So you’re a doc, a foreign cuisine and Corona happened.

Someone asked me, ‘what would you do if you knew you had a limited time to live?’. 

If you are working in the medical field like I am, you’d realize it’s the question we ask ourselves over and over again throughout our career having witnessed sufferings and deaths almost daily as part of our lives. But, I bet none of us has actually ever sat down to make a list of ‘what would we do?’. Lately, I have been thinking a lot about it. 

I think if I had a progressive illness with a time limit, I would try to be pragmatic about it. Yes, I think I would be that way. Because, I have been trained all my life and professionally for years to put the facts ahead and be realistic about it. Professionally, I always advise my patients to take some time to take in the information about the diagnosis first, to be acquainted with their condition and to come to terms with it. Some might take hours, some days, some months and some even years. And sadly, some will choose not to. Being in the trait myself, I think I would feel robbed of that moment of feeling grief or shock. Because as soon as the person in the other line would give me numbers or the results, I would have flashes of images of statistics, articles, research papers and those  patients suffering with similar conditions. But, on positive note, I have some knowledge on the subject to make rational decisions. Being uninformed and unaware of the disease process can add significantly to stress levels.

The first thing I would make a decision about then is, is this something I can talk about with anybody? To unburden myself, maybe to discuss what my next course of action should be, where should I go from here… ? Then I think I’d think about my families, my friends and people around me and choose not to. It’s not like I have only 24 hours a day. Years have a lot of hours on it. Things change.  Circumstances change. Besides, I wouldn’t want them to worry. And honestly, they would be in a bigger mess than me. It would be better for my own mental peace and their mental peace. It is at this point, maybe I will hate myself for not feeling stronger or maybe not having someone I can depend on to talk about these things. You know someone who wouldn’t break down and would tell me, ‘it’s alright’. Which then would probably bring me to the next question, ‘what are they really going to do without me?’ so, the next thing on my list. 

I’d plan my days to work extra hard to earn extra money. Because as much as I always wanted to believe ‘money is nothing, as long as I have health, I can earn more.’ When you disbalance the equation and remove ‘health’ from it, money is something. Almost everything… It would be nice to feel assured that the house is paid off mortgage and my family would at least have a roof over their heads even if they have nothing. And that I leave them with some emergency contingency plans. Hopefully a generous balance in my bank account and something extra, to ensure my siblings look after our parents well till their last days, in our house and with our families. Our parents have worked so hard all their life, they really deserve a blessed retirement surrounded by people they love. 

I’d hope I’d live to see my brothers and sister get married and have little nephews and nieces. I will probably have hysteric fits of laughter just looking at those bundles of joys still in disbelief that my siblings are actually parents! God help those kids! I will have to make sure I leave them little gifts and maybe hand knitted cute blankets. I have been obsessed with knitting for a while now, I don’t know why.  And, well it’d be nice to know that they know I heart them right? 

I’d have to have my driving sorted. So we could go on extensive family trips throughout the UK. And, yes, extra money would help taking 1-2 exotic family vacations where we would take lots and lots of pictures and videos. I might even print a couple of them out. I don’t know. Rather than being dead, being forgotten feels a little scary at this point… But then, they’d only have memories of good times right? Who knows how cranky I will get when I am writhing in pain. And this isn’t a pretty face when that happens. 

I think I would forgive or try to forgive everyone who has wronged me or hurt me in some ways. I think I’m someone who’d take ‘life is too short to hold grudges’ to heart and act on it. I will probably hold people close to my heart nearer and maybe, cut everyone else out of life. Because when you are on a clock, I have seen, people become selfish and for the right reasons. And you don’t want to welcome a good stranger to a life where you know there will be suffering.

To be honest, I’d probably be a little mad at life too. I had always thought about having a family, having an amazing life partner, great children, growing old together… It sounded like such a dream. But if I had a time limit, I’d be in a picky place to make tough decisions. Am I going to call this wonderful gentleman I went out with a couple of days ago and explain to him why I can’t see him anymore? Does it mean, I cannot date anymore? All my  dreams and plans have to come to hold? Or am I supposed to give up? What happens to my career? All my life I studied and studied and worked & worked and now? Where does it leave me? Can I even work full time? Can I afford a part time job?  How will the disease progress? Am I going to be able to cope with symptoms?

 Couple of days ago I was annoyed reading the news about the possibility of the pension age being pushed to 70 or 72 by the time I retire. I was looking at the average life expectancy of people in the UK at birth  2020 to 2022, it was 78.6 for males and 82.6  for females. Mean average age at death of doctors according to an article published in pubmed looking at how choice influences life expectancy in doctors data 2003 to 2012 was 78.5. The idea of working till the 70s and retiring for the last 8 years of life felt ridiculous. Now, the thought of not even making it to that age? I don’t know…

I hope I focus more on my hobbies. Lately I have discovered I love writing stuff, stories and things like that. I hope I travel a little more. I hope I still leave space for new experiences. I hope my disease won’t define me. I really hope it doesn’t break my spirits. 

I have seen people who cling on to life to the last moment are people who have never really lived their life. In and out of hospitals, back again and again for chemos and procedures. Who were told everyday, ‘they were fighters’. And they were, and they fought and fought. And fought so hard, till the disease riddled all their bodies and spread out and there was nothing left to fight for. And they still did. But the time left them so far off the track… 

I am loved. I am adored. I lived as much as I could. And by mercy of God with healthy years. I hope when the time comes, I am able to let go, feeling blessed. Its not the length of the years you live, the quantity of it; it’s how you live, how is your quality of life. In the end we all have time limits, death is only natural, some of us have an early appointment and some of us have later.

So you’re a doc, a foreign cuisine and Corona happened

Its ingrained in us culturally and socially, there is one person out there for us in our lives. And when you find that person, you do everything you can to hold onto them. Our traditions although sometimes can be extreme but are about pursuits. Men proving themselves to their women to win their hearts. I suppose, it’s the chase, the effort that makes it all worth it. When one feels valued and other values it. Feelings become stronger that way, relations develop. Loyalty comes naturally then when you believe, this is your person and the stars have spoken of your destiny. You then brave the storm with them. Not just in a metaphorical sense. My aunt actually did it. Walked through heaps of snow up to her knees holding her husband’s hand when she left her village for him. You cross the seas, the dunes and the valleys to follow them. Like my mother did. To the countries, she didn’t speak the language of. A village girl from a tiny remote place in one of the smallest countries in the world… There is trust, a foundation so strong, that binds you in a blind faith. 

Like my parents, most of those in their generations and before them had harsh lives. Long distance relationships are difficult these days, I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been those days. Skype only came around in 2003, Wattsapp was only launched in 2009. I remember standing for hours in line to make one international phone call as a child. Women  just had to believe and hold on to their husband’s words. Trust that, they’ll stay alive, remain well and come back home safe to them. 

The men were honorable, they honored their words, their promises; like stork birds they’d fly back home every year;  helping their partners to nestle, rearing their offsprings as best as they can. Yes, sometimes things didn’t work out like life as it happens. But most of them, almost all of them made it together. ‘There were rocky times. And yes, sometimes you fight. And You hate each other. You wish you had left. But when it came to the real thing, it was always us against the world. He was my support and I was his. We are partners,’ my aunt said. 

I don’t think trust is something my generation can afford. Commitment scares us. Love is a word we have heard of but we refuse to feel. Because addiction for new rush keeps on the edge at all times. As soon as the high comes down we want a new one. We are confused… We have heard the tales of love, relations that lasted for 50, 60 years. But ours barely seems to be making a few days, at most a few years. We want something that lasts. But we don’t want to work for our relations anymore. And where  is the line between ‘pushing it hard to make it work’ versus ‘toxicity’?  And why would we? Push ourselves? In our hands there are potential partners from all over the world waiting to message. Everyday the grass is looking greener on the other side. Maybe if we had walked in a heap of snow one stormy night together never knowing where we were going to be and we made it out of it still together, we too would have valued our relationship more… ? But hey why would we walk in the heap of snow in the first place anymore?  When we can be with someone who will  buy us tequila shots and cocktails on a sandy vacation beach? 

