a blessed Ramadan, indeed. I get to deliver babies, I get to apply to awesome residency programs, I get to fall in love with all of life over and over again, and I get to love God, watching babies be born, so precious to their parents, so destined to be ingrates as they already cry in their mothers arms, not recognizing the residual pain she still feels for their deliveries.
And while some may say they did not ask to be born, neither did your parents ask that you specifically be their child...
I look at childbirth and it reminds me how we cannot possibly make ourselves from this time when the nurses clean off our naked bodies, place us in diapers and swaddle us in blankets until we look like little peanuts, handing us to our adoring parents, us closing our eyes because the light of this world is too bright, after we had become accustomed to the fluid-filled darkness of our mothers womb, bathing and ingesting endometrial fluid and our own urine...
It's a humbling entry into this world and a humbling exit out. The trick is to humble ourselves throughout...
Monday, August 29, 2011
Eid Mubarak / Twenty Ninth Juz
As salaam alaikum,
Nothing really to say about this juz...I think I was already hypoglycemic when I read it and I fell asleep in the middle of the day. I should have known that it was a bad sign for the rest of my night on L&D.
Talk about the nemesis of my hubris! I literally fell flat on my face in the delivery room while helping the physician retract for a perineal laceration. I cut my forehead in two places and now have dermabond on my forehead. I am humbled, once again, as I have been all Ramadan...I'm not sure how I'll handle Ramadan in the future as a clinician, but I know that I definitely have to eat full meals for suhoor instead of drinking water, and I definitely need to break fast on heftier meals.
And I was hypertensive the whole time! That was completely unacceptable! As soon as I can, it's back to the gym!
We'll see if I'm able to make Eid prayers tomorrow. Every year, there's been a reason why I couldn't go! I mean, I could certainly pray sitting on the sidelines, but getting around without getting dizzy is hard...and I can't do sajdah right now because of the pain and the dermabond...
Anyway...I'll wrap up my Ramadan reflections tomorrow and complete the Qur'an tomorrow. I'll also throw in my general perceptions of this Ramadan, which was a tough Ramadan for me because I went through so many changes this year...there were some harsh reminders in store for me this Ramadan, but I needed them. I'm pretty much back to where I started, though, in terms of the constant challenge of finding a life partner that so many of us face and, within that context, the challenge of trying to find the way to be a woman...particularly a Muslim woman and a suitor at the same time.
Alas, I'll get into that more later.
For now, it's time to convalesce...losing consciousness is weird!
It's weird that I won't be fasting tomorrow...I had gotten used to not eating. But apparently, my body has not, thus the passing out!
Nothing really to say about this juz...I think I was already hypoglycemic when I read it and I fell asleep in the middle of the day. I should have known that it was a bad sign for the rest of my night on L&D.
Talk about the nemesis of my hubris! I literally fell flat on my face in the delivery room while helping the physician retract for a perineal laceration. I cut my forehead in two places and now have dermabond on my forehead. I am humbled, once again, as I have been all Ramadan...I'm not sure how I'll handle Ramadan in the future as a clinician, but I know that I definitely have to eat full meals for suhoor instead of drinking water, and I definitely need to break fast on heftier meals.
And I was hypertensive the whole time! That was completely unacceptable! As soon as I can, it's back to the gym!
We'll see if I'm able to make Eid prayers tomorrow. Every year, there's been a reason why I couldn't go! I mean, I could certainly pray sitting on the sidelines, but getting around without getting dizzy is hard...and I can't do sajdah right now because of the pain and the dermabond...
Anyway...I'll wrap up my Ramadan reflections tomorrow and complete the Qur'an tomorrow. I'll also throw in my general perceptions of this Ramadan, which was a tough Ramadan for me because I went through so many changes this year...there were some harsh reminders in store for me this Ramadan, but I needed them. I'm pretty much back to where I started, though, in terms of the constant challenge of finding a life partner that so many of us face and, within that context, the challenge of trying to find the way to be a woman...particularly a Muslim woman and a suitor at the same time.
Alas, I'll get into that more later.
