tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37111076241200279202024-03-05T22:33:43.902-08:003eeraqimedic retrieved3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.comBlogger141125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-55202323722365927722022-09-25T14:16:00.000-07:002022-09-25T14:16:02.319-07:00Comparative faith <p> Who says the Middle Ages were all dark? </p><p>There was religious fervour </p><p>Lots of exclusively male spiritual events </p><p>With music or chanting </p><p><a href="https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=kK5AohCMX0U">https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=kK5AohCMX0U</a></p><p>And we are just going through the same phase which is nearly happening a few hundred years later similar to gap between the start of it all </p><p><a href="https://youtu.be/-cicQ_wp02Q">https://youtu.be/-cicQ_wp02Q</a></p><p>The adolescent stage of religion </p><p>Full of recklessness</p><p>Dangerous living </p><p>Arguments with other who don’t get you </p><p>Full knowledge and absolute conviction </p><p>Acne</p><p>And some of the most wonderful art and songs</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-42556991079343633592022-04-25T18:42:00.004-07:002022-04-25T18:42:50.703-07:00Autonomy<p> It seems strange to others that this is the stumbling block</p><p>Not the security situation ever fragile</p><p>Not the financial situation so divided</p><p>Not the systems or lack thereof</p><p>No </p><p>The concept of secrecy being the best medicine</p><p>The deeply engrained concept that knowledge leads to loss of hope</p><p>That if only loved ones are kept in the dark they will not give up </p><p>And that in their ignorance hope remains alive</p><p>The vast majority of my medical career has been practiced where the reverse is hammered into our brains</p><p>We attend courses on how to do it</p><p>We observe seniors</p><p>And are observed and signed off before being let loose on patients alone</p><p>Autonomy is the goal</p><p>Knowledge is the only way to consent </p><p>Consent the only route to treatment </p><p>And only if discussed openly can wishes become the whole team's aims</p><p>I was the one who explained the scan to my mother</p><p>I was the one who translated medical jargon into steps and durations</p><p>"You can tell me, I will not break down don't worry" she told the consultant on the phone informing her that nothing could be done</p><p>We had four weeks </p><p>We all dropped everything and moved in </p><p>We screamed, shouted, cursed and cried </p><p>There were nights of truths never previously spoken</p><p>And our relationship with each other will never be the same again </p><p>But</p><p>As she lay on her bed with two daughters curled up on the ground on either side of her bed</p><p>She whispered "time to sleep girl"</p><p>And there is peace in knowing we knew she knew we were there because we wanted to be</p>3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-89629636954400113422022-01-09T11:14:00.001-08:002022-01-09T11:14:21.987-08:00Maybe in a few centuries <p> I remember the events with such clarity</p><p>Thats what happens when you are shocked</p><p>I am walking along the crowded narrow side road in Shorja with my mother</p><p>I am 13 or 14 years old</p><p>Suddenly I am jolted by someone's hand pressed between my legs </p><p>I am so taken by surprise that it takes a few seconds to actually register what has happened </p><p>By the time I turn there is no-one there, it is too late and I later realise that I am never fast enough to actually see the person let alone do anything about it</p><p>Once I slap my arm around frantically after another episode and strike an older woman behind me, our eyes meet, I am bright red she nods and I know she understands but whoever it was slipped in and out of the crowd.</p><p>I start to avoid the entire area, and try to get out of going there</p><p>When there is no way out, I dress in the baggiest ugliest clothing I can find, including my father's oversized army sweaters</p><p>I take to carrying a large bag strategically positioned to completely cover my back from the waist down to the thighs (an only slightly less shocking grope was hands pressed into my waist or almost encircling it)</p><p>The last time I remember being manhandled was in the airport the last time I flew out of Baghdad, without my trusty bag and last in the family line I remember thinking the tall man had a strange look about him, but was too afraid that he was an official to say anything before settling into the flight knowing the groper was on board with us.</p><p>I try not to recall these memories</p><p>The behaviour of my male countrymen was one vital factor in the sense of being "home" when I eventually settled here, the first time I sat down in a coffee shop alone and relaxed knowing that what I was doing how I looked or dressed mattered not one bit to anyone else.</p><p>So why the resurfaced memory?