We are getting  married knowing full well that this will only last a few years. Prenups make us feel safe. Following a man blindly out in the storm? I don’t think I would even trust my partner to make the right choice by me if I am on a ventilator?  Because words don’t mean anything nowdays, trust is slim, people play on other people’s feelings to make themselves better. And worst of all, good hearts get hurt. 

Love used to be a thing. I grew up surrounded with stories of love with great endings and sometimes of dreadful aches. Yes. Aches but still love. 

—

My dad’s brother- my uncle was a very good friend with a kind man. We saw him very often as kids when he came down the city from the village, were quite fond of him and would call him uncle too. Every time my mother would see him, she would sigh and say to us, ‘you know he was spoken for with your aunt. Your dad’s sister. He really liked her. She was 16 and one day, she suddenly died. It’s nice that he still makes it a point to visit us. He is family’. 

We saw him grow gradually old. Now he is 70ish. And our family is still quite close. We sigh often thinking he is aging, it’s been a while since we lost our own uncle. When I think of him, the first thing that comes to my mind is that time; when my little brother was just about 2. Uncle was bald then for some reason. Wielding a big metallic spoon my brother suddenly launched forward, hitting his head repeatedly with it. As painful as it must have been he laughed & laughed,  till we finally stepped in for his rescue separating him from the little psychopath and getting hold of his assault weapon. 

We call it equal and quits as some point in my life. His wife did beat me to a pulp, stuffed me in a rucksack and dragged me around the house till the front gate. 

Some relations are like that I suppose. When they are gone, they are gone. But the memories we have chains us to the past with them… Even though  life has to move on. 

It’s not always when they disappear to the ashes and ground,  they manage to break our hearts though. Well sometimes, they don’t feel the same way we do. 

‘You remind me of her. This girl I used to know,’ said one of our acquaintances. Humble man, a father of a little daughter.  ‘I searched for her everywhere. From cities to cities. I followed her trail here even to kathmandu. Found out later her parents had flown her away to another country Hong Kong to keep her away from me. She was gone…’

‘Lovely, my son was so crazy for that girl, he chased her everywhere.. But it seems in life, what is not meant to be cannot be no matter how much you want it to happen’. His  mother said to us with a heavy heart, combing her little granddaughter’s hair, gently playing with soft curls. ‘He married. Fell in love again. Couldn’t go chasing her in another country. Where is she going to be? I think eventually he found the right match. My daughter in law. They both know what heart breaks are. She too was crazy in love once, young and foolish. Slit her wrist when he rejected her. Yes. They found each other’.

—

Well, in these stories were men who loved and lost. Not the kind their grandchildren will hear about. It didn’t blossom into legacy to make the tales… 

But, shouldn’t we all strive for feelings like that? Love like that?  That honours memories even of the dead ones?  Not from someone, who asks every chance he gets ‘did you sleep with anyone while I was away?’. Or says, ‘well if you are not sleeping with my by 3rd date, it’s definitely not working’. Or ‘I have dated different women from 20 different countries. Haven’t had a Nepalese yet’. 

It’s never been easier than ever before for a woman to find a sexual partner. And of different flavours. Men seem desperate and are available just everywhere. I have seen men keeping counts on their notepads like it’s their medal of honour and there are indeed women here competing side by side. ‘We are animals aren’t we? Is there any self control?’I suppose, to each their own rules, their own play.

For me… If I can easily see you undress yourself for every eyes you lay on, what is special about you? What is special about  your choices? Your fry dips on every sauce. It’s too common. Apologies, almost ick! What would make me any special for you? Why should I choose you? What is there for me to see? For me  to yearn for? When I have seen everything and I can’t think one single thing, anything else that you can give me more than it? 

It’s the chase. There is something very attractive about men with self control, with passion for pursuit. These are men novels are written about, movies are made of. Women love a tango. Yes. But with a man like that!! Otherwise, you are just a number in the book like she is of yours. Sorry a side character isn’t enough to write a script 🥲

:)

So you’re a Doc, a foreign cuisine and Corona happened. ( Mercenaries ?)

So you’re a doc, a foreign cuisine and corona happened. In the service

As a Gurkha family, we are thankful to the British government for recognising the services of Gurkha over more than 200 years of service in the British army and giving us rights of residence in the UK. Until 2004, the veterans who were discharged before July 1997 were not given any rights to settle in the UK.  Thanks to actor Joanna Lumley the campaign finally had a face and a public reach for support. 

As I have mentioned before, being recruited In Gurkha was always considered an honorable tradition in our societies. A chance to prove courage and bravery to the world. It becomes indeed very rewarding when the services provided comes with financial and emotional securities. Gurkhas now enjoy comparable pay, pension and can apply for family visas for their wife & children. Continuing this age-old  tradition has benefited hundreds of young aspiring gurkhas with career opportunities and also the British government; in terms of having a selection of only the best men among thousands competitors, from a well of generations with men that have proven to them their bravery and loyalty time and again. 

I get a little surprised when I hear some young gurkhas/ families don’t support GAESO. I can understand there is an intimidation/ fear factor whether they would be made an escape goat against the organization’s action/or any claims, lose their jobs or the situation could be made worse… But, I have to say, ‘if it weren’t for the old lads you wouldn’t be here. Hadn’t they done their best, your credibility would have been questionable. Maybe if they hadn’t stood up for anything or spoke out, you’d still be where they once wore.’

I was looking into the actor’s interviews last night where she had given details of a battle in Burma in 1944. Her father Major James Lumley had fought valiantly alongside gurkhas against Japanese soldiers in that battle. In the interview she was reported as saying, ‘ ever since I was a small child this man has been my hero’ standing next to VC Tulbahadur pun in front of a high court being the major voice of the campaign. The article was published by dailymail online with the heading ‘Why Major Lumley would be overwhelmed with shame at the British Government treatment of the Gurkhas’. 

I love listening to the old men’s stories and those of  young ones. Times are definitely different and for better. The banter between them, the new versus the old gurkheys is never ending. ‘Boys will always be boys in their heart no matter how old they are’, I suppose. ‘Mama’ the young ones call the old gurkhas even if they have never met before. ‘Mama’ as in uncle, mother’s brother. Similarly ‘Bhanja’, the old gurkhas will call the young gurkhas even if they are not related. ‘Bhanja’ meaning nephew. 

‘The motto’ as in every platoon I am sure that they pass is ‘always to stick together.’  A lot of stories I hear from my dad’s and uncles are the ones where things happened when they were all there. One starts the story, others add to it and someone else completes it while everyone else  agrees in unison.

The stories usually start with gurkhey’s all minding their business sitting at a table and someone coming around to challenge them. Usually a soldier from a different platoon other than gurkha. The fuss always starts with the supposedly protagonist picking one of them, singling him out and teasing about his height and built. This is a big ‘NO’. A sore subject, trust me. In this story, well, both the parties from both groups agreed that one of each that was already involved were to fight. The protagonist was a heavy built and muscular guy so he wasted no time marching forward rapidly at the table. To his dismay before he could land a solid punch, the supposedly little guy infront of him would land 2-3 successively quick ones. This happened a couple of times till he was in no state to continue and called quits. They shook hands and left it there. Now both the parties had a bit of beer so weren’t in condition to know exactly what happened. But apparently the truth was, behind the gurkha who was challenged was another gurkha who was a great boxer helping him. They synced it so well, no one found out! My dad was laughing so hard as he was narrating it, I wish I was there to see it! 

Of Course that’s not always the case. One of the Polish photographers I met one time had shared with me his own experiences with gurkha. The most fond one he recalled was, the time when a gurkha knocked off and slammed a big guy who was trying to intimidate him calling similar thing/names to the ground so fast that it took him even as a bystander a few seconds to process what had happened. ‘It was so quick’, he said to me, ‘and he was comparatively quite small compared to the bloke. The guy then went back to the table to his friends and sipped his beer like nothing happened while the man was still on the floor! Those guys scare me’. 

