May 2020
Madiha
Omar: Be careful coming into work today and make sure you have your badge on you.
That was the text message I received as I finished my breakfast on what was supposed to be my first day back at work after having COVID.
Me: Why?
My phone pinged with a news article.
May 31. After downtown Chicago protests, unrest spreads to suburbs. Associated Press. Mayor Lori Lightfoot, who ordered an indefinite nightly 9 p.m. curfew, said the Illinois National Guard had been requested to help keep order. She said access to the central business district would be restricted to only essential workers and people who live there. Public transportation was temporarily suspended, major streets blocked with sanitation trucks and Chicago River drawbridges allowing traffic into downtown remained lifted.
Stuck in my apartment with nothing to do other than consume the never ending news cycle, I was aware of the horrors unfolding in the world outside. But how close the unrest that followed was to home, had just hit me now.
Another text followed soon after.
Omar: On second thought, I don't think you should walk to work alone. I'll be done in two hour with my overnight shift. I'll come and get you.
I appreciated his concern. My usual twenty minute walk to work went right through the streets that this article mentioned as being the hardest hit with protests and police-protester skirmishes. Yet, my own shift started in an hour. I simply couldn't wait for Omar.
Me: Don't worry, I'll keep my head down and walk fast.
Even as I typed that message I knew what his reply would be. It was just yesterday when he had brought over some food and insisted that I get out of my apartment to take a walk outside. I barely made it around the corner from my building before needing to take a break. The deconditioning after COVID was no joke.
Omar: You know you won't be able to walk fast. Let me see if Uber or Lyft are available.
Of course, they weren't. No one was allowed to come in or go out from the downtown area unless you lived or worked here. So, with 45 minutes left till my shift started, I only had one option.
Me: I'll just walk. Don't worry about me. No one's out rioting at 7 am.
Omar: I don't like this. But fine keep your phone with you and text me as soon as you get here.
I couldn't help smiling at his concern for me. Even his text messages had a way of filling me warmth. And I had every intention of texting him when I reached work, just like he asked. I even hoped that I could take a quick break before my own rounds started and catch him before he left for the day. Thank him for his unwavering support as I recovered from the worst viral illness I had ever had.
Yet, I forgot all about that the moment I stepped off the elevators in my apartment building.
Omar
Don't worry about me.
I shook my head while I finishing up the notes for patients I had been seeing in the ER all night. How could I not worry about her? First, while she might not have needed hospital admission for COVID it had obviously hit her hard. If it hadn't been for the severe staff shortage and patient surge at the hospital I would insist that she take some extra days off. But she was out of the isolation period, therefore required to come back to work. Fully recovered or not.
And then there were the protests in our neighborhood, against yet another episode of police brutality against an African-American, except that this time it was caught on video and was shared widely. The anger and resentment from these repeated episodes was pouring out onto the streets across the country. I was sure that the frustration from the pandemic had not helped calm down the situation, neither did the heavy handedness of the police when dealing with these protests.
18 yr-old patient suffering from tear gas induced respiratory distress, cardiac arrhythmia and a dislocated shoulder.
I typed out my last patient's note, still struggling to understand how unarmed civilians exercising their right to protest could be dealt with so viciously by those who had sworn to protect them. In the midst of us dealing with a pandemic, the ER was now also flooding with patients with all sorts of blunt-force trauma.
"Hey man." A familiar voice made me look up from the computer. I was surprised to see Salman standing there. The guy seemed to have disappeared in the last few weeks.
"Oh hey. What are you doing here?"
"Heard you have an 18 yr old with a cardiac arrhythmia. The adult cardiology team is slammed so asked the peds team to take a look," he replied in a strangely monotonous tone. So unlike him.
I handed him my patient's EKG. "Got it. This kid was at the protest last night and had exposure to tear gas. He was complaining of chest pain, so we did an EKG which shows a first-degree heart block."
"Probably unrelated to the tear gas," he looked at the print out in his hand, "but I'll go see him." Before he could move away though, I held him back.
"By the way, how come you haven't been returning my texts? Is everything ok with you?"
As he glanced in my direction, the weariness in his eyes was evident, even through the protective goggles he donned. His subdued tone failed to mask the distress, and he shook his head slowly. "Nothing is ok," he murmured.
