Hottest Books, 2011 Edition

My Kindle was a godsend for me last summer while living in rural Quebec. Although speaking French, eating French food, and going to French school every day is so much fun (*cough*), it was a blessing to escape into English books every night. Sure, this was technically against the rules because the administrators wanted it to be "all French, all the time."

But since when do bad-asses like me follow rules? Without further ado, the best books I read last year!

MEMOIRS... 

I was blown away by Viktor Frankl's story of surviving the holocaust in his memoir Man's Search for Meaning. Not only does he recount his memories of Auschwitz, but also uses them to frame his inspirational philosophy: that we are all responsible for creating our own meaning in life. You go, Vik... You go.

I burned through Open by Andre Agassi and Chretien's My Years as Prime Minister. Both are honest and gripping accounts of the life of a tennis player and PM of Canada, respectively. It doesn't matter if you're not into tennis or the intricacies of the Canadian government (who is?). These books are great, period.

Then it was on to "The Heart and the Fist", the memoir of an ex-Navy Seal and Rhodes scholar. The Navy Seals undergo the most rigorous military training in the world, and Eric Greitens reflects beautifully on his experiences. If you don't buy a copy, he may just bust through your window one day and take you out.

FICTION... 

Lawrence Hill's "Any Known Blood" traces several generations of African-Canadians and their struggles with fostering a sense of identity in a society that disparages their very existence. (side note: I actually see the author around Westdale all the time!). The Game of Thrones was just epic, and only slightly eclipsed in entertainment value by The Hunger Games, about a post-apocalyptic world where one boy and one girl are selected each year to fight in a televised battle to the death. Fun stuff.  

The Poisonwood Bible is a sweeping and compelling novel about an American family that moves to a faraway land of poverty and "bare-breasted" women. And no, it's not about downtown Hamilton.

NON-FICTION...

Shortly before med school started, my reading became decidedly more medical. First was "Complications", a fantastic surgeon's memoir that reads more like a thriller novel, and then a fascinating book about the concept of neuroplasticity - how the brain can change itself.

Later in the year, I speed-listened my way through the Steve Jobs audiobook, which recounts the life and career of the quirky entrepreneur. What was Jobs' inspiration for founding Apple? "Dropping acid," he says frankly. Gee, maybe I should try that for blogging.

To wrap up the year, I devoured the Pulitzer-Prize winning "Emperor of All Maladie" - a biography of cancer. Really, it's more interesting than it sounds.

Happy reading!

Angel of Artsci Past

I suddenly became very ill last night, developing a fever of 102 degrees. I felt totally fatigued and could do little more than lie on my bed with a blanket wrapped around me. The house was cold and dark, and my parents were off dog-sledding at a resort a couple hours away. I can’t remember a time when I felt so miserable.

Fortunately my sister arrived home shortly thereafter. She made me some toast along with a hot cup of milk. Sitting beside me, she worked away on her laptop while we talked and joked. It felt so good just to have another person there, and in talking to her, I felt myself forgetting about my own sorry condition.

At the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder how so many patients in the hospital are able to endure weeks or sometimes even months of being bed-ridden. Often times they are so old that they've outlived most of their friends, or they just don’t have any direct family members. And so they lie in the sterile confines of their hospital room while their bodies fail them. Sometimes they cry out in the night for their mother or father, who are long dead. For most of the day, their only company is the nurse on staff.

Last semester, I was fortunate enough to be supervised in the hospital by Dr. Oczkowski, a young internal medicine resident. The doctor, or “Simon” as we called him, had a real gift with patients. He could walk into a hospital room with a very ill patient and make a connection within moments. He’d ask them how they were doing, explain their condition in a way that made sense to them, and joke around a bit. With a natural sense of humour, his patients inevitably felt cheered up by the end of his visit.

Simon also had an incredible grasp of medical knowledge, but I think his true gift was in genuinely caring. For the brief duration of his visit, he'd make it seem like his patient was the only person in the world. I think that the sick and dying cross a point in their illness when simple compassion and connection with another human being matter far more than any medicine or procedure.

Interestingly, Simon and I have led parallel lives in many ways. We both grew up in Hamilton, both went to the “Arts & Sciences” program at McMaster, both went on the Student International Health Initiative trip to India, and both went to McMaster’s medical school. I can only hope that I'll be even half as good a doctor as he is. 

Puppy Love

A couple years ago, Sonia (my sister) flew off to India with the intent of rescuing malnourished street puppies that had been abandoned by their mothers. She didn't have to look far. Walking down a side street of our hometown one day, she spotted a tiny black puppy lying in a ditch. The puppy, a female, was on the brink of starvation, her ribs displayed prominently through her emaciated chest. My sister tried feeding her a little piece of bread, but she was too weak to eat or even move.

Wrapping the small dog in a cloth and gingerly placing her in a cardboard box, Sonia took her to a local veterinarian, who turned his nose up at the puppy. 

"Why would you bother with a street dog? It will die anyway," he said. In India, street dogs are generally viewed with disdain, and it's almost unheard of for someone to adopt one as a pet. Instead, rich Indians have their pick of expensive breeds, which have become status symbols in a highly status-conscious society. 

But fortunately the vet agreed to give the puppy a couple of shots and sold my sister some flea powder. After giving her a bath, my sister discovered a star-shaped patch of white fur on her chest... and subsequently named her "Tara", which means "star" in Sanskrit. At first, Tara couldn't hold down anything more than water. But after recuperating for some time, she was able to start digesting heavier foods like milk and roti, a flat Indian bread. Covered in the white, chalky flea powder from the tip of her snout to the end of her tail, Tara managed to frighten the neighbours on more than one occasion.

Against all odds, my sister nursed the small puppy back to life with healthy meals, regular washings and countless patting sessions. She got a great sense of satisfaction when she took Tara back to the vet for another round of shots. The vet was shocked ... whereas the puppy had come to him before as an emaciated shell, she now had a shiny black coat of fur, sparkling eyes and boundless energy.

"This is a beautiful dog," he conceded.

Upon regaining her energy, Tara showed a particular fondness for shoes, sometimes grabbing people's chappals right off their feet. When my sister would discover some mischief - like a chewed up shoe or a missing roti - she would confront Tara, ready to give her a light smack. But the dog would leap into her cardboard box and cower guiltily... she was a master of the "puppy eyes", which made it virtually impossible to administer any form of punishment.

But as Sonia soon discovered, Tara still had the restless energy of the street dog, repeatedly escaping the property to go play in the streets. Although this bothered my sister at first, she eventually realized that it was only in the dog's nature. So she found a healthy compromise: Tara could run off every morning and then come back in the evening for a meal and a comfortable place to sleep. After two months, my sister returned to Canada, feeling like her mission had been accomplished.

Ever since then, Tara has become a fixture of our Indian neighbourhood. Not only is she popular with the children, but with everyone else as well - our prim-and-proper neighbours, the elderly, the shopkeepers... even the homeless. Each year, she greets a fresh batch of Canadians who travel to our Indian home (which doubles as a yoga retreat centre) searching for spiritual solace. They don't have to look far to find a miracle, because there's one that meets them right at the doorstep; a living, breathing, tail-wagging miracle.

Shortly after the rescue

Bath time

Healthy and happy

Puppy eyes

All grown up