I don’t know how good my dads and uncles would have been in combat but I will say, they can channel their anger very precisely and with a good blow. They will never choose violence first, I can’t imagine any of them initiating it. So unless it’s a major thing and the police are involved, we don’t usually question. 

 ‘Our captain called us and told us ‘I heard you guys all came running back to the camp at night. Did you guys at least beat them up? Don’t get caught boys!’. 

 No matter what the hardships and the turmoils were back in those days, their conversations now always end with following statement. ‘Army life is difficult. But, when you think about those days, it was also very fun. We miss it’. 

So you’re a Doc, a foreign cuisine and Corona happened. ( Mercenaries ?)

I suppose it is a little hurtful when I read online comments about ‘gurkhas being mercenaries’. Collins dictionary defines the word mercenary as ‘a soldier who is paid to fight by  a country or group that they do not belong to.’ In those terms, it perhaps does make sense but; the synonyms for the words were ‘free lance’, ‘soldiers of fortune’, ‘greedy’, ‘grasping’. I beg to differ on those. 

My father recalls his old uncle who was a gurkey saying, ‘‘Lets go. Lets go. They said. So we went along carrying our backpacks to the wars. After it was fought, the remaining of us that were alive; they gathered us, put some money in our hands and said, ‘for transport. Now go back’. So we came back again with our backpacks.’’

‘In 1983’, my dad says, ‘our salaries were 600 to 800 hongkong dollars. 1dollar HK was 2.15 Nepali rupee. We were posted in Hong Kong at the time. Lived there for a few years but we weren’t allowed to make any bank accounts. Everything for gurkhey at those times happened via different systems that none of us ever understood. And being less educated individuals and well from tricky circumstances; we weren’t aware how much rights we had. So we never questioned. But when there were enough of us and when everyone started making a fuss about it; we were finally allowed to have an account. The banking was within the service, inside the platoon. But unfortunately for the British government, they still had to use the chinese banking officials. Whisper to whispers the words leaked out of how much we were being paid. The officials started making comments about gurkheys being paid cash at hand while showing off minimal in their bank accounts to avoid taxes. The investigation quickly lead to a finding that ‘that was all’ we were being paid. They were in disbelief, even the foreign maids from countries were making at least 2 folds more than us. Somewhere along the system and the official line the salary the Hong kong government was paying the british services which was equivalent to those of its native  armies to hire us was disappearing. More than 70% cut of it…  It must have been when Padam Gurung also found it.’

Padam Gurung is a familiar name to me being a founder of GAESO. Gurkha Army Ex-Serviceman’s organization that has been actively involved in fighting and protecting gurkha’s and their families rights. I have spent plenty of days waiting outside the office door while mom made a quick dash to ask about any news on the progress of our movements. ‘God protect and bless that man’, my mom keeps him on her prayers always. ‘He has fought for justice for all of us’. 

1995. My dad walked with his friend to lagankhel, a busy hub in lalitpur Nepal  to buy a quintal of rice. A quintal is equal to 100 kilos. In Nepal, rice makes the majority portion of our food. So it is not unusual for us to buy a quintal of it at the time. Dad was very excited that day because after 15 and plus years of service in british army he finally had pension out.  He had saved every penny into it, didn’t know how much it was but hoped it would be enough to buy that off. The quintal cost 2100 nepali rupee. His monthly pension was 1900 nepali rupee. ‘I didn’t say anything to my friend, just that I wasn’t interested in buying it anymore’, he confided to me laughing.

‘Your uncle in Indian gurkha army was making more than him and not just by a few hundreds. When they received the pay, they would directly receive salary as Indian money which was also used in Nepal. But coming through British pay, they’d wire it to the Indian government who would take a cut off and convert it into nepali rupee. Then the Nepalese government would take percent off and pay it to us. When your salary is already less and the chunk of it still gets taken, you don’t know what to say to friends or anyone because they don’t know’. My mom comments. 

‘Some of the old ones didn’t even receive pension. They were just happy they survived and were back to their families. Some were smarter, I suppose, chose to stay back and some well…’

I think I know that answer. The uncertainty in the word and the hesitation on the word ‘Well…’. Some of them didn’t return because they felt they had nothing to come back to. When the British signed the Segauli treaty 1815 recruiting Gurkhas in their service, both the hands that met at the table benefited on their own affairs, but the Gurkhas became a negotiation. Maybe the term is right ‘mercenary’, whole generations of them but for the term that the world now uses for them, was it ever fair if you knew our side of story? They received the Victoria Cross of gallantry and in return they got a green backpack and were sent home with transport money? Open wounds, blind eyes, war scars… goodbye?  Don’t even count the ones that died. 

When they returned home, they couldn’t stop the boys being picked from their villages. As young as boys of 10 years old, recruited on ‘boys club’ and being shipped off to be trained. There wasn’t a choice. They accepted it as a rite of passage, they had to. The treaty promised independence of Nepal, the nation demanded their service for a foreign country.

Politics had always been a foul game. The power of the king had long been overtaken. 1846 Ran as reign in the country started that lasted 104 years. Then of so- called democratic leaders with strong connections with India. Rumors were, once the British left the east India empire, Nepal was promised to East India by these leaders. Many of them later ended up being Nepal’s prime ministers, corrupt leaders, regarded as heroes . The videos and talks of their original intentions have scattered all over the internet now but the deeds were done, they died a martyr. Any rise of resistance from the earlier kingdoms and in support of the king were abolished by shipping them to war zones, a long time ago. The king wanted the support of his people. He wanted support from the ethnics…’ Mom is tearful watching an interview from Khagendra jung gurung, a trusted hand of King Mahendra, when he speaks about his last attempts to save the country, before his demise. 1914, 1939 recruits kept getting bigger.

I suppose we have never been fans of our government especially since 1918. There is still an internal cold war among various sub groups of Nepali citizens. Mainly between matwalis with bahuns. Matwalis are majority mongolid origin people who are origins of gurkha recruits. ‘Bahuns’ were mostly aryan groups who were considered learned men, priests in the community. Matwalis argument is, they took all the government positions, took sides with India and sold Nepal’s affairs therefore our  sovereignty. And when I say, they believe it strongly, trust me, they do. My mom still says, ‘they went to kashi in India and other places to learn language, sanskrit and  knowledge. Put themselves over us as superior casts, appointed themselves as advisors in the court. And what did they do? Sold one third of our lands to India. Darjeeling, Dehradun, Uttarakhand all of those.’ Well Bahuns argument is ‘matwalis were mostly in service of other countries so they shouldn’t have a say in internal affairs.’

It is not uncommon for gurkhali and his family to hear, they left their loyalty with us and left for the british. Sometimes, even from the matwalis ‘the ethnic’ origin people who know the stories of our beginnings well. ‘They left the country into shambles, ‘ they used to say and even for the men who fought the wars and were called the heroes, this was always a hard pill to swallow. So, yes, for some the decision to never come back again was not by choice. 

‘They were ashamed. So they dropped their surnames one by one. Magars are so many in numbers. But we have no unity’. Even for me, I go by family name now. Sadly even my family name is different from my origin, because there are certain words in Nepalese that aren’t available in English. All the recruits belonging to this family name are mis-spelled.  Hahhaha! 
Anyways, ‘they did well, the lads’, like my dad would say. I agree. Whatever the reason was, wherever they belonged or never belonged, the men always kept their heads held high. They had nothing to begin with, nothing to win for their own… but they showed there is so much to what we are to the whole world.  Their families were always proud, their sons followed in their footsteps… I was always crossed, a little bitter, being left out, being singled. History books, records after records, remembering dates just for the sake of exams? Why do I care what happened in 1815? It seems to me now, I always did. ‘It’s family. It’s our roots. It’s our history. If we don’t speak out for us, who would?’

So you’re a doc, a foreign cuisine and Corona happened. Curse.

