You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘Medicine’ tag.

Status quo. Acceptance. Rediscovering yourself and your faith. Finding the path to inner piece.

I would say those are reasonable and cool themes to explore in a movie.

But throw in a Sikh transplant surgeon and a love story and you got the makings of Ocean of Pearls, a very-soon-to-be Hollywood release.

oop1.jpg

Sarab Singh Neelam, director and co-writer of the film, founder of Lightpost Pictures, Toronto-ian, and gastroenterologist, will debut Ocean of Pearls at the Miami International Film Festival on March 2nd.

Although our protagonist, Amrit Singh, is a surgeon, his story is common to many Sikhs outside of medicine as well. I have seen one too many brother and sister struggle with adapting to western standards while compromising their Sikh identity. I would be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling the pressure myself from time to time.

oop2.jpg

Although the film centers around issues of Sikh heritage and principles, the director adds a healthy reminder of the realities and complexities faced by most in our current health care system. In an interview he commented “most Americans do not realize that even if you have health insurance and earn good money, an accident or a health crisis can bankrupt you.”

oop3.jpg

Awesome to see folks like Sarab Singh Neelam pursue change for the community though diverse creative outlets. To see our experiences translated through characters such as Amrit Singh and the medium of film, art, and music is a beautiful gift I hope both our community and the general public will appreciate.

Advertisements

Check it out.

A pain assessment usually begins with the following question: on a scale of 0 to 10, how would you rate your current level of pain? During a long day of asking people to describe and illustrate their pain through words I tried to find a bit of humor by imagining whether this scoring system could be adapted and applied elsewhere…

Twenty-five years ago, when Kanwaljeet Anand was a medical resident in a neonatal intensive care unit, his tiny patients, many of them preterm infants, were often wheeled out of the ward and into an operating room.

The journey of a Sikh and his career is described in a main article in this Sunday’s Times magazine. Wow. +3 points.

Known to all as Sunny, Anand is a soft-spoken man who wears the turban and beard of his Sikh faith.

The author highlights the physical emblems of our faith. +2 points. Yet, what did this comment add to the article? -1 point. I wonder why Singh was omitted from his name. -1 point.

Anand says he does not oppose abortion in all circumstances but says decisions should be made on a case-by-case basis.

How do Sikhs approach the issue of abortion? Is all life, no matter whether he will be born with defects or endanger his mother, entrenched with a blessed spirit? How do we feel about aggressive medical care for those nearing the end of their lives? Is this in some way meddling with Waheguru’s plan for our destiny? +5 points for getting us to think about this.

In the push to pass fetal-pain legislation, Anand’s name has been invoked at every turn; he has become a favorite expert of the anti-abortion movement precisely because of his credentials. “This Oxford- and Harvard-trained neonatal pediatrician had some jarring testimony about the subject of fetal pain,” announced the Republican congressman Mike Pence to the House of Representatives in 2004, “and it is truly made more astonishing when one considers the fact that Dr. Anand is not a stereotypical Bible-thumping pro-lifer.” Anand maintains that doctors performing abortions at 20 weeks or later should take steps to prevent or relieve fetal pain.

My, what an observation. He is not a stereotypical Bible-thumping pro-lifer. -0.5 point.

Total: 7.5 points. A considerable amount of pain on a scale of 0 to 10, but not bad on my imaginary scale of a good read that raises awareness of our community and promotes open discourse on important issues that are often pushed aside.

Correction Appended

Reseachers at the NYU/Bellevue Program for Survivors of Torture published a study titled “The Effects of Torture-Related Injuries on Long-Term Psychological Distress in a Punjabi Sikh Sample” to determine whether “physical injury moderates or mediates the relationship between torture and major depressive episodes (MDE) or post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) among survivors of political persecution in India.” Translation: do physical injuries in the setting of torture manifest themselves through mental disease? Major conclusions of the study included that “the diagnosis of MDE was not associated with torture, although depression was associated with chronic injuries” and “injury mediates the effect of torture on longterm PTSD.” Translation: it wasn’t the torture experience itself that led to MDE or PTSD in the sample of Sikhs studied, but rather the “traumatic cues” or reminders of being tortured through the chronic injuries one sustained that led to the manifestation of psychiatric illness.