</p><p>In the early hours of the morning of the 1st day of this year I picked up my 19year old daughter from a new year's eve party she had been to in London, and sensed she was seething</p><p>It took a while on the drive home for her to tell me what had happened that night, and at times before that</p><p>The leering, the comments, the drivers slowing down as she walked to school</p><p>Then the number of times she had swatted men's arms off her waist at parties, asking politely to be left alone, and then less politely if they persisted </p><p>Tonight one of the offenders was on the receiving end of every single curse word she had learnt in her life in Arabic.....</p><p>After I calm down </p><p>I try to rationalise to myself</p><p>At least she isn't being groped in the street in the daytime </p><p>And she has the confidence I lacked to deal with it </p><p>But that does nothing to the sinking feeling in my stomach...maybe in a few centuries's time....we will be safe</p>3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-17665322761995199482021-07-03T14:54:00.004-07:002021-07-03T14:56:35.154-07:00Letting go <p> </p><p><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">One year ago</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Linked chain </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Pressure like none before </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Crowded cluttered </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">This doctor daughter</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Breaking the news </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Predicting</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Secret pains spoken </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Old ones poured into journals </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Telling Me not to cry! </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Asking Me not to get upset! </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Your mind sharp</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Lapsing into Arabic </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Asking the vicar if he was from the Church at the “Rass El <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Shareh”</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Sleeplessly failing </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">To keep the fragile shell intact </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Anger erupting </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Running in the rain </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Soaked under the tree in the cemetery </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Screaming at the sky </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Cursing whatever </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Out there allows such agony </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Tears spent </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I return</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">“What is today?” you ask</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">“Why does dying take so long? ” you ask </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">In under a week you were ready to let go</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">In under a year we have all let go…..</span></p>3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-91209460705193495772021-03-22T13:53:00.000-07:002021-03-22T13:53:32.277-07:00One click eternal<p>Don’t read too much into it </p><p>It is a most extraordinary time </p><p>Ample alternative explanations </p><p>The edge there all along </p><p>I would have jumped </p><p>Even if not pushed </p><p>Lifted for a second </p><p>Off the ground </p><p>Light and lightheaded </p><p>Smile so wide</p><p>More than I have for half year or more</p><p>Looking back so far back </p><p>Thirty years or more </p><p>Innocence and indifference </p><p>Choices and decisions </p><p>When I thought I could have it all </p><p>Laughter bubbling up inside </p><p>And then </p><p>A moment when my stomach is left behind </p><p>As I stop....then fall.....faster and faster </p><p>Panic overcomes me </p><p>I flail clutching at hope eternal </p><p>And fall some more </p><p>Just before I crash </p><p>“Hi”</p><p>A posy</p><p>A warm feeling </p><p>I accept hope eternal</p><p>I sway on the edge again </p><p>I see the ravine now </p><p>And it is oh so tempting </p>3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-20801179729219563322021-02-10T13:57:00.001-08:002021-02-10T13:57:07.197-08:00Our Nuha <p> <a href="https://www.c-span.org/video/?181127-1/baghdad-diaries-womans-chronicle-war-exile&fbclid=IwAR12p6uuxWRCx_M78PgbUUZkigzIQSK9GW7KCNxlW9bTqWgH9YfYCK-OLM4">https://www.c-span.org/video/?181127-1/baghdad-diaries-womans-chronicle-war-exile&fbclid=IwAR12p6uuxWRCx_M78PgbUUZkigzIQSK9GW7KCNxlW9bTqWgH9YfYCK-OLM4</a></p><p><br /></p><p>Shared by her sister in law and copied here </p><p>How long ago this was 17 years already </p><p>There is something so very different about a video a recording of the voice the intonation the send of humour even in the darkness </p><p>Ah Nuha..... rest in peace </p>3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-24588341309359113662020-04-10T12:14:00.002-07:002020-04-10T12:14:20.551-07:00All medical advances since Spanish flu pandemic wiped out by COVID-19There is an eerie silence about the world.<br />