‘Never break anybody’s heart intentionally and with malice on your part. Because their tears will haunt you’, my parents often warn us. And this usually follows with the storytelling about a family curse which we all are very familiar with, having heard a couple of times by now. ‘The curse’ was apparently put on by our grandfather’s aunt on her brother’s bloodline. ‘For generations then and subsequent ones, your father’s side of the family didn’t see the birth of daughters in their households and those that were born died suddenly of unnatural causes quite young,” my mother would say. And pointing towards us, the daughters, she would tell us,  ‘You  and your cousins would be the first one after the 3rd generation’. 

You can understand why we would feel intimidated by it and also quite curious. The story goes like this…

At those times, Nepal was not a single country but a land of many kingdoms. They would call it ‘baise chaubisya rajya’ meaning 22 , 24 kingdoms where there were royalties in every state governing it. This was before unification by kIng Pritihivi Narayan Shah. A majority of kingdoms were ruled by people of ethnic origins especially in the west, mainly the clans ‘Magars’. And my grandpa’s aunt was married to one of those  kings. She would run away from the palace very often because she hated it there. But every time even before she stepped into her parent’s house,  the soldiers mounted on their horses would already be there waiting to take her back to the palace. She would cry and beg not to go back but her five brothers would insist, reminding her that she was now married and as a married woman, her duty was  to her husband and his family.  This would happen a number of times. On the last occasion however, when her brothers refused to hide her and let her stay any longer, surprisingly, she agreed to go back with the soldiers quietly on her own accord . Before she did that, she made a request  to enter the family’s kitchen one last time. There she lifted the stove and left it upside down and said, ‘this household has seen too much of daughters that my five brothers cannot protect me, their only sister. So this household does not deserve the love of the daughters where they are not welcomed’.  

‘She was heartbroken. The curse was set’, my mom says. ‘Then after, none of the brother’s wife bore daughters. Your grandfather was one of the five sons from his father. The five son’s families in between them bore 2 daughters who died young, the rest were all sons. Your grandfather had 3 sons including your dad and 1 daughter. The daughter, your dad’s sister, died as well when she was 16, unnaturally… We were relieved when the first child, from your dad’s eldest brother, was a girl. This is a fourth bloodline. She was healthy and well and, subsequently the other brother’s wife gave birth to a daughter and there are two of you from your dad. Unfortunately, your cousin from the second son passed away. She was 21 but well… the death was explained. Choking, they said. Had her first job as a teacher. Was out with her friends…’

‘Your grandmother was very sad when she lost her only daughter at 16. She did various ceremonies, donated 100 gunyos (velvet jumpers) to the girls in the village, visited a lot of temples… Took a mountain goat, to the top of hills in the planes where there was nothing but only vultures flying in the sky. A peace offering to calm the spirits roaming the ends of our world…’ 

My mom has a certain flare for drama and when she tells the stories, the amount of details she gives is quite unreal. As though, she was right there when this all happened. The story is from my dad’s heritage but he just ‘nods’ to affirm what has been told. I am sitting here thinking whether there are any sort of genetic diseases that they might have suffered from although hereditary genetic diseases affecting only females is quite rare and not quite lethal. We carry two pairs of ‘X’ genes remember. There is a small fact which is important,  there have been consanguineous marriages in the family. But the whole number of women missing in 3 generations would have negated that effect.

My grandmother’s life on my dad’s end sounds heart rending. Feels like she was a mother waiting all her life to have a daughter’s lost love. My mom tells me, before they left for the platoon, she reminded my dad to make sure he cooked something for her everyday before he left for work. ‘Otherwise poor girl might go hungry in the apartment’, she’d say.

‘She adopted my aunt, treated her just like her daughter but the aunt passed away too. Sadly, in those days, they think it was a witchcraft. It was a hard recovery then’. ‘She wouldn’t leave me, she was so scared to go her home. But had she told me why she was scared, what she was seeing, who had done this to her I could have saved her, we would have called the healers’, my mom unwinds her grief remembering her mother in law’s words. ‘She cried so very often thinking about her…’ I can see her tear trickling down. Well grandma sounds like a sad soul. I think we would have loved her, had we known her… Oh well, lets just hope grandaunt is now resting in peace and her hunger for vengeance has gone. As for us, ‘they always told us we were precious’! Pampering is next level.

So you’re a doc, a foreign cuisine and Corona happened (Shifters and the witches…)

Often when we have a family gathering, my mom makes it a point to introduce the topics of faiths, beliefs and higher power in our conversations. Being a strong believer themselves, my parents want us to be God’s people as well. Whenever she can, my mom makes it a point to remind me to tell my patients to have faith in their Gods and that I should encourage them to make prayers in their difficult times. They aren’t  particular about what religion we choose, as long as we are not atheists. 

‘There are spirits, shapeshifters, wizards and all sorts of things in this world’, they often tell us. ‘We have seen, heard and experienced things that your generation wouldn’t believe is true. But if it wasn’t real, how would you explain the stories of witches, witchcrafts, ghosts and shapeshifters that circulate here in the west? Their description matches ours. There are alternate realms, there are powers both evil and good in this world. We must believe and choose to believe on the good side.’

‘Everyone would have known and there’d be evidence of it’, I make a sly comment knowing it will definitely irritate my mom. ‘The dark powers, their energy only thrives in darkness. With the city lights and people & residences everywhere, they won’t operate here. In the villages, remote places…  that’s where they will be most active…’.  Seems like my mom knows what she is talking about. 

‘True, ‘ my dad adds. ‘When I was young, two German foreigners came to our village to do some research and studies. Foreigners were always very interested in these things. Ancient knowledge, culture and rituals… The man used to teach us science in the school. His friend would go about recording us, women and children in the village making a documentary sort of thing. Somehow during her stay, she stumbled into dark magic/ witchcraft things.’

‘She had lived with us for some time so she was fluent in our language. One day, not knowing the gravity of the situation she was going to be in, she confessed to killing an old man as a part of an acceptance ritual to the coven and eating his flesh. To my cousin who was then the head of the village.’

‘It was good but because he was old the meat was very dry’, she had complained. ‘But It had to be done. He was the main person of the house and I had no one of my own’.  

‘That’s what they make you do, I heard’. My mom interrupted the story. ‘The main person of the house in the bloodline has to be sacrificed.  If it’s not your dad, your mother, brother, sisters or the children, even the husband. That’s the test’. 

‘Evil.’ Sometimes I cannot even begin to comprehend how different the world I live in is from my parents. But again, the existence of these rituals, religions, follows, cults whatever one wants to call it, seems to be universal and survived through tests of time. ‘Was it that common then? That a foreigner could just come and learn those things? I thought they were very secretive or in hiding. And what happened to her?’, I asked. 

‘There were always whispers about some people who are into that stuff. But we stay away from those things. She probably dug really hard looking into it. Well she was asked not to talk about it to anyone else. She’d in danger if the man’s family found out. And well you cannot prove someone died of witch’s spell.’

‘And the shapeshifters? Is that true too?’. 

‘Yes, my father and an uncle said that is true’.

‘One time, when my father was a young lad, he went to another village with a group of boys to a festival. By the time they had decided to return home, it was getting dark so they ended up taking shelter in an old woman’s house. A woman who they knew, kind old lady. The woman slept inside the house and he & his boys slept outside on the verandah. He was having a hard time falling asleep so he was mostly awake that night when he heard a soft noise next to him. He saw that the old woman was stretching her arms and as she stretched in no time, she shifted  into a large eagle. Unaware that the boy was awake, she started ruffling her feathers with her beak getting ready for  a flight and after a few minutes, flew away.’

‘My dad was so scared he woke the boys up. They went in to check on the old lady. But she was asleep, snoring on her bed. Terrified, they ran back to their own village in the middle of night.’

‘Yes yes, they have to return to their body before the rooster first crows’. My mom added again; her expert input is always valuable. 