Some bloggers have noted it was upsetting to not see Sikh physicians associated with the study. Although I agree to some extent, this is where it gets a bit fuzzy for me. It would be inspirational to see Sikhs in the medical world document the physical and psychological toll of human rights abuses in Punjab. Yet, these bloggers are setting a dangerous precedent by narrowing the population to be served to Sikhs alone. We, the Sikh Panth, are a nation defined by an insignia: we must maintain our miri and piri and protect our own spiritual and political sovereignty yet embrace the circular symbol of oneness and our duty to humanity by fighting all injustices and actions of oppression. The atrocities in Punjab have most certainly not been brought to an appropriate scale of attention, and we should use that frustration to motivate us. We must, however, make sure we do not remain blind to our current state of affairs. Genocides are going on right now in Kenya, Sudan, Chechnya, Palestine, and Burma. Right now. Yes, I’ll say it again: genocides are happening right now. In fact, we can broaden the list a bit further: when an individual is denied access to healthcare or medications a human rights violation is committed. Which means I’ve indited nearly every country on the planet, including the U.S. and Canada. Our frustration should not only be with the dearth of Sikhs within the field of human rights but with the number of spirited Sikhs enraged by the brutality currently being enforced on our brothers and sisters. Let us start by reading and getting up to speed with current national and world events and then ask questions, get linked into organizations such as Human Rights Watch or Physicians for Human Rights, sign petitions, blog our thoughts, write letters to the editor, go into the field, march in the streets, shout from the rooftops… okay, I’ll end before I start calling for total anarchy. But you get my drift, I hope.

Correction: February 1, 2007

There is an erroneous statement above, and it has been striked. The blogger did not place limits on the population to be served.

Working in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) absorbs me both mind and soul. The ICU is not only a sanctuary for those who are critically ill; it is my tent within the camp of caring for others. It has propagated my desire to capture the spirit of Khalsa: to be selfless, noble, and brave while in constant meditation of Waheguru. I am a strong, spirited and optimistic soldier protecting the sick. My ego, however, is tamed as I see Waheguru’s expression in every thought, decision, and action that is made by both myself and others. Although my attending may believe otherwise, I kindly obey the orders of my guru to assist in both the processes of restoration and death.

The ICU can be terrifying and stressful to both young doctors and patients alike, yet it is a place where miracles often happen and it always manages to tug at my Sikhi strings without fail. I feel the rhythm of Khalsa enrapture my senses when I enter the unit. I hear it bounding against me as I make my rounds through each patient’s room. I hear it in the beeps of the telemetry monitors and ventilators. I hear it permeate through the chaotic motions of a resuscitation. I hear it softly emerge behind conversations of end-of-life care. I hear it shout gloriously when a person leaves the ICU alive and well.

“When the Khalsa runs, he is in trance. On the bed of thorns, he lies on roses. Outside is immaterial; it is the aim of life that matters. The Khalsa is he who has found the centre of life and has enshrined God in the temple of his heart. The Khalsa looks at the world from a supreme height, blessing all, helping all, loving all, with his beautiful looks from the inner self of all life.”1

I often yearn to leave my Sahajdhari status and live as a Khalsa, and it usually reaches its zenith when I’m in the ICU. Recently, however, I have noticed the rhythm of Khalsa pulsating within my consciousness even when I’m outside of the ICU. I remember singing “we are the Khalsa, mighty mighty Khalsa” when I was a child and wondering whether a modern Sikh could truly invoke Khalsa and live in a similar fashion. Funny how opinions change over time. Perhaps feeling the rhythm inside oneself is the first step to realization of its possibility.

1 Creation and the Purpose of Khalsa, Puran Singh