For now, it's time to convalesce...losing consciousness is weird!
It's weird that I won't be fasting tomorrow...I had gotten used to not eating. But apparently, my body has not, thus the passing out!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Humbled / Twenty Eighth Juz
As salaam alaikum,
I was just reading through an old story I wrote, and my old short stories, and I was just humbled. I wasn't nearly the spiritually enlightened child I imagined myself to be as a teenager, and my world was very different, very insular. It took my last years of high school and liking MTQ to force my world open a lot, and it took years of just experience under my belt to get me to this place I am now, more spiritually evolved but still having a long way to go. I look at my writings and I know that it's just by God's grace that I'm here right now, because so many times I've begged God to not be here anymore...it's by His grace that I'm here to live another day and strive in the Muslim way. I see that clearer than ever now. And for that, I am humbled.
Through the ups and downs of the past few years, I'm glad to be back here. Insha'Allah, I'll be able to stay.
And I know that I often complain about how Muslims make it hard for other Muslims to practice Islam sometimes, and I still hold that to be true. But the fact of the matter is, you can't tell what is in people's hearts, and if I don't have companionship in other Muslims, I don't have companionship with anyone on this earth. Even though some of us make big mistakes, we're all striving in the same direction and for the same God, so let me remember that. We as Muslims can do better, but let me not deride any of my fellow Muslims who may, in fact, be doing the best they can:
"And so, they who come after them pray: "O our Sustainer! Forgive us our sins, as well as those of our brethren who preceded us in faith,a nd let not our hearts entertain any unworthy thoughts or feelings against [any of] those who have attained to faith. O our Sustainer! Verily, Thou art compassionate, a dispenser of grace." (59:10)
The community is observing Eid on Tuesday, insha'Allah. If I have time, I might do the last two ajiza tomorrow...and then on Eid do some general reflections on the month.
Until then...
I was just reading through an old story I wrote, and my old short stories, and I was just humbled. I wasn't nearly the spiritually enlightened child I imagined myself to be as a teenager, and my world was very different, very insular. It took my last years of high school and liking MTQ to force my world open a lot, and it took years of just experience under my belt to get me to this place I am now, more spiritually evolved but still having a long way to go. I look at my writings and I know that it's just by God's grace that I'm here right now, because so many times I've begged God to not be here anymore...it's by His grace that I'm here to live another day and strive in the Muslim way. I see that clearer than ever now. And for that, I am humbled.
Through the ups and downs of the past few years, I'm glad to be back here. Insha'Allah, I'll be able to stay.
And I know that I often complain about how Muslims make it hard for other Muslims to practice Islam sometimes, and I still hold that to be true. But the fact of the matter is, you can't tell what is in people's hearts, and if I don't have companionship in other Muslims, I don't have companionship with anyone on this earth. Even though some of us make big mistakes, we're all striving in the same direction and for the same God, so let me remember that. We as Muslims can do better, but let me not deride any of my fellow Muslims who may, in fact, be doing the best they can:
"And so, they who come after them pray: "O our Sustainer! Forgive us our sins, as well as those of our brethren who preceded us in faith,a nd let not our hearts entertain any unworthy thoughts or feelings against [any of] those who have attained to faith. O our Sustainer! Verily, Thou art compassionate, a dispenser of grace." (59:10)
The community is observing Eid on Tuesday, insha'Allah. If I have time, I might do the last two ajiza tomorrow...and then on Eid do some general reflections on the month.
Until then...
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Twenty Seventh Juz
As salaam alaikum,
Briefly...
"Have they themselves been created without anything? - or were they, perchance, their own creators?" (52:35).
I think I've thought about this a lot this month...the idea of humans thinking themselves self-made, when we couldn't conceive ourselves or nurse ourselves to the stage where we are more self-sufficient and independent of those who raised us.
I liked this, as well...especially the end.
"As for those who avoid the [truly] grave sins and shameful deeds--even though they may sometimes stumble--behold, thy Sustainer is abounding in forgiveness. He is fully aware of you when He brings you into being out of dust, and when you are still hidden in your mothers' wombs: do not, then, consider yourselves pure--[for] he knows best as to who is conscious of Him." (53:32)
We are not pure by our own unique merits...and God knows what is in our hearts.
