3:26 PM | 12 July 2020

For the past three months, I have seen patriarchy at its peak. I’ve seen women being exploited in the name of religion. I have seen painful births and tearful miscarriages. I have seen couples struggling to become parents and couples seeking secret abortions. I have seen bruises smelling of domestic violence and I have counselled new mothers for post-partam depression. I have begged women to take their pre-natal supplements on time and I have also eaten the *mithai distributed by proud grandparents. From being unable to name their child to being denied the right to decide how many children they want to bear, I have seen our kinswomen withering away in the stench of stolen rights.

I have seen women requesting BTL (bilateral tubal ligation: a surgical contraceptive procedure) and I’ve seen women on the operating table for the fourth time and, yet, refusing to acknowledge that another C-section could be detrimental for their health. I have seen women unprepared for motherhood conceiving under the pressure of “Shadi ko chheh maheenay ho gaeye, abhi tak koi good news kyun nahin hai?” (“It’s been six months to your marriage, why isn’t there any good news?”) and I have seen women bearing the brunt of male infertility. And I see humanity rusting away.

You know what’s really sad, in fact, disgusting? That it’s women themselves who play a huge role in providing fodder for this life-threatening cycle – by keeping silent in the face of these inhumane injustices, by seeking revenge from the next of their kin and subjecting their daughters-in-law to the same customs, and by teaching their own daughters to accept these injustices as customs that are “zamanay ka dastoor” (norms of the society).

Is there anything at all that we can do? Maybe not much except counsel each and every one of them – the mothers, the fathers, and the mothers of these mothers and fathers. It’s not an easy task, yes. But the thought that being privileged enough to be able to call myself a doctor is more of a responsibility than a badge of honour that I can show-off; that I am here to ‘heal’, not ‘cure’; that my faith and religion tell me that I will be questioned on how I used my skills and education – both His blessings – to help His people; that as a doctor, I can not only change the course of a disease but also the future of many generations to come – this is enough to ease this difficult task. So I continue to do what I can: talk to these women and all the women around me. And I urge you to do the same – with your househelps, your patients, your friends, the women around you. But most importantly, with the woman within you.


unprepared mothers

8:00 PM | 29 June 2020

Sitting on the other side of that plastic screen, I see more than a few pregnant women every day, each one of them recounting a different tale of how patriarchy has strangled the notion of even basic human rights.

95% of these women hail from families where making ends meet is a struggle but where bringing a child into this world is like going out for grocery: that’s the amount of thought these people – who make up a good chunk of our population – put into something completely life-changing.

Deciding how many children their malnourished bodies can bear is a right unheard of. These are women who need their husband’s permission before they can even get – in layman’s terms – injectable iron to correct their anaemic state. These are women whose primary doctor is chosen by their mothers-in-law, or their aunts-in-law, or some other lady relative. Anyone but herself. When does she have the next kid? That also gets to be decided by the other women in her family. These are women who have to beg their husbands to ‘allow’ them a C-section because they can’t bear the labour pains or because it’s technically not possible.

I see the helplessness in their eyes and I wonder what their childhood was like; if anyone asked them ever what they would like to be when they grew up? I wonder what they would say… Had anyone ever actually asked them that?
I see how the lack of control over their lives feeds their hidden demons, the same demons that viciously come out when it’s their turn to give their place to another woman, just like their mothers-in-law. It’s a cycle, one that will never stop. Not unless we educate these women and solve the problems that have made them who they are.
How can a woman who can not even stand up for herself protect and nourish a child? Food and water and clothes are never the only things that a child needs; they need kind love, care, and compassion for their intellectual, moral, and spiritual growth; all of these being part of the ‘*rizq‘ that is supposed to come with this little human.

I remember looking at one of these women rather closely today. Her doe-like eyes carried an unheard tale. The eight-month-old in her lap testifying to how unprepared his mother was for another baby. A haemoglobin level of 7.2, her refusal to get further tests done, and a husband who was sleeping at home did nothing to confute my views.

I see these women waiting to welcome a new life into this world and I do the only thing I can – speak to these parents about the huge blessing that they’re being bestowed with, that a mother’s responsibility is more than just to birth this child and the father’s responsibility is more than just to facilitate and finance that birth. And I say a little prayer for them: may every child born into this world find the warmth of a loving home, the kindness of those we call our own, the miracle of humanity, and the power of faith and true love. Amen.

*rizq: provision

Dr Ziauddin Memorial Hospital, Gole Market, Nazimabad.

Ziauddin surgery team, thank you for handing down all the worthy lessons!

25 January 2020 – 16 April 2020

Starting off my house job journey with the surgery rotation, I had a lot of doubts in my mind – from the rotation itself to the team I’d be working with. But what initially began as a struggle to stay afloat turned into a very timely realisation that makes me recall the wise words of Mawlana Rumi: “What you seek is seeking you”.