His gaze wandered around the ER. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead seemed to amplify the weariness etched across his face. The chaos of the emergency room buzzed around us with beeping machines and urgent voices, a stark contrast to the heavy silence that hung between our words.
"What do you mean?" I finally asked.
"Everywhere there is death and destruction. How is a man supposed to protect his wife and premature daughter?"
"Salman, they'll be fine InshaAllah-"
He cut me off, "Every one of these patients thought they would be fine, didn't they? No one thinks tragedy would strike them, it just does."
I was no mental health expert, but it was starting to make sense now. When Salman saw these patients he didn't just see them for who they were. Unlike me, who would go home and at least try to disassociate from what I saw every day, he probably mulled over it. His mind constantly making a connection between what happened to his wife just 8 months ago, to the present situation.
His words made me wonder. Does he have PTSD?
"Are you still living alone in a hotel?" I asked him, remembering our conversation the last time we met, several weeks ago.
He looked away, his shoulders slumped, "I go home every now and then."
I wish I had been able to talk to him more, but the code blue alarm went off just then forcing me to drop everything and run to the room where yet another patient was unconscious, and CPR had commenced.
"He's COVID positive," the attending warned as soon as I opened the door.
Elijah and I looked at each other as I quickly closed the door again. We both knew what the attending meant, despite the fact that he and a nurse were the only ones in the patient's room at the moment, and in any other circumstance there would be at least half a dozen other people rushing into the room. Crucial minutes had to be sacrificed in saving the patient's life so that we could don the proper gear and decrease the risk of getting COVID ourselves. There was no other way around it, no matter how guilty we felt for putting ourselves first.
"I can't wait to get the vaccine," Elijah said. I couldn't agree more. I even made a mental note to tell Salman about the trial. Perhaps that would put his mind at ease.
Madiha
Even before I could step out of the elevators, I saw him standing there. In a perfectly pressed business suit, designer glasses and a surgical mask, a cup of coffee in his hand, he stood leaning against the wall toying with his car key. Of course, he would have been allowed to come to downtown. His office was here.
I didn't bother hiding my irritation at him when I asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Assalama Alaikum, Madi. I'm here to give you a ride to work. There's actually a curfew outside."
"Allah Hafiz, Faraz. I can go to to work on my own," I replied and attempted to walk past him. That didn't deter him.
"I got you coffee."
"I don't want it."
"Did you like the flowers I sent?"
"I threw them away."
"Now that's not very nice..." he was saying when I swung around to face him, not caring that he was inches away from me. I needed to put an immediate end to whatever this man had started the moment I saw him at my doorstep a week ago.
I could blame Maliha for bringing him along when she came to drop off food for me, I could also blame her for not leaving it at the door and walking away like I told her too. But I couldn't blame her for the blood-sucking parasite her brother-in-law was.
"What's not nice, Faraz, is you not listening to me when I tell you that I don't want to have anything to do with you. So stop with the flowers, and texts and your fake concern for my safety."
He smirked, "You're cute when you're angry."
My fist curled, "Shut up, before I punch you."
Hands raised, he backed away still having the audacity to laugh, "Ok, ok let's not resort to violence."
But if I thought that was a signal of him giving up, I was sadly mistaken. There was less that half an hour left till my shift started and I needed to leave right away, but as soon as I tried to side step him again, he planted himself in front of me.
"Let me give you a ride into work Madi. Its the least I can do. Besides you're in no shape to walk to work."
I glanced at my phone. Twenty-five minutes is all I had now. On another day before COVID, I might have been able to half-sprint, half-walk, but now I knew that no matter how much I detested the man in front of me, he gave me the best option to reach work on time without collapsing halfway there.
"Fine. But not a word from you on the way."
"I promise," he nodded.
It was a promise he kept, to his credit, till we reached the hospital and I was about to get out of his car. That's when he broke the news that wreaked my entire day, and possibly my entire future.
"Madi, I think we started off on the wrong foot. I apologize for that," he said in a hushed voice.
