The Good People


 #USA

Post#26 B

The Good People:

Part A would be unfair without part B. There is always a Yin for a Yang. 

Had it not been for the sweetest black people who have remained my patients for 20+ years I would have lost trust in all black people after the recent tenant incident. I mentioned about Randy the black neighbor and also my black patient who helped me at the City office after our tenant created problems for us. 

The same holds true for the lovely and loving white patients who would not change their primary physician from me to anyone else since the time I started my job. They hug me when I enter the room, they want to tell me about their new great grand child or their grandchild’s graduation. They ask about my kids and my parents. They tell me sad stories from their lives. Basically they see me as a part of their family. 

When the tragic 9/11 incident happened in 2001 a lot of brown people here were targeted. Even walking in a park became dangerous. My patients would express genuine concern if all was ok with us . If this does not restore one’s faith in goodness what does ?

Whenever we took trips to India or other places our Indian neighbors checked our mail and watered our potted plants. We reciprocated when they needed help.That colleague’s wife does not drive. So I would pick their kids from high school since their dad was at work. 

Ten years after we moved in we decided to get carpet areas in bedrooms and living room replaced with tile flooring because Advait continued to have asthma flares. I had avoided drapes( curtains) to begin with because,like carpets,these too tend to collect dust.
 I was preparing for my 10 year recertification for internal medicine boards and had taken two weeks off to study as well as supervise the tiling at home. For some reason the work was on hold for a couple of days. Kids were at school and  I was alone at home studying on the sofa when the phone rang.  I ran to get it as some furniture delivery was expected that day. There was tile dust everywhere on the floor and before I realized, boom, I slipped and fell hard hitting my head on the tiles. It felt as if a coconut was hit on a rock to crack it open. Just then the door bell rang. I picked myself up and was extremely dizzy and about to pass out . I barely opened the door, it was the furniture delivery guy. I told him to call Abhay because I had a head injury and felt like I  was going to pass out. While he called Abhay I made the 911 call. Abhay called back before the fire truck arrived. I told him what had happened and told him to call a friend and tell her to pick the kids from school. The fire truck came , next ambulance came. I had passed out when they arrived. They aroused me and got the numbers for contact and took me to the ER. 
In the ER I waited along with everyone else without saying a word (that I am a physician). That was just not my thing to do. When I am a patient or a patient’s relative I am not a doctor, that’s my unwritten rule. 
My friend who picked the kids was a physician herself. She called me to ask if I was I seen by then. It was more than an hour already.When I told her I am waiting my turn she called the ER doc and told him there was a physician with head trauma waiting in triage. They took me in right away, did an exam and a CT scan. Luckily the coconut had not cracked. I had suffered a concussion. Abhay took me home later that evening. 
In the mean time the kids were picked by my friend along with her kids. Her daughter had some developmental disabilities and was not mature in her thought and speech at the time. When Advait asked where is Aai she told him “ your mom died”. Advait snapped back “ you are mean”. When my friend dropped them back  she told me about it and was profusely apologetic about her daughter’s behavior. I was profoundly grateful to her for not only picking the kids but also intervening to get me medical attention promptly. I would have waited there until night had she not called. 

Primary care physicians in the USA have postgraduate degrees unlike in India where one can start working as a general practitioner right after MBBS. But the essence of the job remains same as it was in India. We become a family member, confidante, counselor and friend in addition to being their doctor. I often remind them that I get paid to take care of them , they don’t owe me anything beyond a basic sense of respect. And yet they give back much more. Their trust and their love. When I see them for the first visit it is customary to take a social history. What they do , who lives with them , do they smoke, drink , use drugs , what is their sexual preference, any medical conditions in their family etc. More often than not this opens up a heart to heart conversation. Someone has been on CIA missions and visited exotic places which prompts discussion of our travel experiences , someone fixes airplanes and tells interesting stories about their work, someone retired from airline stewardess job, someone is a musician or an animation artist for Disney studios, someone teaches students or adults with disabilities , someone has a hobby of making violins and woodwork, someone owns cattle and horses. The conversation is always a learning for me along with bonding. And with bonding comes added sharing of information.

I tell about kharwas to a  patient who milks cattle in the dairy and next thing he walks in with a gallon of cow colostrum for me some day. I talk about Baba’s 70th birthday celebrations coming up and my patient’s husband who is the owner of a creamery offers to create mango or kesar pista ice cream for me for the occasion. Someone brings bagful of grapefruit or pomegranates from their yard when it is harvest season while  another pomegranate farmer brings samples of his new venture , pomegranate wine for the holidays . If the gifts exceed a value of $25 we are not permitted to accept them. If they bring such gifts I make sure they accept money from me before I accept the gift. In any case it is a relationship of love and trust.

Sometimes that leans towards being hazardous. Last May  I was out on vacation for 2 weeks. In my absence a colleague came across abnormal labs on one of my patients, a white lady who is in her 80s. He told her to lower her dose of a diabetes medication because her kidney function had declined and the high dose was no longer safe. She outright declined to obey the directions. Told him I will wait till my doctor comes back and gives  permission to change the dose,I’ll wait even if she is gone for 6 months 🤦🏻‍♀️. As soon as I returned to work and saw this message sitting there for 2 weeks I picked up the phone and literally scolded her for being stubborn and reckless. She just grinned like a little child who is used to a mother’s scolding and knows she is going to melt with that grin 😂 . To make up for her error she brought a cute little flower vase with a gorgeous hydrangea from her garden. Her husband told me she doesn’t let anyone touch her precious hydrangea but she cut one for me. Makes me wonder what did I do to deserve such cuties ? See the picture of her hydrangea in the comments.