<br />
I love the clear sound of birdsong without the noisy cars and planes<br />
<br />
But hate the distancing we all have to practice<br />
<br />
I have for the past five weeks been repeatedly reminded of a different time, a different place<br />
Of the 1980s war the silence after the sirens went off as we waited for the sounds of the fighter planes overhead <br />
<br />
Of the months spent at home when university was closed during a particularly hideous battle and all male students where drafted in and taken to training camps<br />
<br />
Of Dhuha my very first patient with acute leukaemia, trying my best to treat her during a war, under-treating because to give full dose would render her so ill and we didn't have what we needed to support her through, two months of directed transfusions from staff and family fresh blood when platelets were not available, taking her into the office in "isolation" every day when the hospital became full of visitors to protect her from catching an infection<br />
<br />
I am on the face of it coping better than my peers I feel that I have been through this before and know that somehow we will find the inner strength to overcome<br />
<br />
Other younger colleagues are in a state of shock at how quickly the world has changes<br />
At how fragile our existence and all we take for granted really is<br />
<br />
It will take many months to recover I say to them....<br />
It is going to get a lot worse, before it gets better.....<br />
It is best that we stay in the hospital for a week at a time and alternate rather than all be here at the same time....<br />
<br />
We have like every other hospital lost around half of our staff through prior ill health meaning people are at risk of working, through illness, or the illness of someone in their family.<br />
<br />
We have discovered the joys of zoom meetings (and got to see other people in their kitchens and what art people have on their walls)<br />
<br />
We have brought in a temporary mortuary, ours has even been in the news after the team from podiatry were redeployed and had the duty of moving 40 patients into the new premises after a particularly bad weekend and published details online<br />
<br />
We have wards that you can only enter after you have donned goggles, mask, full gown and gloves, and where everyone looks the same and it is difficult to speak, or be heard<br />
<br />
We have five times as many ITU beds as we used to, with ventilators in surgical wards, in cardiac wards and in theatres<br />
<br />
We have at last count 200+ COVID patients, nearly 60 in ITU<br />
<br />
We have daily meetings where a team go through the list of thirty or so admissions from the day before and assign for or not for ventilation decisions based on risk factors (age over 65, diabetes, high blood pressure, prior lung disease, smoking, obesity) if you end up being ventilated and you have these risk factors there is a 70% chance you will never wake up, and when ventilators are scarce and patients stay on them for weeks a decision is made on admission that ITU will not be called even if you deteriorate<br />
<br />
We have rows of patients all with the same disease, pale, hot sweaty with purple lips gasping for air in bays of six beds separated now from the corridors and nurses' areas by rapidly constructed temporary walls of plywood and plastic windows<br />
<br />
We have patients ventilated on their stomachs losing blood from somewhere who cannot be investigated<br />
<br />
We have patients going into cardiac arrest on the ward and a five to ten minute wait for the team to don the PPE before they can attend<br />
<br />
But what we do not have is people with heart attacks, people with strokes, people with a whole long list of other conditions, they are staying away from hospital for fear of being a burden and for fear of becoming infected<br />
<br />
What we don't have is the ability to treat patients with appropriate treatments<br />
<br />
Patients with heart attacks no longer have emergency angioplasty, instead they are having bedside thrombolysis, something I remember doing in the 1980s<br />
<br />
Patients with cancer have their treatment stopped or not started if their life expectancy is less than one year, they have their treatment delayed if their life expectancy is five years<br />
<br />
The only cancers being treated are those with >50% chance of cure, and even then they are being treated with reduced doses, less frequent courses and with everyone wondering if they will survive until their next course or if they will succumb to pneumonia, there is of course no ventilation for cancer patients<br />