And this is the least of what is in store for me, insha'Allah if I can be among those who attain to righteousness in this life - (56:27-40).
I'll hold fast to that and not fret about what I may not have in this life (yet) that I want...
Coming up...the new center of awesomeness returns...
Briefly...
"Have they themselves been created without anything? - or were they, perchance, their own creators?" (52:35).
I think I've thought about this a lot this month...the idea of humans thinking themselves self-made, when we couldn't conceive ourselves or nurse ourselves to the stage where we are more self-sufficient and independent of those who raised us.
I liked this, as well...especially the end.
"As for those who avoid the [truly] grave sins and shameful deeds--even though they may sometimes stumble--behold, thy Sustainer is abounding in forgiveness. He is fully aware of you when He brings you into being out of dust, and when you are still hidden in your mothers' wombs: do not, then, consider yourselves pure--[for] he knows best as to who is conscious of Him." (53:32)
We are not pure by our own unique merits...and God knows what is in our hearts.
And this is the least of what is in store for me, insha'Allah if I can be among those who attain to righteousness in this life - (56:27-40).
I'll hold fast to that and not fret about what I may not have in this life (yet) that I want...
Coming up...the new center of awesomeness returns...
Friday, August 26, 2011
Hurricane / Twenty Sixth Juz
As salaam alaikum,
I can't believe that Ramadan is almost over...and I can't believe a hurricane is coming to the east coast! Insha'Allah, it'll be alright...I'll be ready.
But for now, I'm sleepy...so just some thoughts for the night, lest I complain about my mother hassling me about preparing for this hurricane:
"Now [among the est of deeds which] We have enjoined upon man [is] goodness towards his parents. In pain did his mother bear him, adn in pain did she give him birth; and her bearing him and his utter dependence on her took thirty monhts. And so, when he attains to full maturity and reaches forty years, he [that is righteous] prays, "O my Sustainer! Inspire me so that I may forever be grateful for those blessings of Thine with which Thou hast graced me and my parents, and that I may do what is right [in a manner] tht will meet with Thy goodly acceptance; and grant me righteousness in my offspring [as well]. Verily, unto Thee have I turned in repentance; for, verily, I am of those who have surrendered themselves unto Thee!" (46:15)
Longie but goodie...
And here's something to think about, another reason God doesn't put more on us than we can bear:
"And withal, He does not demand of you [to sacrifice in His cause all of] your possessions: [for,] if He were to demand of you all of them, and urge you, you would niggardly cling [to them], and so He would [but] bring out your moral failings." (47:36-37).
We all have moral failings that are inevitable...God doesn't draw us towards those necessarily...
And one of my favorites to tell people:
"O men! Behold, We have created you all out of a male and a female, and have made you into nations and tribes, so that you might come to know one another." (49:13)
That's right! We better recognize!
I can't believe that Ramadan is almost over...and I can't believe a hurricane is coming to the east coast! Insha'Allah, it'll be alright...I'll be ready.
But for now, I'm sleepy...so just some thoughts for the night, lest I complain about my mother hassling me about preparing for this hurricane:
"Now [among the est of deeds which] We have enjoined upon man [is] goodness towards his parents. In pain did his mother bear him, adn in pain did she give him birth; and her bearing him and his utter dependence on her took thirty monhts. And so, when he attains to full maturity and reaches forty years, he [that is righteous] prays, "O my Sustainer! Inspire me so that I may forever be grateful for those blessings of Thine with which Thou hast graced me and my parents, and that I may do what is right [in a manner] tht will meet with Thy goodly acceptance; and grant me righteousness in my offspring [as well]. Verily, unto Thee have I turned in repentance; for, verily, I am of those who have surrendered themselves unto Thee!" (46:15)
Longie but goodie...
And here's something to think about, another reason God doesn't put more on us than we can bear:
"And withal, He does not demand of you [to sacrifice in His cause all of] your possessions: [for,] if He were to demand of you all of them, and urge you, you would niggardly cling [to them], and so He would [but] bring out your moral failings." (47:36-37).