I probably mentioned in an earlier post that I make my masalas from scratch at home. Baba( my dad) had given me his solid iron mortar pestle. But it was not possible to place it on the tiled floor and hammer the spices. The tile would break. So I was looking for a solution. One of my good patients, a white gentleman whose hobby was woodwork came to see me one day. I thought I would ask him if he has a suggestion. He told me bring over your mortar pestle to my workshop and I’ll figure out something for you . He crafted out a perfect stand for the mortar to sit in and a matching cover on top with a hole big enough to pound with the pestle while preventing the spices inside the mortar from flying all over. Needless to say I reimbursed him for the material costs but he insisted the workmanship was a labor of love. The man is 91 now and having gradual dementia. Just came to see me earlier this week. Looks frail. Had to sell his house and along with it the workshop and move into a senior living facility because there is no one to care for him at home. His wife is in an  Alzheimer’s facility for over 10 years now and their only daughter is in Texas. He held my hand ( always does when he sees me) and told me you were always there for me. I asked him if he remembers the stand he made for my mortar. He didn’t remember it. But I do. How can I forget his precious gift ? 

After 24 years at the job patients who were in their late 60s when they first came to me are in their nineties now. Some of them are no more. It is not easy to lose a patient or to see them go from being active individuals with full energy to helpless seniors. But that sadness has to be concealed because they look up to their doctor for strength and support. In reality they have been my strength and support. 

Chhoti baatein, chhoti chhoti baaton ki hain yaadein badi 
Bhooley nahin beeti hui ek chhoti ghadi


Attire is closely linked to race. When I started my residency it was mostly scrubs to work. When I graduated and started my job, like most other immigrants, I tried to ‘ fit in’.  There’s nothing wrong about trying to fit in . But there comes a day when you realize I am a round peg that is trying to fit into a square peg. 

I was wearing formal suits and dresses to work that did not make me feel myself. So gradually I transitioned from western outfits to salwar suits and then sarees. Even salwar suits, though Indian, were not my style. It didn’t take long to figure (pun intended) that I was meant for sarees and sarees for me.

My choice of Indian attire has been received positively by the majority at my work. The few that show disapproval on their faces are those who are uncomfortable with my skin and accent to begin with. If I continued to boldly come to work in my sarees it was because of my broad minded patients and the inclusive culture at my organization . Things are changing for better with the years. I get more spontaneous compliments for my sarees than glares. Patients want to frequently touch and feel the fabric and express heartfelt appreciation for it. On the rare occasion when I show up in trousers or scrubs they express disappointment for not wearing the saree. They confess they were looking forward to seeing a lovely saree.

A few years back a long time Punjabi patient of mine came to see me one morning. Prior to that visit he used to be a clean shaven man though he was a Sikh. That day he showed up with the traditional turban, beard, kada and everything. I was amused. I thought may be he is turning more religious. I asked him about it. His answer took me completely by surprise. He said doctor, you see so many people here  each day and still you come in your saree. I decided I don’t need to be scared of discrimination and shy to wear what is my real attire. 
It was a huge compliment that I really had not seen coming. That day with his permission I took a photo of the two of us together to it to show my family. Unfortunately I cannot share with you on this forum due to patient privacy issues. 

Just like attire, we immigrants try to make compromises with our names. I try to walk a fine line when it comes to using my name. I use ‘Lisa’ occasionally for quick convenience to pick up restaurant orders , when I really don’t have the time to repeat or spell my name to the cashier.  One thing I never compromise is when I say my real name. I do not ‘Americanize’ it . I never introduce myself as Ma-Daa-Wee Ris-bud . Non Indians say it that way and I don’t have a problem with it. I totally understand the tongue has genuine difficulty twisting for foreign pronunciation. But why should I say my name like them ? It is Maa-dha-wee Rees-bood . 
I always argued about this with Abhay and the kids. Abhay introduces himself as Ab-Hay Ris-Bud to non Indians 🙄. Advait does Ad-white( with a silent h) and Amita does Uh-mee-Taaअमिटा ( like Ta in Tartar). Why ??? 
Incidentally this week I was chatting with her on FaceTime and she told me Aai  lately I say my name as Uh-mee-ta ( अमिता) and people actually say it back the same way ! That’s my girl ! She is beginning to find herself. 

Racism has been in the USA since the beginning and is not going away anywhere in my lifetime or even in my kids’ lifetime. Michelle Obama, the extraordinary woman ,who I adore very much,who is born in the USA , educated at Ivy League schools like Princeton and Harvard and became the First Lady of the USA despite being from a minority community. Some imbecile official in West Virginia had the audacity to call her ape woman !! Where do I stand in comparison ? Where do my kids stand ? Ignorant people will be at every corner to mock at us , insult us and intimidate us. We can’t run away from them. We need to rise despite them.

  My experiences with racism, both sides of it , made me a better person than what I was when I came here. It made me connect with people who didn’t look like me, speak my language , eat my food or share my faith or values. Ironically it made me confident to stay true to my own identity and not be afraid to show it. In India I was at the opposite end of the bargain. Here I got a taste of what minorities face. I could also see the commonality between the two societies how minorities can misuse their status at times.
 It was a major lesson for me in the school of life.

Bolo jaataa baral karisi tey neet 
Neli laaj dheet kelo devaa- Sant Tukaram 

My talk was a blabber but you o my Creator corrected it gently. I was timid and shy and would have stayed that way forever if not for you. You made me brave to face the world 🙏🏼🙏🏼

Saree here is a South Silk my daughter picked for me when she spent 3 months in Pune in 2014. I don’t really know more details on this saree or  it’s exact origin . It is colorful and drapes well. Look closely and it has light colored people and dark colored people spread across the same fabric and they are the same except for the color . How picky we are with which ones we like is entirely up to us 😀

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