<br />
And if they get admitted for any other reason they die of COVID in hospital possibly from someone else or from one of us untested doctors or nurses who might have a very mild or symptom free disease<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-62723483717106618982020-02-02T08:45:00.000-08:002020-02-02T08:45:24.284-08:00This also will passAfter nearly thirty years<br />
Wars<br />
Separation<br />
Exile<br />
Struggle<br />
Loss<br />
Exhaustion<br />
Elation<br />
And two amazing gifts<br />
<br />
We are entangled despite the silence you maintain<br />
Linked despite the barriers you put up<br />
<br />
Your second fall into this darkness<br />
Memories of all of mine<br />
<br />
You cannot work<br />
So I work for both of us<br />
You cannot plan<br />
So I plan for both of us<br />
You cannot talk<br />
So I talk for both of us<br />
You cannot cry<br />
So I cry for both of us<br />
You cannot hug<br />
So I hug for both of us<br />
<br />
This also will pass3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-28060891199461728192019-06-05T23:31:00.004-07:002019-06-05T23:31:57.035-07:00Fractions of a minuteMy patients are sick and the funds scarce<br />
My twins sit ten GCSE's each<br />
My mother waiting for cardiac surgery cannot walk and talk at the same time<br />
My father waiting for cardiac investigations cannot remember when his last bout of pain was<br />
My husband facing disciplinary proceedings and dismissal, delayed so far by an eighteen month legal battle that has cost us and our extended family £180,000, third court appearance due in two weeks, defeat will mean certain repossession of the family home.<br />
<br />
For the majority of my waking moments my face is tense, my mind spinning and chest tight<br />
<br />
But regardless of how few hours ago I eventually drifted into a nightmare filled mentally spent sleep<br />
<br />
There are a few seconds of every morning<br />
Sandwiched between the second my eyes open, and the second my brain logs on to the mountains I need to climb<br />
When I have an empty clear head<br />
<br />
For those calm fractions of a minute every day I am grateful3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-85910219828832785622018-12-06T11:48:00.001-08:002018-12-06T11:48:18.167-08:00DementiaAverage survival predicted ten years and you have early stage....that was four years ago<br />
<br />
My sixteen year old daughter summed it up nicely<br />
<br />
The great thing about Jido is every time we see him it is like groundhog day, he asks exactly the same questions, and you get the chance to answer them ever so slightly differently until you find the answer that makes him happiest3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-25644030803226630062018-05-24T15:53:00.004-07:002018-05-24T15:57:07.180-07:00Belated knowledge<br />
Not my usual day I must be honest<br />
<br />
I received the email last week, and couldn't really argue; it was true the patient was a lot closer to us than to he hospital that had been advising on her blood results recently, yes of course we could take over, this was expected to be a short-term situation until the patient could be moved closer home.<br />
<br />
The patient was non-resident, she had arrived by plane, taken a train to central London and then presented to accident and emergency and had been in one hospital or another for the past four week.<br />
<br />
I had planned on seeing her on the ward round, yesterday frantic emails about deterioration etc made things more pressing and so this afternoon with my trustee trainees we went on a visit.<br />
<br />
Just across the road from our "home" hospital, across the car park and into the two storey building.<br />
<br />
I guess I should have picked up the cues but just thought it odd that we had to be buzzed in, not only the main entrance but at every step of the way, through reception one door closing before the other opened, up one flight of stairs to another locked door and then we had arrived.<br />
Corridors with a faint urinal smell, a hush broken by the young woman in pink leisure suit with headphones cursing loudly<br />
<br />
After an initial stutter we explained who we were and who we had come to see, a nurse said she would find her for us<br />
<br />
A tall skinny woman a few months my senior, dressed in a loose top and tight skirt, her long hair tied into a loose bun falling slightly off centre came walking down towards us.<br />
Introductions followed a detailed history in the corridor, the history was longer than I had appreciated, I expect she had had several years of treatment interrupted probably several times, she told me she had started but not completed medical school, and clearly had the vocabulary, mostly she seemed coherent, with the exception of some almost obsessive repetition of what she felt had caused her leukaemia; namely the food and pollution, well a fair number of people do believe that, so far so regular, she understood about targeted therapy, and transfusion triggers, but was cagy when asked about where she had been staying in London, and who was back home.<br />