Beginning this new professional phase of my life in hopes of learning so much more than medicine, I did learn all that has now set a very helpful precedent for all ways I’ll steer my gear towards: I saw how good intentions turn away malice. I learnt what respect does and does not look like, how we ought to and ought not to treat our juniors, the various angles of what patient safety looks like; the various shades that professional ethics cloaks in, and the very basic traits of human nature that make us all so, so vulnerable.
When this journey jumped from learning about pre and post-operative patient management to subconsciously gaining a better insight into how we messiahs live and breathe, I do not know. And just like that, amidst the cries of COVID-19 and easily (read: annoyingly) being the most vocal member on the WhatsApp group of the “Ziauddin Surgery Team”, the days rolled by and now it’s time to say good-bye!

All’s well that ends well, eh?

Ziauddin surgery team, thank you for handing down all the worthy lessons and quite a few memories!


From the ER, with love

The picture is classic and openly welcomes you to the new horror: the pungent stench of the disinfectant, the brown pyodine bottles ready to court any kind of bruise and wounds, and the slow beeping sound of the mechanical sphygmomanometer setting the background music to all conversations playing in the emergency department of this hospital.

Hanging in the air – besides traces of what-must-not-be-named – is fear, incredulity, danger, and the unmasked urgency that science attributes to an adrenaline rush. Behind gowned human bodies are artists, writers, debaters, dreamers. Behind these masked faces are the worried hearts of mothers, fathers, daughters, brothers, sons, and husbands, and wives who have loved ones waiting at home. Behind these smiling faces consoling the scared patients being asked to get tested for COVID-19, are dutiful minds and healthy consciences that are struggling to keep their patients safe, both from the disease and the anxiety and fear that come with it.

How do we measure time here now? In the number of minutes it takes us to take off each piece of this protective layering, the number of hours we take it off after to grab a bite or use the restroom.

We’re not doing anyone a favour here. We do not want a round of applause from anyone, either. What do we want?
We just want to be safe while we take care of you. We just want your honesty when you share (or hide) your travel or contact histories while we take care of you. We just want you to act responsible and stay home. We just want the world to heal quickly so we all can breathe in without the fear of a painful death. We just want to be able to laugh and smile with our patients and give them a pat on the back or a warm handshake to shoo away their worries. We just want to be able to be near our families with peace of mind and soul, like we used to, once upon a time.

That’s all. Please help us help you. Please let us.

Voluntary e-medical consultation

I, Dr. Arfa Masihuddin, would like to volunteer my services as a doctor if anyone here needs any guidance regarding their medical complaints.

Please DO NOT visit hospitals for your minor ailments, regular health checkups, stomach aches, headaches or minor pains anywhere. Your blood test reports, kid’s poor nutritional habits, 15-year-old backache and other OPD based cases can wait.

Hospitals are infected in one way or the other. Please stay safe as you might become the source of transmission of the virus to your friends and family.

If you need any medical help, you can reach out to me on E-mail/Messenger/Instagram for all types of medical consultations.

I’ll try to get back to you as soon as I can, with the best of my knowledge. If I’m unable to assist you, I will refer you to a specialist who can.

If you do reach out, please send in your medical queries in the following format:

💊 Your name and gender:
💊 Your age:
💊 Any pre-existing medical conditions / health issues you regularly take medicines for:
💊 Your symptoms / current medical issue:
💊 Duration of your symptoms:

🦸 Stay at home and play your part in saving the world.

📧 E-mail: walkingthoughts.am@gmail.com
☎️ Contact number: +92 306 0984838
📷 IG: @drarfamasihuddin


A special feature on the Subcontinenttimes

The following was a special feature on the page Subcontinenttimes.

• • • • •

“’Donning’ and ‘doffing’ every alternate day as I gear up to tend to patients in the ER of a tertiary care hospital in Karachi; that’s how we are observing quarantine for you.
It’s true that the shiny pictures popping up on my newsfeed arouse a strange sense of envy – and even fear – and then a lot of guilt at that envy. But then I remind myself to be grateful to these people staying at home, enjoying their safe time. It is, after all, the only way this quarantine can rescue the world.
Every time we receive a patient and take a quick history, and the alarm bell goes off, we gulp down another gloomy thought and joke amongst ourselves if this one is going to finally get us, like that senior colleague we heard about the other day on the news. It’s the new normal, you see.

An unprotected CPR on a suspected COVID-19 patient – now dead – or meagre, insufficient PPE, or another X-RAY of an asymptomatic patient revealing infiltrates on both sides of the lungs, or just a young man nervously hiding his travel history: it’s how we count the hours here.
No textbook had prepared us for this. No exam had tested us on how to navigate through an unprecedented global emergency while struggling to do no harm, to protect everyone, to be kind to our scared patients, to fight off poor administrative policies, and not be used as a frontline human shield. Nothing.