"Apology accepted, now leave me -"
"I will not however, apologize for liking you. Or for offering you a life that no one else can. Free from in-laws drama, and judgement from people who are beneath you. Ahmed Uncle mentioned your aspirations to achieve great heights in the future. I wholeheartedly support that.
In fact, I'll not only support you, but I'll construct the ladder for you to climb, You'll have every resource at your disposal. You can work from any place in the country, because I can work remotely from anywhere. You and your family can live with dignity, mine already accepts you for who you are. Ask Maliha. Heck we can even buy a nicer place for them. Get your father to retire earlier..."
He wasn't even looking at me, as words rolled off his tongue. I wished there was a way to mute his voice that penetrated the suffocating air in that car. I could have just gotten out of that car too, but something he said seemed to have paralyzed me. Ahmed Uncle said...
It struck me that while I was recuperating and intentionally distancing myself from my parents, pivotal decisions about my life were being made on the other side of town. Decisions that revolted me, and completely disregarded what I wanted.
Who I wanted.
"I'm in love with Omar," I blurted out, whether in an attempt to stop Faraz or to reassure myself, I wasn't sure. But I said it out loud for him to hear. A feeble attempt to change his mind.
It didn't work.
"You've made that ample clear, Madi. But what good is love when you have to sacrifice your and your family's dignity? Besides..." he finally turned to look at me. Strange emotions swirled in this eyes, behind black rimmed glasses, terrifying me.
"I believe you can fall in love with me too."
That is impossible, I wanted to say, but he would just have scoffed at that. Instead, curiosity got the better of me.
"Why me? Men like you can get anyone they want. I am nothing special to look at, my upbringing was quite modest. I wouldn't even know how to carry myself in the social circles you move around."
I could tell he was smiling behind his mask when he replied.
"Do you know who Priscilla Chan is?"
Huh?
"Mark Zuckerberg's wife? The guy who started Facebook? What does she have to do with me?"
"There's quite a bit, actually. She's a doctor, even if she is nothing special to look at. Of course, a bit of makeup and a skilled stylist can work wonders. She's a first-generation immigrant. Her parents didn't even speak English, so she would translate everything into Cantonese for them. But, despite that upbringing, when I met her at a fundraiser, she exuded intelligence like no other woman I've ever encountered—except for you, of course."
"Plus," he shrugged, "pretty girls are not always smart and can be quite emotional. While intelligent, career-oriented women tend to be no nonsense and independent. With the kind of busy life I have I don't have time to deal with my wife's nervous breakdowns because someone said something mean to her."
"You know what I mean, right?" he said when I didn't reply to him. "Our marriage alliance, would makes us a power couple no different than Mark and Pricilla."
I certainly knew what he meant. He meant that I could never be myself in front of him. Never show him my vulnerabilities, never break down in the comfort of him arms after a tough day at work, or trust him with my innermost fears. He certainly wouldn't ever call me 'masterpiece' in the middle of a crappy call night when there were no makeup artists or skilled stylists. Or drive 45 minutes to hand me a stethoscope.
It would all be too inconvenient for him.
Or be a stain on the perfect image of a power couple.
I just hoped that Hasan treated Maliha better than Faraz would ever treat his wife. The man was a misogynist imbecile and he was utterly delusional. Power couple no different than Mark and Pricilla. I huffed. What an idiot.
"Enough with your ridiculous dreams. I don't have time to indulge in meaningless conversations with you." I finally got out of the car and didn't turn back to look at him when he scoffed.
"Sure, but you will indulge your father, won't you?"
I won't have to indulge him, I told myself, absolutely sure that my father had been able to see through the smokescreen. Besides, I had spoken to him every day on the phone while I was in isolation. Never once had he mentioned Faraz or a marriage alliance with him.
Turned out, he didn't think talking to me was important at all.
Omar
That Night
There were still a couple of hours before I went to bed and I lay on the sofa watching the news, debating if I should call Madi now or give her another day before I brought up the only plan of action I could come up with, for us. It wasn't like I hadn't tried to bring this up over the last week. But it never felt like the right time.
What was I to say? Sorry you feel like a train hit you and you can't smell anything, or breathe without coughing, but I was thinking of asking your parents for your hand in marriage, on my own - without my parents or any other elder.