<br />
Can I examine you? I ask, of course she responds and we traipse back down the corridor to her room, she unlocks the door and invites us in, my trainee stands at the door, I am not sure that is necessary but she insists<br />
I examine her lungs which are clear, her legs swollen and tense, her spleen about 7cm below her rib edge.<br />
<br />
We continue talking, and she is now repeating herself, we are talking about minerals and fluids, and diet and snippets of history it is becoming a little less regular as she describes the ambulance personal as white faced with hair that changed on route, and empty eye sockets.<br />
<br />
She reaches out to my arm and declares You are human, you know not everyone here is.<br />
I extract myself and bump into a nurse passing by, are you alright she asks? I think so I respond, but your patient is talking about feeling suicidal if she is kept locked up.<br />
<br />
The nurse escorts us back to reception and after closing the door asks, do you have self defence training? No? did you have an escort? No? do have alarms on you? No?. This is becoming stranger by the minute.<br />
<br />
Apparently our patient with leukaemia has a history of physical violence against staff and is approached with care.....we must ask for an escort in future....and never enter the room alone!<br />
<br />
Weekly ward rounds are suddenly so much more interesting3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-79872062122808700322018-01-13T07:51:00.000-08:002018-01-13T07:51:03.878-08:00Downhill 30 years a doctorWell in the summer of 2018 it will be 30 years since I graduated.<br />
<br />
Strange how entire weeks and months of our lives merge into sludge, but certain minutes or hours are seared into memory. I remember the day still, walking to the university in light purple sandals, and a dusky pink skirt. The mass of people in the deanery trying to find names on the paper lists pinned to the dusty cloth behind the glass screen. Someone congratulating me before I had reached close enough to see, then another and finally seeing for myself, my name at the very top of the list of graduates for the year.<br />
<br />
I was walking on a cloud, and didn't really want to go home as I basked in the warmth of the sun and of my success.<br />
<br />
Many miles away in a war-torn city my father was distributing fruit squash and sweets.<br />
<br />
That evening my mother took me out to a smart part of town and I remember thinking I have done it I have won.<br />
<br />
I am clearing out the loft conversion into which we moved, when my sick mother came to stay just before her surgery, and this week I have at last discarded the graduation photo, it was creased and in one corner torn, but the final decision to discard it was made easier as I looked through the faces trying to remember more than a handful of names.....<br />
<br />
As we go through the third round of "should I go or should I stay" as both my husband's and my hospitals are both being reshaped by the financially more secure / militarily supported establishment that took them over, and the original team are pushed ever so not gently out of the way, I start to update my CV, thirty years a doctor, fifteen of which I have spent here, and what do I have to show for it? very little it would seem. Fifteen years of gradual decline, gradual loss of specialism and with that expert staff, and a shift from numerous conditions treated, several trials open, and shared care that means we provided some of it in house, to a second rate general dumping lot for conditions other aren't interested in, a median patient age of 75, and I find myself trying to figure out how to publish experience that isn't even really my speciality it is so generic.<br />
<br />
I guess the only consolation is that with a cohort of over 400 graduates distributes over every continent in the world, there are never any reunions.3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-30100289460981102402017-03-11T15:33:00.000-08:002017-03-11T15:33:41.018-08:00I am not your homieDon't act like you know me, like you know me<br />
<br />
I don't know you<br />
<br />
It transpires that I "knew" very little<br />
I "knew" very few<br />
<br />
Expectations, prejudices, and blind trust<br />
<br />
I filled in the gaps<br />
<br />
To complete the storyline<br />
<br />
To justify the anger and pain<br />
<br />
Not only did I lie<br />
Repeatedly<br />
<br />
I wallowed in self pity<br />
<br />
The dead friend...........alive<br />
<br />
The hounded military cousin...............worked for and now living in the States<br />
<br />
Did my childhood memories really happen, or are they also someone else's exagerated sanitised stories; absorbed, assimilated and converted by repetition into into concrete connections<br />
