A little about me:

Hi, I’m Ruhie!

A writer, primary care physician, second-generation Indian-Australian, mum of three, and a daughter who cared for and lost her Dad to a terminal illness. Thanks so much for being here as I share my experiences and reflections on love, hope, loss, healing, family & everything in between in the form of letters to my dad, Sanjay, who I loved dearly and who died in 2019 after a harrowing battle with ALS/MND (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as motor neurone disease)

One of the hardest things I’ve found about losing a loved one is that life goes on without them, yet you never stop wishing you could talk to them, get their advice, laugh with them, and share what’s going on in your head, your heart, your life. Here, I have tried to cultivate a space to do just that, in the hopes that my words may spark questions and insights, encourage, liberate, and inspire others.

The vibe:

I want my Substack to feel like a community. Yes, these are letters from my heart to my Dad. But let’s be real – we know they are one-sided. In truth, I am sharing my experiences and reflections on life with you all, and I want to hear yours too. I want to know what resonates with you, what moves you, your “ah-ha!” moments. I want to know what you disagree with too, so I can broaden my perspective (always up for a little healthy debate!). I want to learn and grow with you.

I’m writing a book!

It’s my first book, my passion project: a memoir exploring how our greatest challenges can shape who we are and how we see the world in the most profound and unexpected ways, by showing us what is truly meaningful in life. It follows my journey of learning to live while grieving as both a doctor and a daughter as my dad battled terminal illness — an experience that challenged me in ways I could have never imagined, yet ultimately inspired me to live wholeheartedly and make the most of the time we are given.

Watching my dad go through MND/ALS — which over the course of three and a bit years robbed him of the ability to move, walk, talk, eat, drink and eventually breathe — was downright heartbreaking. Yet, unexpectedly, it also gave me some of the most heartwarming and joyous experiences of my life. We knew our time with Dad was limited. So we resolved to make the most of it.

• We moved in together as a family - my husband and I, my parents and younger sister. As you can probably imagine, five adults living under one roof was pretty chaotic! But it turned out to be an absolute blessing. It meant we could all be there for Dad and care for him until the end. It drew us closer together as a family than ever before.

• We went on holidays together, creating memories that will last a lifetime. While Dad could still walk, we went on a whirlwind 12-day bus tour across 8 countries in Europe — it was his first and only time over there. Later, when he could no longer fly, we took a cruise to New Caledonia. My parents’ tiny cabin was packed to the brim with all of Dad’s equipment and accessories — power wheelchair, electric hoist, commode chair, pressure care mattress, BiPAP ventilation machine, cough assist device, you name it! But we somehow managed and we had the best time.

• My husband and I shifted up our timeframe to start a family so that Dad could see a grandchild. In fact, our eldest surprised us five weeks early, which I like to think was the universe’s way of giving them just a little longer together. I am so grateful they had six special months together, and even more so that my son gave his first smile to his beloved Dada, a memory I will cherish forever.

This experience was by far the hardest thing I have ever gone through. It changed me fundamentally as a person and altered the course of my life forever. It also turned out to be a wake up call. It made me realize how much we take for granted in our day-to-day lives. Being able to move and function independently. Being able to eat and drink freely. Being able to talk, interact with others and communicate our basic needs. Spending time with our loved ones. Telling them - and showing them - how much they mean to us. Creating memories. Making time for things we love and enjoy, that light us up inside. Noticing the small moments of beauty and joy that are so easily overshadowed by the repetitive humdrum of our daily lives and the chaos that is hustle culture. We always assume there will be time for all of this later. But I discovered that sometimes, there is no ‘later’.

Losing Dad taught me to stop living on autopilot, and start truly appreciating life, time and those I hold dear. I learnt to live fully, love deeply, laugh often and make the most of the time we are given.

How I came to writing?

My writing journey began in mid-2022, three and a half years after my dad died. It started with this deep nagging sensation. Small at first, it grew stronger day by day and week to week. A desire, a longing, a need, to tell this story that had changed my life immeasurably. I tried to ignore it at first. I’m too busy, I thought. I’m not a writer! But the feeling wouldn’t go away. I came up with all sorts of excuses to talk myself out of it. I don’t have time. Who am I to write a book? No one cares about my story. But this compulsion to write grew until I couldn’t contain it any longer. I had to share Dad’s story. My family’s story. My story.

Origins:

As long as I can remember, I have been obsessed with stories — hearing them, reading them, sharing them, delighting in them. Growing up, if I wasn't running around playing field hockey in my spare time, you'd no doubt find me curled up on the couch, my feet roasting near the gas heater, my nose buried deep in a book. Fiction was my jam. I relished the chance to escape into other worlds where anything was possible and there was always a neat happy ending. My love of reading quickly shifted into a foray in writing. In high school, I penned epic dramas based on the exciting lives of fictitious high school students, so far removed from my own comparatively boring reality. I wrote sweeping love stories featuring my friends and I with famous sports stars (which I had to keep hidden from my Indian parents who would not be happy if they heard me talking about boys like that when I was still in school!)

But my inner creative spirit was at odds with my academic side. A classic head versus heart debate. From a young age, I have been driven to study and thrived in academic environments. Coming from a migrant Indian family, I was encouraged to keep my head down, do well at school and get into a good degree at college. My mum came to Australia with her family in 1972 as refugees in need of safety and in search of a better life. Dad joined them here in 1986 after he married Mum. My parents and grandparents worked damn hard to set our family up in a foreign country. They knew the struggle of living paycheck to paycheck and working multiple jobs to make ends meet. They wanted us to have good careers so we would never have to worry financially like they had. Get good jobs, they thought, and we’d be set for life.

That wasn’t why I wanted to be a doctor though. Sure, who doesn’t want to earn a comfortable living, but there are plenty of jobs that can provide that without ten-plus gruelling years of study! And sure, I fit the profile for your stereotypical doctor - nerdy, weirdly fascinated by the human body, and God-awful handwriting. But the real reason is I wanted to help people. I loved the idea of being able to use my brain for good. Someone comes to you with a range of symptoms, you put them together like jigsaw pieces, run some tests, and voila - you’ve solved the puzzle! Cue, anyone with any experience as either a doctor or a patient (i.e. everyone) laughing at my naïveté because if only it was always that simple. But I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to heal people. Plus, I wasn’t cut out for a desk job.

So I set my sights on a career in medicine. I earned a Bachelor of Medicine, Bachelor of Surgery (MBBS) with Honours, and chose to pursue primary care. I hold a Fellowship of the Royal Australian College of General Practitioners, a Diploma in Child Health, and a Professional Certificate in Women’s Health.

And, back to the here and now:

I love my job. I love my family. I love writing. And not a day goes by that I don’t miss my Dad and wish I could talk to him.

Thanks again for being here. I can’t wait to connect with you!