‘And my uncle,’my father continued. ‘Well in those days, the dogs would be called in to eat the poop of children if they shit inside the house… One of the little ones had just pooped. So he called them. Achyo, achyo.  The street dogs came around.  5-6 dogs, to claim their meal. All dogs but one of them was wearing a nose ring. After the shit was cleaned, they started making their way, my uncle then made  a quick dash, put a doko (bamboo woven basket) trapping the shapeshifter inside it. When morning was about to come, where he had trapped the dog, a woman’s voice called. Uncle, uncle  let me out! Let me out! It’s about to be morning! When he took away the doko, underneath it, was his own niece.’

‘Niece, don’t do that again and don’t come here’. He told her and let her go. 

‘Disgusting. Why would dogs eat human poop? Why were they made to eat that? And why does she even want to eat it?’ 

‘Dogs eat anything,’ My dad replied promptly, no hint of disgust or anything on his reaction.  ‘They clean it up all.  And shapeshifter, witch, I don’t know what they are. Apparently they eat anything and everything. And they have to’. 

‘Ew! Ew! Ew!’, I am about to puke. 

‘Well we heard there used to be a lot of them living among us back in the old days. Shapeshifters shifting to tigers and birds. Witches mostly prefer to shift to cats and dogs’.

‘What about the gurkey?’, my mom asks. 

‘Oh oh yeah. That gurkey’s story. One of the gurkhey who was newly married went for his first holiday back to  village to his wife, we heard. When he arrived, his wife wouldn’t stop crying so he asked why she was doing so. After much persuasion she finally spoke saying  that the woman next door had taught her witchcraft. And, as part of the ritual she was instructed  to offer him as a sacrifice. The plan was the witch would appear as a cat and she would ensure her husband ate the food after the cat had eaten from it’. 

‘The gurkey didn’t believe his wife’s story. But like she had said, a stray cat came to the house at dinner time. Gurkey took a chunky piece of meat from his plate and gave it to the cat. But strangely it wasn’t interested in the meat and kept trying to eat from his plate. So, alarmed, he took out the khukuri and chopped its head off.  As he did so, a loud shriek was heard from next door. In the morning they found, the woman next door had died.’ 

And the story goes on and on. 

Some more interesting than others, some more sweet than others while some more disgusting than others. Some more terrifying than others, some more hilarious than others and some, well some are sad sometimes. 

Holidays are here. 

Stories will keep coming. 🙂

So you’re a doc, a foreign cuisine and Corona happened. Learn your health system.

Target ambulance response time for life threatening emergencies in England is set to be on average 7 minutes. Scenarios like cardiac arrest needing resuscitation are life threatening emergencies.  Other target times depend on categories of nature of 999 calls received. For example,  category 2 like acute stroke, heart attack average response target time is 30 minutes. Category 3 is where most of our hospital referrals come to. Classified as ‘urgent’, these are cases where impromptu management is required from the paramedics and then transport or referral to clinician is done as appropriate. The average response time target in such cases is  120 minutes. Then there is category 4 which are less urgent scenarios and will mostly be referred to primary services under GP care. 

Similarly target ambulance handover to the nurse staff in A&E hospital is 15 minutes. When the ambulance queue is waiting long to offload their patients, as discussed previously in the post, the hospital gets penalized with a fine. The penalty system of course is put in place to ensure patients are at least triaged quickly according to severity & appropriately escalated whilst waiting to be seen by clinician.  And, to free the ambulance & paramedic services to run in the community where their role is crucial and the demand is very high. The stories of pandemic horrors are still floating around in the neighborhoods and the communities from the first and second COVID waves. ‘The ambulance never showed up’, ‘they showed up too late’, ‘she was so young she could have lived’, ‘did they deliberately ignore us because we are not white?’ and so on… Like with the hospital, people have lost their faith with first at site response services. There is pressure to deliver on both ends in the NHS. Especially when the job involves dealing with human lives, stakes are very high.  

A day’s cost of bed on a general ward according to statistics published in 2017 by the NHS was roughly around 586£. In 2023 I presume, above 600£. More expensive than some of the finest hotels in my area and for one day?  I’ll never be able to afford it on my own. Intensive care unit (ICU) cost per day was 1621£ which again in 2023 I believe must have almost doubled accounting for the pandemic and steep inflation rate since. ‘Rising cost of living in the UK,’ published 20th October 2023, House of Commons library states, ‘Over the two years from September 2021 to September 2023 food prices rose by 28.4%. It previously took over 13 years, from April 2008 to September 2021, for average food prices to rise by the same amount.‘

Whilst CQC (Care commissioning quality) is at the door knocking round the year  to ensure the quality of services provided are to a standard level; penalty fines where services are already underfunded does seem to be ‘counterintuitive’ as many would say. With minimum expense of routine bloods costing on average 340£ a day for a patient for a single set of blood, funds that are redirected are coming out from the pot of other run-services that will then be closed?  Dare I say, from the funds that could have been used to hire additional manpower? Or create capacity to accommodate the extra patients in the first place? 

There has been a peak in influx of mental health patients post pandemic era. Unfortunately there aren’t enough mental health facilities and psychiatric hospitals to cope with the current volume of these patients. It is now not uncommon to have half of our wards waiting for mental health team reviews which can easily take a day or two, depending on their caseloads and personeel available. A patient may be waiting for a week or two in addition before being transferred to a mental health care facility if they need treatment. Some of these patients need level 3 one to one observation; which means he/she needs to be at all times within the eye sight as the patient is at high risk of self harm to oneself or to others. One or two mental health nurses (RMNs) are deployed to observe the patient, at all times. Day and night. Now the expertise and the services of RMNs could have been better used if the patient was in the right place from the beginning where the treatment could have been started promptly and the specific demands of the care met?  It would surely have saved the NHS thousands of pounds avoiding the cost of long waits on hospital beds and pays on shift nurses? There are certainly ways to re-funnel the money in the right paths without straining the existing resources too much? 

Recently I read a post about one of the US citizens who died because he could not afford insulin and he was type 1 Diabetic. It was very sad to learn, in a first world country like that, young people are dying because they couldn’t get life saving medication? If he was in the UK, he only had to see his GP. He would have been entitled for free prescriptions, free high sensors libre (for continuous glucose monitoring) and a range of other services…

So you’re a doc, am foreign cuisine and Corona happened (Winter is coming)

So you come to the shift and the day begins with the bosses saying,  ‘alright people the hospital is on black alert again, we need to prioritize discharges’. You make your way to the ward, very glad that today you have a full team! A cup of hot chocolate from Costa without a long queue this morning? Something says its going to be a great day.  The sugar buzz is finally kicking, I feel ready, ‘alright let’s save some lives’.   

‘Doctor can we start with the ones that are going home first?’. ‘Ofcourse’, I replied, ‘but first let me go over the list to see high EWS’. EWS stands for  early warning scoring system, which is basically  a table of observation parameters that alerts us about unwell patients. Example a EWS of 5 and more has to be recorded and alerted by the attending nurse to the doctors for the patient to be reviewed. A EWS of 9 or 10 is a very sick patient. ‘Definitely. But just letting you know we are on black alert. Do you think one of the SHOs (senior house officers) can get started with the TTOs? ( To Take Out) medication then? So that we don’t have delays from the pharmacy?’.   ‘In a minute’, I responded trying to be as polite as possible, noticing the ward clerk was more jittery than usual today, perhaps with anxiety or the high caffeine morning coffee kick. ‘Doctor, we got to put the patient under DOLs. He is confused, wandering around, physically assaulting the patient next bed to him and now, is trying to leave the ward. He is still very verbally aggressive to the staff. I have called the security but they can’t stay here long’, the sister in charge soon spoke, appearing with the patient’s file in hand. ‘Alright then, SHO1 please prep the notes for your end of the ward, start with the possible discharge ones. Please check with ward clerks who need to be prioritized first? SHO2 would you please assess the patient, sister has highlighted and put him under DOLs(Deprivation of Liberty) if needed? I will go and review the patients with high EWS. And then we can catch up so we can start with the ward round?’. I jump into my role.  