3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-10810069213460151232016-11-28T16:44:00.001-08:002016-11-28T16:44:26.045-08:00Elusive SleepWhen you measure their age in days<br />
You cannot sleep because they don't<br />
<br />
When you measure their age in months<br />
You cannot sleep because they are sick<br />
<br />
When you measure their age in years<br />
You cannot sleep because they have no friends<br />
<br />
No-one tells you before you become a mother<br />
That you will never sleep properly again!3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-39691038928274102472016-10-14T13:58:00.003-07:002016-10-14T13:58:52.576-07:00Compression bandages of lifeI send emoji hugs<br />
I smile and blink away tears<br />
<br />
"H+" come and look<br />
"Is that you?"<br />
Yes<br />
"How old where you then?"<br />
I must have been your age<br />
<br />
The school yard<br />
Impressive building<br />
Arches in the corners<br />
<br />
Memories<br />
The sound of beating drums<br />
Singing and rocking<br />
The sandy brick ground<br />
<br />
It must have been <br />
<br />
The year before<br />
<br />
<br />
It gets easier with every year that passes<br />
Memories fade<br />
Painful jolts infrequent<br />
<br />
Mostly days, weeks, and months pass by<br />
In the numbing ordinary<br />
Work, school, house<br />
Treat, check, cook and clean<br />
Everyday worries of<br />
Parents, siblings, children<br />
Health, wealth, and hopes<br />
Layers and layers of normal<br />
Compression bandages under which<br />
The ulcers get smaller all the time<br />
3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-41876395797206804152016-01-17T14:07:00.001-08:002016-01-17T14:07:34.773-08:00Ring true?<pre style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.8em; margin-bottom: 34px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Heard this on the radio this afternoon, feels like it was written about me</pre>
<pre style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.8em; margin-bottom: 34px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Felix Dennis</pre>
<pre style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.8em; margin-bottom: 34px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Never go back. Never go back.
Never return to the haunts of your youth.
Keep to the track, to the beaten track,
Memory holds all you need of the truth.
Never look back. Never look back.
Never succumb to the gorgon’s stare.
Keep to the track, to the beaten track,
No-one is waiting and nothing is there.
Never go back. Never go back.
Never surrender the future you’ve earned.
Keep to the track, to the beaten track,
Never return to the bridges you burned.
Never look back. Never look back.
Never retreat to the ‘glorious past’.
Keep to the track, to the beaten track,
Treat every day of your life as your last.
Never go back. Never go back.
Never acknowledge the ghost on the stair.
Keep to the track, to the beaten track,
No-one is waiting and nothing is there.</pre>
3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-86793854438958202952016-01-12T11:56:00.000-08:002016-01-12T12:03:53.244-08:00Heavy HeartAfter fifty shifting the heaviness becomes more difficult<br />
<br />
Daytime covering my trainees who manned the picket line today in protest of the inevitable pay cut, the deferring of retirement for a further five years, the obligation to work a minimum of 13 weekends a year, in protest of the changes that will come, and be followed by the same rules applied to us old folk, in probability before I have finished paying for the children's education.<br />
<br />
Four relapses today, four families, four long discussions, one less choice each, compromising length for the quality of days that remain.<br />
Four new combinations to try, one phase I trial, there is almost always a little hope left, and as they leave smiling, thanking, clutching my hand, I feel like a cheat, have we really cheated death today? or have I just led them into misguided belief?<br />
<br />
Evenings skimming through images I just cannot comprehend<br />
What happens to someone to make them goad their starving fellow citizens with images of their ample meals?<br />
What drives someone to spread their poisonous thoughts along with their body parts all over so many cities in our eternally muddled east?<br />
<br />
At fifty, his heavy heart suddenly stopped<br />
He was in my year in medical school, and for the past two days the pages have been brimming over with platitudes, poetry and prayers for a father, a healer, another mild mannered mind lost forever<br />
<br />
I remember uttering some of these same words, many years ago, but never did I promise a child that they would meet their parent again in some better place, never did I state that the chosen ones were spared the torture of the grave.<br />
<br />
Hardened and standoffish, I explicitly describe what will happen in the next few weeks, potential events, and what can or cannot be done about them, trained to be true, to be open and keep no secrets, years of practice numbing me to her distress, to her silent request that this not be true, or at least not be spoken.<br />