I decided to leave it till the next day. She would, after all, be quite tired on her first day back at work. Instead I just left her a text message, asking if we could grab coffee after work.
Begrudgingly, I got off the sofa to do all the non-medical tasks that had been piling up. COVID or not, bills still need to be paid and the trash wasn't going to throw itself out. In the midst of me cleaning up the kitchen my phone rang, making me smile.
Only one person, a woman with curly hair, and dark, beautiful eyes called me that late at night. I should have looked at the caller ID though before I enthusiastically picked up the phone.
"Madi?"
A heavily accented voice replied, "Asslama Alaikum Dr Khan. This is Madi's father, not Madi. Are you available to speak right now?"
I nearly dropped the glass of water I was holding.
"Ji...Assalumu Alaikum Uncle. This is Omar."
I slapped my forehead. Of course he would know who I was. He was the one who called me.
If I hadn't been too busy panicking about the fact that I hadn't yet coming up with convincing enough lines to lay out my case in front of Ahmed uncle, I might have asked myself why he was calling me in the first place. Maybe then, I wouldn't have felt like I was sinking in quicksand with every passing minute of that conversation.
"Walaikum Assalam", he replied in an even, confident voice. It was easy to see where Madi got that trait from.
Without wasting any time, he dove right into the reason for his call, "Thank you for accepting the call. Madiha told me about you and her. Aap dono shaadi karna chahtai hain, leikin aapke parents is ke khilaaf hain. They are the owner's of Surgilab, correct?" (You both want to get married, but your parents are against it)
I took a quick sip of water to relieve the sudden dryness in my throat and stumbled across my reply, "Uhh, ji Uncle they are. But what my parents want doesn't matter. I think your daughter is MashaAllah exceptional and nothing would make me happier than to marry her."
As he took a moment to respond, the oppressive silence gripped my heart, conflicting emotions clashed within me. I wished I could observe his expressions to gauge his feelings, but our conversation was confined to a regular phone call, leaving me no option but to wait in patience.
"Alright, well..." he began, his words measured. "Before I say anything else, let me make it clear - I have no doubt that you are a decent man. I know my daughter, and she wouldn't have considered marriage with you otherwise."
As he spoke, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was a significant 'but' looming. It came quickly.
"But Madiha is also young..." he continued.
She is 27 years old, not a child, I wanted to point out, but the words stayed unspoken.
Madi's father pressed on. "And she can be incredibly stubborn. Once she sets her mind on something, it's difficult to convince her otherwise. Yet, as her father, it's my duty to consider not only her present but also her future."
I nodded in agreement, understanding his perspective. Madi could be stubborn, but she was also stubbornly mine.
"Uncle, if I may," I interjected, "I want to apologize for the behavior of my family. The way they treated Naeem sahab was shameful. But their views and actions have never aligned with mine. Please believe me when I say I hold the utmost respect for your daughter and your entire family."
He cut in sharply, his voice carrying an edge of frustration. "I know the likes of your family Dr Khan. Your only language is money, and power. Hum jaise logoan ki kabhi koi haisiyat nahi ho gi aap ke saamne. Your father has been very clear about that by not even bothering to call us." (People like us will never amount to anything in front of you)
I swallowed the knot in my throat, nothing was going the way I hoped it would. Everything Madi's dad said was true. But I am was not my parents. And right now, my life literally depended on convincing Madi's father about that fact.
"Uncle, aap mujhe pe bharosa karein, I will never let her get disrespected. And I promise to provide everything your daughter needs. She will never even have to meet my parents. Honestly, I am not sure I want much of a relationship with them either." (Please trust me)
"Beta, that is easier said than done," his voice softened just a bit. "I have strived to make sure that my daughters have the education and means to provide for themselves, so it is not the financial provisions I am worried about. But you can't manufacture a dada and dadi for your children, or a welcoming home for my daughter if you were to ever go back to Pakistan"
There was an easy fix for that.
"We won't go back to Pakistan."
Yet, Madi's father was not in the mood to budge, "What happens if one of your parents get sick, or your father's business needs to be taken care of. Are you going to let your sister or mother deal with all of it? Tum aklotay betay ho. Madi will never come in your way, even if it means having to listen to taunts from your parents for the rest of her life." (You're the only son)
I hadn't really thought about that. My father was not going to be there forever, as much as I hated the family business someone would have to attend to it, briefly, even if to sell it off.