‘We are very unhappy with the care our mother has received. Day before yesterday when we brought her here, she waited outside in an ambulance for 2 hours. Out in the cold. Then downstairs in the Emergency department the whole night. She barely managed any sleep with all the noise there. Finally they got her to the ward on E level on a trolley, it wasn’t even on a bay, inside the ward but on the corridor. And this morning they brought her here at 03:00 am from that corridor to this corridor. Not even a bed?’, said a patient’s daughter stopping me on my way to the cubicle to assess a sick patient. 

2 people in green uniforms. By the looks of it paramedics are here to transport a patient? ‘I am chasing the SHO with a discharge summary, does the patient need to be seen this morning? She was medically fit yesterday’, the ward clerk asked. ‘After he is done with the summary, I’ll ask the SHO1 to eyeball her’.  ‘We can’t wait more than half an hour. It’s been 10 minutes already. We’ll have to leave otherwise and the transport will have to be rebooked from your end’. The paramedic appears frustrated. ‘It won’t be long’, I reassure him, and pass over the message to my colleague. Meanwhile  A&E nurse showed up with another patient in the trolley, ‘I have been asked to bring the patient here’, she said. ‘But we are not ready yet, the patient hasn’t even left’, the ward clerk replied. Now I can understand the anxiety in her voice; she is aware of the wave of work, stress and the calamity the ‘black alert’ will unfold, more than any of us. ‘Put him to the escalation bed then’, she said with a big sigh.  

Escalation bed is a temporary bed for patients whilst waiting for hospital bed in wards. Every hospital has a fixed number of beds, like example 800 bed hospital, 1100 bed hospital. Beds correspond to the number of patients  admitted in the hospital and, without saying, reflects capacity of that hospital to provide in-patient services for them. Larger chunk of budget cut is received from the trust for these services which is then allocated to various resources including staffing levels.  Escalation beds are usually a winter pressure thing, so when patients are being wheeled around asking for escalation beds we know ‘shit has hit the fan’. On a side note, I now know where that ‘statement’ comes from. I have literally walked in patient rooms where the goo was literally sprayed on the wall and on the ceiling. It always baffles me how that happens and ofcourse the high force pressure it must have required to reach that distance. Anyways, you might ask what ‘winter pressure’ is? 

Every winter the NHS sees a large flock of patients through their doors. 

The emergency department, the outpatient services, the wards, in the community GP and pharmacy services; basically everywhere. Winter makes people susceptible to cold, seasonal flu hence the exacerbation of asthma, exacerbation of COPDs, any chronic lung diseases. Add Covid, its not gone yet and we still don’t have firm policy to what to do about ‘incidentally positive ones’. Elderly frail patients with multiple comorbidities like heart failures, kidney failures are even more susceptible in winters so we see still more admissions in that age group. Then there is an influx of homeless people to avoid the cold, the surge in addiction problems with drugs & alcohol, mental health patients with isolation & depression. And often still in astounding numbers for social reasons; especially with the vulnerable population elderly or disabled.  Example , the radiator is not working, the step access to the main door is too slippery with fall risk, the carers have quit or aren’t back from their christmas leaves. 

Holiday admissions are low on Christmas. People want to be with their families. So unless they are really unwell they want to avoid admission. After Christmas or new year the number builds up again. The diabetes control has gone off with all the sweets and bakeries, alcohol intoxication and accidents aftermaths, the son /daughter/family member noticed ‘you are paler than usual or you have lost weight or you are forgetting things or you sound confused’. Everything adds to winter pressure. 

Escalation beds showing up early in some sense is alarming. Because it suggests, NHS may not be well prepared for winter pressures. But again nowadays they are routinely deployed to create extra space throughout the year. There were 14 ambulances on the queue outside the A&E door at the beginning of our shift. Now there are none. Excellent work! A trust is fined roughly 400£ for half an hour delay in ambulance handover, about 1000£ for queuing outside an hour. We have managed to avoid the penalty and achieved a golden star checklist! But my colleague at the end of her 12 and half hour shift was in tears at 10pm. She couldn’t explain to the team how 5 patients have suddenly appeared on the ward and the system says ‘the wait time was 5 hours?’. All queuing on escalation beds. Sometimes you just have to keep quiet when a frustrated daughter has a handful of things to say. Where do you even begin explaining why she is in a corridor on that bed? Except, to say ‘ we apologize, we are trying our best’.

So you’re a doc, a foreign cuisine and Corona happened. Travel

So, I managed to travel to a few countries in the past 2 months . With my friend getting married in two different countries, I had a wonderful reason to finally have a start. When I did, I genuinely questioned, why had I not done it sooner? Not only was I missing out on these wonderful places waiting to be explored but great experience of  meeting people from various  parts of the world with their own unique cultures & traditions, missing out on the opportunities  of hearing their stories & from other travelers, open my heart & mind  to new adventures and most importantly, learning the ways of the world. I will say, it has absolutely been a  positive experience and I would encourage anyone, no matter how old you are, to consider traveling. This statement excludes anyone under 18 and that is my view, unless you are traveling with family.  

For a start, I didn’t realize how poor I was at micro-managing myself.  Beginning from simple tasks like booking flights, tickets, hotel rooms & tours to planning my routes and navigating the places I wanted to visit ‘in time’ has been quite an exercise.  During my lengths of stay, I  had to communicate with the locals often which I believe has sharpened my people skills. And although, to be entirely honest, most people in the respective countries spoke or at least understood English so language was never a barrier  but I would still like to see it as a win. Of course the environment plays a major factor in our moods, there is a reason why countries that don’t see the sun much are the most on the anti-depressant pills, especially on certain seasons; so my cloud of rain over my head had long gone. One and half hour walking alone down the highway, lost from the trekking route, I was still happy high as a kite. Why not? It is vacation time. And god knows how much I owed it to myself. 

I feel one appreciates life in a different way when one travels. For me, everytime I travel is like a life changing experience. Like when you  soak your eyes to the sceneries- of the sea, hills, mountains and greeneries; does it not ignite some feelings in you?  Does it not make you stand there in awe looking at all the beauty we are blessed surrounding us?  Does it not make you want to  sing a song and dance with happiness, chirp like birds and swim like fishes? Maybe that is  just my feeling. Because for me, it even makes me wish that I could live a little longer to see it all, even till my hundreds, as long as I have strength still left in my legs, sight in my eyes, control over my bladder & bowel and a functioning brain. Because experiences are only as good as the memory it gives.  I will not appreciate the beauty of what I see, if I do not understand  its value for  me. 

I feel traveling is a life changing experience for many individuals in a different way as well. Witnessing life outside the confines of what one knows or are used to; like  the courtyards, the laughter, the singing, lush and the bountiful blessing and there is this other side; the hustle, the poverty and the scarcity.  As if  almost by instinct, I found myself  continuously evaluating my own situation and self reflecting without even intending to do so. I wonder if there is a known phenomenon like that?  Hopefully all the thoughts, reflections and the occurrence  leads to decisions being made on a positive trajectory. Even if it is a decision as simple as bringing comfortable footwear on the next trip. At least I realized how important it is to wear the right footwear. For the  feet, for the knees and the back. 

The major appreciation I derived from my journeys especially whilst solo traveling is, realization that ‘I am one capable strong individual. And I can handle any curve balls life throws at me.’ Not that I didn’t know it prior, but it’s the feeling, the confidence I feel in me now. Also, ‘family’. All the happy places I saw had families, parents with children, grandparents with children, 2 -3 houses coming together for dinners. In each country I went.  ‘They are not any different from us’, I know it was very obvious to state, and strange that would come in my mind, but participating in my friend’s wedding became sort of like a revelation of my own ‘pre judgemental views’ that I was not aware of. That ‘us Asians are the only family bonded people’.  I suppose in multiple subtle ways that’s what has been implanted in our thoughts since we were children in general in Asia. Our societies and parents comparing our upbringing with the children in the west; with their statistics of divorces, multiple marriages, teen homelessness etc. ‘The whites, they can’t wait to throw their kids out of the house when they are 18. Once the children have grown, they say ‘hands off, off you go’. What I was seeing was a celebration with 600 guests, tapping their feets and moving with the rhythm all night and the next day! One whole big family.’ Oh my god, the Romanian’s  wedding. I say, a must attend.  