<br />
"She is such a pessimist" her daughter tells my trainee, "I prefer you younger doctors"<br />
<br />
"That has become my job" I reply, "the final deliverer of sorrow"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-36676662959314105682015-11-14T15:28:00.000-08:002015-11-14T15:28:10.849-08:00Selfish thoughtsIt is probably the most selfish of positions<br />
But every time something like this happens, my thoughts are always the same<br />
Self-preservation<br />
Thoughts that go round and round my mind<br />
Hour after hour<br />
Night after night<br />
<br />
They told me to try and hold the thought for a minute<br />
To challenge it<br />
"How likely is it to happen" in my mind very<br />
"What is the worse thing that could happen" read the history books<br />
"Will this matter in five years' time" in my mind this is becoming more likely as time goes by<br />
<br />
I listen to an extended "any answers" on the radio<br />
The caller suggest that refugees be militarily trained and forced to go back and fight<br />
Another that anyone likely to be "one of them" be sent to a concentration camp in Scotland<br />
And that friends and family "who should have known" will also be sent there<br />
<br />
I find myself thinking up plans to be prepared<br />
Looking for strategies from the past<br />
Who survived when Europe last turned on its minority religion?<br />
What did survivors have that others didn't?<br />
<br />
Apparently best chance was<br />
Married to someone of a different religion<br />
Connection to someone in authority<br />
Money<br />
Certain professions including scientist, tailors chefs, musicians<br />
Aged teens to thirty<br />
Male<br />
Healthy<br />
Committed to some ideal<br />
Connected to country by language / heritage<br />
Able to establish and maintain links with others including outside immediate family<br />
<br />
Ultimately I conclude it also depended on whether or not one was able to influence others to leave with the children before it was too late 3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-80982934167346464772015-09-28T14:11:00.001-07:002015-09-28T14:13:21.815-07:00RE homeworkWrite 200 words on the subject "life under occupation"<br />
<br />
I thought you could help me<br />
It isn't as if anyone else will have any knowledge about this<br />
<br />
Half an hour later<br />
<br />
Stories "as conveyed"<br />
Emotions<br />
Descriptions<br />
Bullet points<br />
<br />
Half an hour later<br />
Toned down<br />
Diluted<br />
All specifics removed<br />
<br />
What do you think?<br />
<br />
Well it just seems like you are describing a natural disaster<br />
<br />
Ok then that will probably be safe<br />
<br />3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-74852473603405365372015-09-03T14:23:00.001-07:002015-09-03T14:23:13.552-07:00Endless cycle of miseryFor decades or longer the Europeans mistrust their Jewish minorities<br />
<br />
As a result "nationalist" and "religious" political movements are born<br />
<br />
Calling for the creation of a "state" based on ancient history and religion<br />
<br />
There is poverty, followed by war in Europe<br />
<br />
Half the European Jews are murdered<br />
<br />
A proportion of the remainders "migrate" to Palestine<br />
<br />
The new Jewish "state" thrives, but causes wave upon wave of catastrophes for all its neighbours<br />
<br />
As a direct result numerous "nationalist" and "religious" political movements are born<br />
<br />
Calling for the creation of a "state" based on ancient history and religion<br />
<br />
There is poverty and war in the Middle East<br />
<br />
Hundreds of thousands of Muslims are murdered<br />
<br />
A proportion of the remainder "migrate" to Europe<br />
<br />
For decades or longer the Europeans mistrust their Muslim minorities<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As a result.............</div>
3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-38005959243173496862015-07-21T14:11:00.001-07:002015-07-21T14:11:13.455-07:00Mummy's boy"Nana told us" he said in the car as we drive home<br />
<br />
She told us about uncle S and the wars, that he went, she says he is still traumatised<br />
<br />
She said she didn't want him to go<br />
<br />
Why didn't she stop him from going?<br />
<br />
If we were there, and there was a war, would you do anything to stop me going?<br />
<br />
I would kidnap you and take you to another country<br />
<br />
The car veers slightly as he hugs my arm tightly<br />
<br />3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-15042151372272374632015-06-04T12:59:00.001-07:002015-06-17T14:22:06.693-07:00It is all in the names!<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" lang="en">
<div dir="ltr" lang="en">
Face to face with <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/ISLAMIC?src=hash">#ISLAMIC</a> STATE. Story running on BBC World.