We all have moral failings that are inevitable...God doesn't draw us towards those necessarily...
And one of my favorites to tell people:
"O men! Behold, We have created you all out of a male and a female, and have made you into nations and tribes, so that you might come to know one another." (49:13)
That's right! We better recognize!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Have Nots / Twenty Fifth Juz
As salaam alaikum,
Something to think about in the context of deprivation in this world:
"For, if God were to grant [in this world] abundant sustenance to [all of] His servants, they would behave on earth with wanton insolence: but as it is, He bestows [His grace] from on high in due measure, as He wills: for, verily, He is fully aware of [the needs of] His creatures, and sees them all." (42:27)
And yet, we are still called upon to give in charity to those who need. If everyone were as charitable as they are supposed to be, everyone would be a lot more well-off...
...but, you know, that might lead to socialism...
Something to think about in the context of deprivation in this world:
"For, if God were to grant [in this world] abundant sustenance to [all of] His servants, they would behave on earth with wanton insolence: but as it is, He bestows [His grace] from on high in due measure, as He wills: for, verily, He is fully aware of [the needs of] His creatures, and sees them all." (42:27)
And yet, we are still called upon to give in charity to those who need. If everyone were as charitable as they are supposed to be, everyone would be a lot more well-off...
...but, you know, that might lead to socialism...
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Changes / Twenty Fourth Juz
As salaam alaikum,
Big changes in my life this Ramadan, alhamdulillah! Changes unexpected, changes that I'll hopefully be able to maintain...new, healthier attitudes that will hopefully help me to get where I need to be. But it is different than I've ever been before, so it will be an adjustment...
I hold fast to reminders such as these:
"All that they have ever yearned for awaits them with their Sustainer: such will be the reward of the doers of good. And to this end, God will efface from their record the worst that they ever did, and give them their reward in accordance with the best that they were doing [in life]." (39:34-35)
Insha'Allah, I will get to become a wife and mother. No matter how far or close to the ideal situation it shall be, as long as I am a believer, God will provide me with the best of companions in the Hereafter. Because that's pretty much all I've wanted in this life...companionship, life partnership, and to realize my reproductive and nurturing functions as a woman. All other desires were trivial, really. I barely wanted to enter medical school before God granted me that...
But even with this, I'm at peace knowing that God will provide me something better than I ever had on this earth the while I could live this life as a single, believing woman...
And for the first time, I have something tangible to hold onto.
Big changes in my life this Ramadan, alhamdulillah! Changes unexpected, changes that I'll hopefully be able to maintain...new, healthier attitudes that will hopefully help me to get where I need to be. But it is different than I've ever been before, so it will be an adjustment...
I hold fast to reminders such as these:
"All that they have ever yearned for awaits them with their Sustainer: such will be the reward of the doers of good. And to this end, God will efface from their record the worst that they ever did, and give them their reward in accordance with the best that they were doing [in life]." (39:34-35)
Insha'Allah, I will get to become a wife and mother. No matter how far or close to the ideal situation it shall be, as long as I am a believer, God will provide me with the best of companions in the Hereafter. Because that's pretty much all I've wanted in this life...companionship, life partnership, and to realize my reproductive and nurturing functions as a woman. All other desires were trivial, really. I barely wanted to enter medical school before God granted me that...
But even with this, I'm at peace knowing that God will provide me something better than I ever had on this earth the while I could live this life as a single, believing woman...
And for the first time, I have something tangible to hold onto.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Hell / Twenty Third Juz
As salaam alaikum,
When my mother used to read the Qur'an to us when we were little, I think the part that stood out to me the most were the somewhat amusing stories of what happened to non-believers once life was over.
I believe the Yusuf Ali translation is that they "lay prostrate in their homes" in the morning. It's a terrible vision, but at the same time...juxtaposing these images with those of people arrogantly denying the existence of God or asking for punishment to be brought on, it is a little funny...in a dark humor sort of way.