There are things to consider while travelling, I wouldn’t say necessarily ‘downsides’ of it. But, of course like any other places in the world, there are troublesome people you may come across in travels. It is important to be vigilant and hyper aware of your surroundings. My number one focus during my travel was safety, so a good hotel was major part of my budget even if it meant cutting back on other expenses. Be careful of the company you are keeping. And of course be mindful and respectful of the locals living there. There was a frame hung on one of the walls of the house from ‘SaveOia’ campaign  that read, ‘RESPECT. It’s your holiday… but it’s our home. We welcome you’. The host countries shouldn’t have to feel disrespected and intimidated from travelers so it was sad to see that the tourists had to be reminded of it.

‘There is the possibility of falling objects from the surrounding airspace. Keep calm! Take shelter in basements or in civil protection shelters. If there is no shelter around you, stay inside the house and keep away from windows and outside facing walls. Estimated duration 90 mins. ‘ This was the automatic text I received, on my first day in Romania. ‘Well across our port of Romania is the Ukraine’s port so we keep getting these messages’, the manager of the hotel spoke, ‘but don’t worry its fine’. ‘Its fine‘, like you hear Australians saying in the videos when they spot giant spiders in their wall like they are used to it. To be honest, nothing happened. So it was fine. You know what was not fine, coming back and finding out the bed bugs are all crawling over in the trains and busses in london? COVID pandemic okay okay but bed bug epidemic? What the heck is world getting into??

So you’re a doc, a foreign cuisine and corona happened.

Abandoned by his biological parents, stripped off the name his identity was built on by his adoptive parents, broke, homeless and  an alcohol addiction that he never admitted to; that’s the first impression that comes to mind, when I think of him.  ‘This man’ I have known for almost about a year now, on and off. In those times, maybe I have spent 3-4 weeks at most trying to learn about him and this new relationship  that we both seem to be desperately pursuing. Felt like the odds were always against us.  Like sitting on a rocking boat at mercy of waves as though this sail was never meant to set out to see the world. ‘ I missed him’. And my friends asked. ‘Why?’. In the right sense of mind it indeed seemed like an illogical pick when they stacked one after another evidence on a pile against him. ‘This is not a person of your type. Not only is he financially an unwise decision but he is emotionally a bad decision as well. We are worried you will get hurt’. Naturally an assumption is, at his age, women have certain expectations with regards to their possible partner’s career, security of paychecks, an establishment of some sort or atleast building up to it; when I met him, he didn’t have any. ‘Red flag, red flag’. A part of me for some reason decided to turn a blind eye. Maybe looking at my own parents, who built their home out of nothing together. ‘Money is important but not everything’ they always said. Something was pulling me towards him and honest to god I hoped, it’s because I saw genuinity  or something similarly wonderful in him, that was worth fighting for.  ‘Trauma bonds’, I read. The experts suggest, best to veer away from those associations and not to confuse those emotions with love as it can be a beginning of a very unhealthy toxic relationship. 

When I met him after 7 months, a few days before; I realized once again how charming he was. Constantly joking, continuously flirting, laughing very often. His speech was fast as always with  a mild accent and I found it difficult to catch his words again, asking him to repeat a few times before I could answer. His fingers were typing on the phone  often as they blinked or vibrated, I don’t know, I didn’t really pay attention to what his cue was.  A glass of merlot & a couple of beers and the evening seemed to be going on fine. His hair was longer, still blondish, wasn’t much of a change then what it used to be, styled to one side. I wondered if it was still very soft, I had never felt hair so soft in an adult before. Of course that was more than 7 months ago. He was wearing a black vest and a black shirt, black seems to be his comfort color. I remember the noise his boots made, from across the road when I was making my way to our first date. I followed him for a few yards as we were headed in the same direction, listening to the loud boot noise, only to discover when the door opened he was my date. I suppose I didn’t pay attention that evening, whether he was wearing his same favorite boots or not.  In the morning, I was excited at the thought of seeing him.  In the evening I still was wrapped in his charms but I couldn’t dare myself to hold his hands or hug him. The walls around me were building up high suddenly  and it felt sad to realize, he somehow brought that in me. 

We parted our ways having talked about how we should focus on our relationship goals. That breaking on and off and coming back together was not good for either of us, which seemed to be our pattern. I took a late train 2 hours away from the city and he took his, parting our ways in different directions. We had plans for a trip to Italy around that week which was later canceled and that ignited another cold war. This wasn’t the first time he was canceling, he was constantly changing his mind and his circumstances were constantly changing as well. It had reached a point where I stopped taking him seriously with any time commitments he gave. I have changed a lot of my plans to accommodate him in the past  and in this instance also lost a close friend.

‘He is a very people person’. You wouldn’t think someone so socially adaptable would be a lonely soul. His series of misfortunes seems to have never left by his side. Result of that is, he is a bitter person tired and angry. With suppressed anger spilling in bursts and thoughts of self harm. Confident and very dynamic on the surface, his charming self hiding  frustrations behind his smile, restless with insecurities underneath and constantly looking for reassurance. 

‘I cannot read what is going inside his mind, if he doesn’t communicate.’ It’s difficult  for me at times because I am dealing with my own things.  And it feels like  he doesn’t seem to want to understand that. On those days, it feels like I am an adult with responsibility for a child with temper and many more issues. ‘Was I not looking for someone to share life with, to make memories with, to put our heads together and solve our problems, to go out and conquer the world?’

His business collapsed around the time I met him. We had issues with trust, probable affairs, who knows what else. But we managed to be in touch on the phone- messaging, calls once in blue moons. Life was moving. I was doing great on my own. He was taking double jobs. He owed me some money so he wanted to reassure me he was going to pay me back. Nothing more attractive  than a hard working and honest man, 7 months later, I found  myself back on that date. 

He had packed a lot of his stuff in the car when he was moving which got broken into last week. The thieves stole all his branded clothes, laptop & accessories. As expected, he was devastated, annoyed and cursive. The incident left him extra rattled as this car, they broke into and smashed the window pane and damaged the seats, was his absolute joy and life. The number of times I had asked him to sell it for a few hundred quids when his bank account was in negative but he still wouldn’t sell it. I guess in some ways I could relate to that feeling, people do get attached to their materials. He liked making an entrance with that car. ‘Red’. Can’t imagine if any other color would capture his flamboyant personality better. Although, he does flip very often. The sound his car engine makes when he presses the accelerator gives him an absolute thrill. It was a pleasure to watch. His face completely changes then like plastering a smile on it with twinkly eyes. 

Today he told me, he has a cancer. And that’s why he was away etc etc. He thinks he may not have much to live or Idk what he implying. Then he suddenly said, no it’s all clear. ‘They said, I’ll be fine.’ I don’t know how I should take the news because it’s not like I didn’t know there was something wrong in our relationship to begin with. His constant questioning of ‘what would you do if you knew you were going to die tomorrow?’, expression of self harm thoughts; there were clues. When he finally admitted after months and months of prodding, yes indeed there is something wrong, I reacted, my first response was ‘anger’.  Whenever I would ask him, ‘are you being honest with me?’, he would laugh and gaslight me as if I was the one who was crazy. ‘Love me, I need you’, he said to me today. Do I even believe him? These constant linings of mishaps/misfortunes one after another, what is a normal week with him? These series of events? 

‘Why do you expect that from me?’, I asked. ‘Like for all your life, you fell out of your relationships and never worked on them and now, when you are worried you might be dying alone, you want me to be your company, to be your carer?’.

I was harsh, very cruel. He was absolutely mortified and hurt. 