Every time I step out, I fight off the fear of exposing my brave family. The unconditional love of my mother never leaving my side as I see her blowing duas over me as I step out of the car, knowing that she’d rather have her girl home, safe and sound, but also knowing that it’s the bigger battle that needs to be won. It’s also the slow, startling realization that humanity always comes first, that no amount of wealth or social status can win over the power of the Unseen, and that at the end of the day, nothing really matters, you know? Except peace of heart and freedom from the self-imposed rules of our society. After all, the world is managing fine without all it’s fanciful desires, isn’t it? But, thankfully, once I manage to get past these, I jump from being a doctor to the writer that always consoles me: there’s words, and heartbeats, and poetry, and letters, and books, and chai, and Ammi-k-haath-ka-khana. A little happiness, a little peace, and lots of lovely memories.”

Dr. Arfa, @drarfamasihuddin
Karachi, Pakistan

Link to the original articles: Part 1 |Part 2

Dear daughter of the patient who crashed in front of me…

4:01 PM | 6 April 2020

Dear daughter of the patient who crashed in front of me,

I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m so, so sorry.
I knew your father was gone the minute his stretcher was brought in. His plantars were absent. His body was motionless. His eyes had that fixed look that only dead people do. We’ve seen it so many times now. It’s like the empty sad moon looking around to borrow some light. He reminded me of my *Nana, now also dead.

I’m so sorry for your loss.

We lose patients everyday. People lose grandparents everyday, parents, too. I used to think every loss is the same. But it’s really not. Just like every heartbeat is different; sometimes subtle, sometimes sharp; a deep pain stabbing in the middle of the chest, a sharp prick in the soul. That heavy, empty feeling weighing loss – the loss of a being who was the centre of your universe, who taught you how to crawl, how to walk, how to say ‘a’, ‘b’, ‘c’, and ‘d’ till you managed to know that ‘zebra’ starts with ‘z’.

I wonder how many memories your father took with him; memories of holding you for the first time, of holding your tiny fists as you took your first steps, your first day at school. And then when he walked you down the aisle, his princess marrying her prince.

You kept shouting, **”myn aap se maafi bhi nahin maang saki, Abu!”
I pray that may your scared, grieving heart find peace, sister. I saw the sleeping face of your father closely as I recited Surah Mulk for him; he was at peace.

May the Almighty give your heart peace, your soul strength. May He look after you. May He look after us all.

Inna lil la ha wa inna ilaeye rajioun.

* Maternal grandfather * I couldn’t even ask you for forgiveness, father!

The white hand

6:30 AM | 9 April 2020

You don’t see the lines on this hands prophesising how many countries she’ll travel or how many kids she’ll have or who she’ll marry. You only see a white hand – as white as the responsibility on her shoulder, as white as the gurney that tells you she’s a doctor, as white as the different shades of the secrets of her life – struggling to hold on. Hold on to what? The desire to see a face again, to hear her favourite voice again, to see promises being guarded like the N-95 masks. Getting up and receiving patients in the emergency room helps deafen the storm dancing in the twilight, she’s decided.

Maybe she just doesn’t want to read the prophecy. A blissful ignorance that is more than life to her, stealing from memory a shy golden sunshine that will be the morning of her life, forever.

E-consultation for your medical complaints

I, Dr. Arfa Masihuddin, would like to volunteer my services if anyone here needs any information regarding their medical complaints.

Please do not visit hospitals for your minor ailments, regular health checkups, stomach aches, headaches or minor pains anywhere. Your blood test reports, kid’s poor nutritional habits, 15-year-old backaches and other OPD based cases can wait.

Hospitals are infected in one way or the other.

Please stay safe as you might become the source of transmission of the virus to your friends and family.

If you need any medical help hit me up on E-mail/Messenger/Instagram for all types of medical consultations.

I’ll try to get back to you as soon as I can.

Stay at home and play your part in saving the world.

E-mail: walkingthoughts.am@gmail.com
Contact number: +92 306 0984838
IG: @drarfamasihuddin


Dear Karachiites

Dear Karachiites,

👩‍⚕️Please do not lie to us about your travel and contact histories.
👩‍⚕️ Please do not visit the hospital for minor ailments.
👩‍⚕️ Please do not visit the hospital because you do not want to have medicine at home.

We stay here for you. Please stay home for us!

– Dr. Umair, Dr. Hassaan Arif, Dr. Afreen, Dr. Salman Amin, Dr. Shahrukh, Dr. Sumbul, Dr. Hira, Dr. Darayus P. Gazder, Dr. Ayesha, Dr. Shayan, Dr. Israr, Dr. Irshad, Dr. Amna Zubia, Dr. Amin Imran, Dr Arfa Masihuddin, Dr Khadija Ashraf, Dr Remsha Sattar, Dr Shafaqat, Dr Yemeen Rehmani, Dr Mudassir Hilal, Dr Hamdah Farooq, Dr Madiha, Staff Sarah, Staff Aleena.