May God insure that I am never among such people...either denying truth or going to hell, prostrate in the morning...
Anyway, these were two descriptions that were great...
"And after that, no host out of heaven did We send down against his people, nor did We need to send down any: nothing was [needed] but one single blast [of Our punishment]--and lo! they became as still and silent as ashes." (36:28-29)
You're waiting in suspense about why no angels were sent down, and why they weren't needed...oh, because everyone destroyed went to hell...wow, ouch.
This is my mother's favorite one--these are companions in heaven talking to each other:
"One of them speaks thus: "Behold, I had [on earth] a close companion who was wont to ask [me], 'Why--art though really one of those who believe it to be true [that] after we have died and become mere dust and bones we shall, forsooth, be brought to judgement?'" [And] he adds: "Would you like to look [and see him]? --and then he looks and sees that [companion of his] in the midst of the blazing fire, and says, "By God! Verily, thou has almost destroyed me [too, O my erstwhile companion]--for had it not been for my Sustainer's favor, I would surely be [now] among those who are given over [to suffering]." (37:51-57).
Haha, I like how the guy in heaven is like, "Phew, that was a close one," and not, "Oh, my poor friend." He's like, well, at least I'm not down there with ya...
Reading the Qur'an definitely sometimes strikes fear into my heart, but I feel better knowing that this is, "[a divine write] whereat shiver the skins of all who of their Sustainer stand in awe: [but] in the end their skins and their hearts do soften at the remembrance of [the name of] God..." (39:23)
That's how I feel when I read it, because I feel like even believers and striving-to-be believers, if it weren't for the fact that we are constantly guided and seek the guidance through prayer...we can feel how we could fall into the realm of unbelievers, so all of the warnings for those who do not believe in the Qur'an begin to resonate with us...
Anyway, back to clinic tomorrow...tons to do as always! Insha'Allah, no more earthquakes and hurricane Irene will stay at bay!
When my mother used to read the Qur'an to us when we were little, I think the part that stood out to me the most were the somewhat amusing stories of what happened to non-believers once life was over.
I believe the Yusuf Ali translation is that they "lay prostrate in their homes" in the morning. It's a terrible vision, but at the same time...juxtaposing these images with those of people arrogantly denying the existence of God or asking for punishment to be brought on, it is a little funny...in a dark humor sort of way.
May God insure that I am never among such people...either denying truth or going to hell, prostrate in the morning...
Anyway, these were two descriptions that were great...
"And after that, no host out of heaven did We send down against his people, nor did We need to send down any: nothing was [needed] but one single blast [of Our punishment]--and lo! they became as still and silent as ashes." (36:28-29)
You're waiting in suspense about why no angels were sent down, and why they weren't needed...oh, because everyone destroyed went to hell...wow, ouch.
This is my mother's favorite one--these are companions in heaven talking to each other:
"One of them speaks thus: "Behold, I had [on earth] a close companion who was wont to ask [me], 'Why--art though really one of those who believe it to be true [that] after we have died and become mere dust and bones we shall, forsooth, be brought to judgement?'" [And] he adds: "Would you like to look [and see him]? --and then he looks and sees that [companion of his] in the midst of the blazing fire, and says, "By God! Verily, thou has almost destroyed me [too, O my erstwhile companion]--for had it not been for my Sustainer's favor, I would surely be [now] among those who are given over [to suffering]." (37:51-57).
Haha, I like how the guy in heaven is like, "Phew, that was a close one," and not, "Oh, my poor friend." He's like, well, at least I'm not down there with ya...
Reading the Qur'an definitely sometimes strikes fear into my heart, but I feel better knowing that this is, "[a divine write] whereat shiver the skins of all who of their Sustainer stand in awe: [but] in the end their skins and their hearts do soften at the remembrance of [the name of] God..." (39:23)
That's how I feel when I read it, because I feel like even believers and striving-to-be believers, if it weren't for the fact that we are constantly guided and seek the guidance through prayer...we can feel how we could fall into the realm of unbelievers, so all of the warnings for those who do not believe in the Qur'an begin to resonate with us...