But I had to stand for myself. He had plenty of opportunities to let me know.  Fine if he didn’t want to because we were in and out of relationship like yoyo. But, this is a man who promised me and wanted assurance from me a few days ago, that no matter what happens we’ll stick by each other. We were talking about children and the future! He wants me to live in that dream while he blinds me from reality. How selfish is it? That he cares so much about himself that he doesn’t even consider how it will affect me for the rest of my life? I’ll be hurt. He doesn’t seem to grasp that concept. He keeps repeating. ‘Its my life, I do what I want’, while expecting me to commit to him 100%? When I disagreed, he capped my cake with cherry on top saying, ‘you are a bad doctor.’

It seems my profession will follow me all my life and the ties with it. Would I be wrong in speaking my mind out, that the society and  the individual people today expects us to be living our life in full self sacrifice, without a return, without a payment and just a simple ‘Thank you’, and ‘claps’?  Should we not dare dream of life outside the clocks and the walls, to live in a colorful world where we are not surrounded by  the dead, dying and the diseased?  We are living in a tunnelled world, life with family and friends is what gives us a balance.

Well… He said he lived his life to the fullest and didn’t have any regrets of the past. I feel a little at ease to hear that.  I can tell from his stories, he did. For someone who always wanted to have closeness in a family, he did not really invest in it when he was younger.  As much as he likes pointing out, I am a doctor, he fails to understand, that is why I know he was not and will not be the first person to realize the value of family support at times like this. People fail to see and understand the priorities in life. What seems like a hassle and work now; commitment, investment and bearing on one’s responsibility in family; the ultimate rewards of it is truly worth it -pure love and infinite support. And everyone, every living thing in life has to earn it. 

For now, I don’t know the complete story. I hope he tells me one day. Whether it is true and he is indeed being selfish, or whether he is being dishonest and wants to my devoted attention and therefore is being selfish… I don’t know. I wonder if it is hard for him to grasp the idea that I have feelings, and maybe it does hurt me to hear every so often ‘I need a reason to live’ from a person I care. Choosing to stand with him is perhaps the most unselfish thing I have done for myself in my life.

So you’re a doc, a foreign cuisine and Corona happened. (Learning medicine from experinces)

My parents were tough village people. Scorched my son, beaten down by the rain and hail storms. Working sweats on unyielding fields of hilly terrains, walking miles on foot to start their day with nothing but breath of fresh mountain air. Up even before the rooster had crowed and going to rest only after the dark has completely blanketed everything around them. And although different  religions swept their communities time and again, their belief and practice and way of life were mainly  influenced by nature. They believed in the force of nature and the forest spirits. And before the beginning of any gathering, hunting, pasturing or ceremonial activities it was important that these forest spirits were pleased. Prayers, hymns and small sacrifices. Yellow and white strings, dhajas(red cotton cloth) tied ceremonially around the tree trunks and rows of string flags. 

With their ways of life, herbal medications like roots, barks, leaves and seeds were important to my parents. So was honey and certain animal products. I hope this now better explains my mother’s fondness for searching weird things as ‘medicinal’.  The river frogs, rhino’s pee and god knows what. So, when the group of honey gatherers from her village offered her some wild honey, as you can tell, she wasn’ the one to say ‘No’. One day, she is just walking from room to room complaining of dizziness and feeling sick for hours. Appearing bloated and looking dazed, then later tells me she had some ‘mad honey’. I was well young myself back then and didn’t know what it was. Only now, when the internet has exploded with videos of hallucinogenic wild honey from Nepal on youtube, does it all make sense. She was tripping and was having a reaction because of the high dose. Most of my aunts and some of my uncles have their own story of this special honey and most of it ends with them ending in hospital with severe diarrhea and vomiting. Luckily it was unpleasant enough for them, not to try again.  Now, it has been found that the honey contains something called ‘grayanotoxin’ which is derived from certain species of rhododendron flowers in Nepal. Rhododendron is Nepal’s national flower. I haven’t been out much to  the rural outskirts of Nepal so wouldn’t be able to comment, but dad describes, ‘forest filled with just colours everywhere in spring’. 

Reason my mom and her friends reported for consuming honey was, it is known to cure abdominal problems and blood pressure problems. Of Course they didn’t tell me, it is also popular for its likely aphrodisiac property. A bit extra dose and they might have had serious effects like heart blocks and even heart attacks. It works similar to pesticide poisoning and treatment in a hospital setting is with atropine. Gathering information is important here.  It’s not just honey, it’s honey coming from certain parts of the world. 

My parents’ community were not adaptive to bee farming in those days, as far as I am aware. Mainly because, sources for honey were plentiful and honey hunting was more of ritual. Few spoonfuls/ounces from these gatherings were shared with everyone. Local honey from working bees was plentiful nearby. My father reports he has been stung by bees and hornets many times. Mainly when he was a kid and one of their favourite times with his friends would be throwing stones at their nest and running away. He reports sitting down with facial swelling and puffiness for some of those days. ‘They can sting you multiple times and they really chase you’, he says. In their bee stories, my mom recently mentioned about my cousin, who recently went for honey hunting and ended up in hospital with multiple stings and swelling. ‘They had to give him IV fluids and I heard his kidney almost failed’. It is dangerous how little my parents know and our communities with these rituals know about toxic effects of some of these poisonous stings and their products. They do know they are dangerous and can be life threatening and I wonder if the appeal of ‘honey hunting’ is its adventure for the men, but they don’t seem to have a clue  that there is a thing called allergic reaction. When asked, ‘don’t you think this is dangerous?’. My parents shrug it off saying ‘only the sting of the hornets and only if you get bitten multiple times. And yeah, that’s why you don’t eat more than a spoonful of that honey!’. Back in kathmandu when I was in 6/7 I got stung by a bee, a wasp or a hornet. I don’t know when I was in school. As I walked back home, I started swelling. Sat with my face and cheeks swollen for 3 days, unable to open a side of my eye. ‘You must have been stung by a hornet’, my mom said, ‘Don’t worry, it will settle down in 3-4 days.’ And it did. Mom was laughing at me. Needless to say, she has witnessed it multiple times in her life. I always presumed, anyone bitten by bees/ wasp/hornets would puff out. Only later did I learn in medical school there is a thing called allergic reaction. I might have had a mild allergic reaction.

My aunt recently told me  why she would never dare try the renowned honey. ‘Because we don’t know the quantity we should take and I don’t want to take a risk with my life again. I was certain I was dying then. I was crying. My throat was very dry, I was constantly sipping water, fearing my tongue would fall down on my throat. My heart was palpitating so fast. Look how selfish our human mind dear, at those hours when I thought I absolutely was dying all I thought was, ‘if I could hear my husband’s  voice one last time.’ He was out of the country. My little boy was with me. I was thinking if my older son comes back from the hostel, he might ask about me. All I thought was about my sons and my husband who wasn’t there. Didn’t even think about my parents for a second, who raised me all my life. I feel guilty now’. 

‘I had an induced abortion that day. Like they recommend with all pregnant and lactating women, I decided to make myself a battis masala (32 herbs mixture) for recovery. I didn’t know the proportion I had to make and I had a lot of nutmegs at home, so I added it in my soup. The symptoms began a few hours after. I went back to hospital thinking they must have given me something wrong or perforated my uterus whilst on instrumentation. They checked me and said I was all fine and I was sent home. I still felt unwell with a dry throat, my voice receding, my heart beating fast and panicky. So I went to a different hospital. They too checked me and said I was fine. When I returned home a third time with doctors saying repeatedly ‘there is nothing wrong with you’, I just sat there preparing myself for the end. I told my sister ‘If I die, don’t let my sons be orphans. Put them in a hostel full time, so they don’t miss much home.’ I stopped drinking the soup. It was still valuable to throw away so I asked my siblings to take the remaining batch for themselves. The next day my siblings called me saying they were experiencing the same symptoms. That’s when we found it was nutmeg toxicity. We gotta be careful with these herbs, spices and medications dear. Sure they are good but only in the right amount. I wouldn’t dare try anything without an approved recommendation’. 

My auntie has learnt valuable lessons from her experiences. My mom and other aunts are still sitting on the border. These are medicinal ailments they grew up with knowing most of their lives but never learning the precise effects. ‘Little knowledge is dangerous’, whoever said it, trust me, was very right.