Thanks to team <a href="https://twitter.com/RobbieWrightOff">@RobbieWrightOff</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/pwemmerson">@pwemmerson</a>. <a href="http://t.co/XGDaBDvPYS">pic.twitter.com/XGDaBDvPYS</a></div>
— Orla Guerin (@OrlaGuerin) <a href="https://twitter.com/OrlaGuerin/status/606138489789390848">June 3, 2015</a></blockquote>
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script><br />
<br />
So two ISIS fighters named HAYDER and HUSSEIN have been captured and interviewed by BBC<br />
<br />
What next a couple of BADR militia named OMER and OTHMAN??!!!!!<br />
<br />
<br />
Update 17th June<br />
<br />
Well what do you know? Orla and team do interview the BADR butchers<br />
<br />
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-33164014<br />
<br />
Unpunished atrocities committed by the allies used to excuse further crimes, and the cycle continues<br />
<br />
Twelve years after the invasion<br />
Four years after the investigations were completed<br />
Millions displaced<br />
Millions radicalised<br />
Hundreds of thousands murdered, humiliated, traumatised<br />
A country ripped into three<br />
Hordes of foreigners arriving from abroad to live the "Muslim Umma" dream in the once-upon-a-time land of mathematics, science, knowledge and possibilities.....<br />
<br />
The Chilcot enquiry continues to slowly simmer<br />
Weapons manufacturers around the world<br />
The Middle East envoy, the wife of one warmonger, and the brother of another continue to reap the rewards<br />
<br />
Ramadan Kareem! 3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-18106927708360092492015-05-19T23:41:00.004-07:002015-05-19T23:42:16.639-07:00Speak no evil?Events have meant I spend a fair amount of time trying to recall childhood, teenage and young adult life experiences in an attempt to understand how I could have been so oblivious to how I was being viewed, how others felt, and how fragile and transient was the ordinariness I so took for granted.<br />
<br />
As my own children traverse a very different route in life, I now contrast and compare.<br />
<br />
One stark difference it appears is the definition of polite conversation<br />
<br />
My son is mocked and jeered for "his" religion, is told that the political party supported by one third of his classmates would deport him and his family, and the class boys have had detailed discussions about parents income, and astronomical value of homes (in the context of the school's version of the national elections, labour supporters being mocked for living in houses worth less than 2 million pounds)<br />
<br />
I cannot recall an exact conversation, but am still guided by a set of principles, that some things were private and should remain so, religion was never discussed, and money was never brought up, everything seemed fair on the surface, but just below the surface was the ugliness waiting to fatally surface.3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-23875418646895773502015-02-28T06:41:00.002-08:002015-02-28T06:41:34.591-08:00GhettoHow? why? when?<br />
Everyone is talking about him<br />
Was it while in school?<br />
Was it while in college?<br />
Was it because of the questioning?<br />
Was it because of the failed attempt to recruit him?<br />
Was it before or after certain events?<br />
<br />
"They were Muslim, the family didn't socialise with others"<br />
<br />
All I can think of is<br />
<br />
Thanks God he wasn't Iraqi born, British schooled3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3711107624120027920.post-77687909810451119642015-01-23T12:17:00.000-08:002015-01-23T12:17:31.900-08:00Third time lucky?So if you live in Europe and are Jewish and are feeling under threat you are being invited to Israel where it is safe<br />
<br />
What if you live in Europe and have an "Airab" name or possibly even a "Muslimist" one and are feeling uncomfortable about your children being called "terrorist" or being avoided in case they "blow themselves up, or chop our head off" what do you do?<br />
<br />
Your "home" country is one of the most dangerous places on Earth, you are not Arab enough, you are nowhere near religious enough, and even if you were, you were of exactly the wrong type of that religion for the time.<br />
<br />
On the other hand for your type the only "welcoming" part of your "home" country is currently being controlled by the "chopping off heads- Muslimist- terrorists" so I guess the school mates might think that would be ideal for us<br />
<br />
In the hope there is a better choice the advert could read:<br />
<br />
"Middles aged couple, two bright teenage kids, Arab ancestry, ex- Muslim faith, European outlook, seeking welcoming third home"<br />
<br />3eeraqimedichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10365524866250384975noreply@blogger.com0