Anyway, back to clinic tomorrow...tons to do as always! Insha'Allah, no more earthquakes and hurricane Irene will stay at bay!
Interlude: Where I Want to Be
As salaam alaikum,
When I was a child, for some reason, I wanted to be really spiritual. Before I even knew a lot about Islam, when my whole world was what my mother taught me, I wanted, from a young age, to be really spiritual, really as close to God as I could be. I wanted this before I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, before I began praying to be married someday. And I remember it clearly and I don't know why I felt this way.
As a teenager, I kind of strayed away from this dream of mine and began to search frantically for a spiritual home with all sorts of ideas about God that were not true. When it came time to decide whether to date a guy and what religion to mark on my college applications, the answer to both was that I was Muslim. I was Muslim, so no, I won't date you. I was Muslim, so I'll put Islam as my religion on my college applications.
And thus it would be. I would come to college, learn more about Islam, return to salat as I had with my mother, and this would be the way I would realize my desire of spirituality, closeness to God, and all else.
In short, the Islam that I encountered in college was much more difficult than I ever imagined. I had learned salat in both English and Arabic, but I learned about the importance of Arabic in Islam as the language of revelation. I learned about the importance of recitation. I learned Arabic words and phrases that I felt the need to punctuate my language with in order to make sense as Muslim, not just my parents' favorite and oft repeated, "Praise be to God." Now it was alhamdulillah. No more "God-willing." Insha'Allah.
And these were little things. What, when I was little, seemed like an organic process now seemed rigid and almost impossible for a girl like me to enter. I was just learning about Islam...and on the other side were sisters who could recite the Qur'an, those who had memorized part of the Qur'an.
I went through all sorts of changes. I wore khimar and then I stopped. I was intense in my learning about Islam and then I stalled. Somewhere in there I lost that desire I used to have, the desire to be so spiritually close to God, in the midst of being really confused about where I fit in Islam, as a Muslimah.
And then I went to medical school and a lot of things went to the wayside. And now, four years in, after getting my masters in public health and relating to non-Muslim men, I'm nearing the end of the 8th Ramadan I've practiced, hoping to make this one better than the last, better than all others. I made a pledge to God explicitly, something I've never done before and something I will uphold with the fear of my life here and the Hereafter. I needed to do it, or else things would quickly spiral out of control.
It's something that I choose to keep to myself.
I need to get back to where I wanted to be in life. Sometime in the past, I used to regret coming into Islam, because our burden of righteousness is greater because we have in our possession the final revelation and a clear guide to the straight way. It seemed harder for me than if I were just never exposed to Islam and I just believed in God and tried to do good work. This was a foolish regret that I always knew in my heart was wrong. In my heart, I've always known it was a blessing. That my mother found Islam, that my grandparents found Islam, that my aunts and uncles who still cling to Islam found Islam is a miracle of divine proportions. That millions of African Americans arrived at Islam after being part a spontaneously forming black nationalist organization in the United States is amazing.
That I chose Islam is the grace of God.
This is not supposed to be hard for me. When things get hard, I will take a step back. But I will approach this all with humility and patience, insha'Allah, but also I will approach it organically. The innocence of the child I was makes everything simple, but a child is not always wrong to simplify. I think we make things harder than they have to be, and I often made coming into Islam harder than it had to be. It can be as organic as I imagined spirituality to be as a child...
...and if I don't fulfill this desire, I'll only be hurting myself, that innocent self that exists within me, somewhere, that expected, as my mother says, "with open eye," to live this life a certain way. I'm following this because I know we come here submitting ourselves to God, and as a child I must have been close to that, so I must have known.
But ultimately, where do I want to be? I want to truly submit myself to God in a way that I haven't been. God has granted me with the gift of consciousness of Him from an early age, and I need not let the distractions of this life cloud that consciousness. I want that consciousness and my submission to permeate through everything that I do and all that I am, from my being a family physician, insha'Allah, to my being a wife and mother, insha'Allah. I want to find a community as well. No more of this being invisible.