"Meine kaafi zindagi guzaar li hai, aur tum dono se zyada experience hai mujhe", he continued to speak, without giving me a chance to reply. "Believe me, romance between a couple only lasts so long. Eventually, 5, 10 years down the line you need family around you. And children need their grandparents." (I have spent quite a lot of my life, and have more experience than both of you)
"They'll have you and aunty." I tried to reason with him.
His retort was immediate. "If she marries Faraz, she'll have both sides of the family."
Faraz. Just hearing his name made me want to recoil. Yet, it was clear that Uncle's opinion of the man I despised more than anyone was completely different. In his eyes, Faraz was the antithesis of me. He represented everything he believed his daughter could ever want or need.
"My daughter will have the support and respect of her in-laws like she deserves to," he was saying, when I forced myself to focus on his words again. "She will never have to wonder if she is good enough, or suffer from low self-esteem. Faraz's parents live with Maliha in the same house and treat her like their own daughter. MashaAllah, mein ne Maliha ko pehlay kabi itna khush nahi dekha. Can you blame me for wanting the same for Madiha as well?" (I have never seen Maliha this happy before)
"Uncle..." I barely got a word out before he interrupted me again.
"I know what you are going to say. Madiha, uss se shaadi nahi karna chahti. I get that. But as her father, I'd rather see her safe and respected, even if it means some short-term pain. Don't you agree?" (Madiha doesn't want to get married to him)
I was too numb to respond. In too much pain, as my whole world seemed to have crumbled in a matter of minutes.
This was it. The final, insurmountable hurdle. The last glimmer of hope extinguished. My nightmare was becoming a brutal reality.
Mr. Ahmed delivered the crushing blow, "I won't tell you what to do now, but I urge you to take a moment and consider Madiha's long-term well-being and happiness. If you genuinely care about her, as you claim, then do what's right for her, not for yourself."
He didn't wait for my reply, simply whispered 'Allah Hafiz' before hanging up. It felt as if I'd been struck in the gut so hard I was on the verge of collapsing. I steadied myself against the kitchen counter, attempting to draw a deep breath, though there was barely any air in my lungs.
There was nowhere to go from here. All our dream and hopes, our discussions about the future, they all seemed like a wasted exercise now.
In a surge of desperation and fury, I grabbed my glass of water and hurled it across the room, the shattering sound echoed loudly. Yet, it wasn't enough to drown out Mr. Ahmed's words echoing in my head as I staggered back to the sofa.
Do what is right for her, and not for yourself.
I would sacrifice everything for her, but the question remained: could she truly find happiness with someone else, like Faraz and his seemingly perfect family, without all the turmoil that would come from marrying me? Even if I severed ties with my parents, I could never abandon my sister. And through her, I'd forever be tethered to my parents.
Madi's dejected expression when she spoke about how the world had treated her because of her skin color flashed before my eyes. Then, I recalled my mother's concerns about our potential children's lives being marred because Madi had a darker complexion.
That had only been the beginning of their objections, which I was certain would only escalate with time. Perhaps Madi's father was right; my family was a ticking time bomb for her. She deserved so much more.
Yes, she loved me too. But how long would that love last if she married me and was ensnared in my family's web of prejudices and hate?
You'll be the one she hates for ruining her life, a voice within me taunted.
My phone buzzed again. This time it was just a text message.
Madi: Yes! Let's grab coffee please. I missed you at work today. Peet's Coffee at 5:30?
I closed my eyes, refusing to let go of that moment when she was still the woman I saw a future with. But in the darkness that engulfed me, there were words that echoed again. Those of my parents, taunting Madi. And those of her father, telling me to do what is right for her.
I loved her too much to not do what was right for her.
Opening my eyes, I sighed and texted her back.
Me: Ok. I need to talk to you about something as well.
*******
What would you do in Omar's shoes? For that matter what would you do in Madi's father's shoes?
It may seem hopeless now, but if you've read my other books you'll know hopelessness always comes with a silver lining. This book is no different.
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