We shouldn’t be so afraid of change. Life is uncertain at times. Confusing at times. Difficult at times. And yet change is inevitable. We don’t know if tomorrow we’ll be successful. We don’t know if tomorrow we will be sick. We don’t know if tomorrow is to be a good day, an okay day or our last day.

But we shouldn’t be afraid of change. Without change we don’t have hope for tomorrow to be a better day. For our loved ones to not be sick. Without change we don’t know if we’ll ever reconcile with those we fought.

If we’re afraid of change, we’ll forget to live our today.

I’m about to go through many changes in the upcoming months. Change of home, change of status, change from my ‘norm’. But this change will help me grow and evolve and be a better me.

As a patient said to me, recently, ‘it’s all changed now, the healthcare system.’



Being the daughter of immigrants

So I’m the first born child of first generation immigrants. I remember going to ‘English as a second language’ classes – even though my parents went blue in the face explaining that in fact I could speak English before I learnt to speak Hindi.

I remember explaining to my non-immigrant classmates that my accent is a hybrid because I’d been to eight schools before the age of 13.

I remember standing in a hall in London and belting out the national anthem as we were handed our red passports – telling us we were citizens now.

I remember walking in to a A&E with my grandfather and the nurse explaining to my dad that we needed to pay if we wanted any further treatment for his heart. They had unblocked and stented one coronary artery and the other one was 80% stenosed but not quite shut off enough to kill him. Yet.

Obviously, we paid.

I remember walking into my university -which is also a hospital – and seeing large billboards reminding patients to bring their passports or insurance papers with them to their appointments.

But as an immigrant I find it strange that mere ten years ago I didn’t belong and my health had a price. Now, because I’m British, I can walk into any hospital, anywhere in the country and get first class treatment. Just because a stamp on my passport makes me a citizen.

As we leave the EU, as social tensions grown, as governments threaten to strip citizens of their rightful citizenship, I do wonder: where is the line? Will it be at the cost of my health or yours? Or worse, at the cost of those defenceless and vulnerable individuals who can’t afford healthcare and may be denied so on the grounds of being ‘foreign’


A junior doctor

A junior doctor is any doctor between one year out of medical school and one year short of becoming a consultant.

A junior doctor starts work well before most patients wake up. Finishes work when all the urgent jobs are done. A junior doctor can’t just leave at 5pm because it says so in their contract. Not if their patient is in uncontrollable pain, or hypoxic or in dire need of a medical review.

A junior doctor eats lunch when they can. Often its a working lunch. And it might be interrupted if their bleep goes off.

A junior doctor will miss birthdays, festivals, weekends and evening plans because they are working.

A junior doctor won’t stop being a doctor when they’re in the supermarket, the train or even another country.

A junior doctor wants to be one. They’re on the patient’s side, fighting their battles with them.

A junior doctor will be the one a patient sees daily, the one who takes their blood test and runs it to pathology. A junior doctor might even do the patient’s surgery.

A junior doctor doesn’t give up on healthcare.



Farewell, 2018. It was good knowing ya…

As 2018 draws to a close in just a couple of days, it seems prudent to reflect on the year past. I turned 25 this year. Quarter century. Started my final year of medical school. Recognised I was overworked, stressed and not coping. Found some healthy (and some not so healthy) ways to overcome the problems. I finally went on a friends only holiday. I visited Russia. I saw a 12 year old die. I helped saved the life of a 96 year old. I put a catheter into a man’s urethra after he had come in from a road traffic collision. I watched a new born baby being born, a man become a father. Many moments made 2018 an emotionally charged year and some moments will always stay with me. Continue reading

FOMO is real y’all

Fear of missing out aka FOMO

In the age of twitter, facebook, InstaGram, snapchat and a general need to update everyone on our lives constantly, it is hardly surprising how over connected we all are.

It’s great that we are. I’ve met and chatted to people in and out of the healthcare industry and engaged in lots of fascinating conversations on various topics about medicine, health policies and the future for us.

But alongside it also comes a major issue. I see it everywhere. It’s the FOMO culture. It’s the thought that I must do everything humanly possible and experience all that I can and remain busy every minute of every day. because everyone else is too. It’s hectic, time-consuming and frankly totally pointless.

In today’s world our careers are bench marked by how successful we are in comparison to our followers on LinkedIn. Our popularity is judged by the no. of lives, RTs and comments we get. Our self-worth is dependent on what others think of us.

But on top of that every time we do get attention it only feed the self-perpetuated cycle of instant gratification. Unfortunately what this has led to (IMO) is a lot of superficial ideas and connections with very little genuine interest or basis behind it.

When this sort of culture seeps into our lives as professionals that’s where I start thinking that perhaps being over connected is as much a hindrance as it is a help.

FOMO needs to stop. we’re all part of one community and at least as far as healthcare is concerned you need every single person to be doing their own job not replicating that of someone else.

As someone famous once said: “be yourself. everyone else is already taken.”


Today’s doctor

Mum said to me today, “you should write a book.”

“On what?” I asked, bemused but trying hard not to laugh.

“On how to pass OSCE as a medical student.”

I dismissed the thought almost as soon as my mum had it. Doctors don’t write books. Doctors only treat patients. That was the traditional role of a doctor anyway. Certainly, the main reason I wanted to be a doctor was primarily because I wanted to work with patients and manage illness. Continue reading