No one around me right now understands me. I'm trying to find a way to be with little context. I need to find a home for myself, a way for me to make sense. That's where I need to be, and all else will flow forth more smoothly.
When I was a child, for some reason, I wanted to be really spiritual. Before I even knew a lot about Islam, when my whole world was what my mother taught me, I wanted, from a young age, to be really spiritual, really as close to God as I could be. I wanted this before I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, before I began praying to be married someday. And I remember it clearly and I don't know why I felt this way.
As a teenager, I kind of strayed away from this dream of mine and began to search frantically for a spiritual home with all sorts of ideas about God that were not true. When it came time to decide whether to date a guy and what religion to mark on my college applications, the answer to both was that I was Muslim. I was Muslim, so no, I won't date you. I was Muslim, so I'll put Islam as my religion on my college applications.
And thus it would be. I would come to college, learn more about Islam, return to salat as I had with my mother, and this would be the way I would realize my desire of spirituality, closeness to God, and all else.
In short, the Islam that I encountered in college was much more difficult than I ever imagined. I had learned salat in both English and Arabic, but I learned about the importance of Arabic in Islam as the language of revelation. I learned about the importance of recitation. I learned Arabic words and phrases that I felt the need to punctuate my language with in order to make sense as Muslim, not just my parents' favorite and oft repeated, "Praise be to God." Now it was alhamdulillah. No more "God-willing." Insha'Allah.
And these were little things. What, when I was little, seemed like an organic process now seemed rigid and almost impossible for a girl like me to enter. I was just learning about Islam...and on the other side were sisters who could recite the Qur'an, those who had memorized part of the Qur'an.
I went through all sorts of changes. I wore khimar and then I stopped. I was intense in my learning about Islam and then I stalled. Somewhere in there I lost that desire I used to have, the desire to be so spiritually close to God, in the midst of being really confused about where I fit in Islam, as a Muslimah.
And then I went to medical school and a lot of things went to the wayside. And now, four years in, after getting my masters in public health and relating to non-Muslim men, I'm nearing the end of the 8th Ramadan I've practiced, hoping to make this one better than the last, better than all others. I made a pledge to God explicitly, something I've never done before and something I will uphold with the fear of my life here and the Hereafter. I needed to do it, or else things would quickly spiral out of control.
It's something that I choose to keep to myself.
I need to get back to where I wanted to be in life. Sometime in the past, I used to regret coming into Islam, because our burden of righteousness is greater because we have in our possession the final revelation and a clear guide to the straight way. It seemed harder for me than if I were just never exposed to Islam and I just believed in God and tried to do good work. This was a foolish regret that I always knew in my heart was wrong. In my heart, I've always known it was a blessing. That my mother found Islam, that my grandparents found Islam, that my aunts and uncles who still cling to Islam found Islam is a miracle of divine proportions. That millions of African Americans arrived at Islam after being part a spontaneously forming black nationalist organization in the United States is amazing.
That I chose Islam is the grace of God.
This is not supposed to be hard for me. When things get hard, I will take a step back. But I will approach this all with humility and patience, insha'Allah, but also I will approach it organically. The innocence of the child I was makes everything simple, but a child is not always wrong to simplify. I think we make things harder than they have to be, and I often made coming into Islam harder than it had to be. It can be as organic as I imagined spirituality to be as a child...
...and if I don't fulfill this desire, I'll only be hurting myself, that innocent self that exists within me, somewhere, that expected, as my mother says, "with open eye," to live this life a certain way. I'm following this because I know we come here submitting ourselves to God, and as a child I must have been close to that, so I must have known.
But ultimately, where do I want to be? I want to truly submit myself to God in a way that I haven't been. God has granted me with the gift of consciousness of Him from an early age, and I need not let the distractions of this life cloud that consciousness. I want that consciousness and my submission to permeate through everything that I do and all that I am, from my being a family physician, insha'Allah, to my being a wife and mother, insha'Allah. I want to find a community as well. No more of this being invisible.
No one around me right now understands me. I'm trying to find a way to be with little context. I need to find a home for myself, a way for me to make sense. That's where I need to be, and all else will flow forth more smoothly.
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