Scientist Usman Hameedi struggles to live up to his father’s expectations while also pursuing his art.

Usman Hameedi received his MS in Biomedical Sciences from Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai. His research focused on cancer biology, specifically on how cells determine their fate and sometimes write their own destinies. He is also a poet with experience performing and coaching at both collegiate and national poetry slams.  Usman was highlighted on the Huffington Post and Upworthy, was featured at multiple venues, and was invited to speak at the Harvard Kennedy School and The White House. As an aspiring physician, he hopes to dovetail his scientific and artistic passions in a career focused on illuminating the rich narratives in health care. Despite some impressive credentials, he still can’t drive a car or ride a bike. Feel free to make fun of him about this.

This story originally aired on June 16, 2017.

Story Transcript

So my name is Usman, Usman Hameedi and I’m a Pakistani-American, which is to say three things.  One, when I go to airports TSA goes, “Copy, we have a Muslim on Line One.  I repeat, there's a sandstorm in Terminal A.”  Two, my beard-growing genetics are the envy of Williamsburg hipsters.  And three, I’m a pre-medical student. 

Now, most people assume that South Asians pursue medicine because their dads made them.  Legend has it as soon as we exited the womb, our fathers picked us up, mucus and all, and proclaimed, “Yeh-hai doctor.” 

I’m a bit of an exception from stereotype.  My initial exposure to medicine was seeing my dad struggle with diabetes.  Diabetes is endemic to my family.  A thick molasses coursing through our veins for generations.  As I was a kid, I would watch as he would prick his finger and check his blood sugar and figure out how much insulin to take. 

One day, he asked me if I wanted to give him his insulin.  I was scared.  I didn’t want to hurt my dad by mistake.  So I took a pear, which was my practice pear, and I began injecting it with water and just practicing how to inject.  And the pear was riddled with holes.  By that point, I was ready to do the injection.  Since then I've been a pro and my dad thinks I have a really great knack for it. 

A little bit more about my dad, my dad gave me the diabetes gene.  Did not give me the tall gene, which is really annoying.  He's also a teacher by profession, and once he introduced me to the world of diabetes he began to explain more about the science.  He began to explain about the difference between Novolog and Humulin, the proportions he used and why. 

So I’m already aware of the clinical ramifications of the disease.  I began learning the science underlying them.  And to me that was the hook.  He's a brilliant storyteller.  That hooked me into really pursuing science in high school.  Graduating, I had an opportunity to go to Brandeis University through the Posse Foundation and that identified young leaders and helped them through college. 

But I wasn’t really sure if I was a leader.  I did the typical stuff you put on your resume and you're like, “Oh, yay, I’m a leader.”  I also knew within me I had those kind of ambitions. 

So back to the health thing, my family and I were first-generation immigrants from Pakistan.  And whenever we would show our Medicaid cards when we’d go to a dentist or the doctor, people would give us scoffs.  People didn’t want to do extra paperwork, they didn’t want to have deductibles or whatever, all that stuff, and we would get special treatment that was different from everyone else who could pay. 

And I was tired of that.  I knew that was wrong and I knew that you shouldn’t have to worry about your access to healthcare when you're an immigrant.  I knew I wanted to do something about this, but I didn’t know what that was exactly. 

On top of that, especially when you consider the political climate now, when you're an immigrant you're kind of taught to just keep your mouth shut, do what you got to do, don’t cause commotion.  I knew that that wasn’t for me. 

On top of that, just as I was going into college, I discovered the one thing that you don’t want, like a kid that’s supposed to be quiet you give him this, you give him poetry slams.  So once I discovered that I was like, Oh, I want to be loud about everything. 

But then at the same time that created an even bigger problem.  I have this science stuff, I got the leadership stuff, got the art thing, and then I didn’t see how any of that connected.  So what I decided was I’m just going to do it all anyway.  And the mistakes that would happen along the way, I'd be happy about them just because they're my mistakes and I would be happy that I pursued what I wanted to pursue. 

But it’s difficult to break from the mold, especially the science mold because most people who do have a safety net.  I barely had a bank account.  Still, I knew that if I did something unique with my gifts that it would inspire other immigrants to really reach beyond what people tell them that they can do, that their dreams are limited by the scopes of their imaginations. 

I’m happy I really did that because art has really helped me become a better scientist, as weird as that sounds.  With art, you get to connect with people on a much more expansive level.  I've had the opportunity to perform across the country with my poetry.  And because of that, I realized how important science is because science is really making tangible tools and really making differences in the lives of others.  I’m really honored to be considered a scientist. 

But telling your dad this after four years of undergrad, saying, “You know, med school’s gonna happen eventually,” is a difficult conversation.  He didn’t really get it anyway.  So right after graduating I started a job at Sloan Kettering, and he didn’t care at all. 

So six months after, he was like, “Beta, when are you starting medical school?  You're off the track.”  So as any good son would do, I completely ignored him.  Then I continued to do what my moral compass was telling me to do. 

So in 2013 I had the opportunity to compete on a poetry slam team at NPS in Boston, and that was my first time on an adult team.  So in college at Brandeis I represented Brandeis at a thing they called CUPSI, but NPS is for like the big kids because if you do poetry you're still a kid.  And that was such a wonderful opportunity for me. 

But as life is, things get complicated when you least expect it.  So NPS is in August, traditionally, and then in July of 2013 my dad, he was scheduled for a quadruple bypass.  So this was like a few weeks out before competing.  They rushed him to Sinai. 

My dad’s being dad about it.  He doesn’t want us to worry and he's like smiles and like, “Everything is going to be all right.”  But like me as the most medically inclined, I know it’s not.  There's a specific reason why they immediately needed to rush him to do this.  Without going on to the science of it, I just knew that this shit got real. 

That whole experience was a blur to me.  I didn’t get a chance to be a son.  I immediately was in work mode, and I think that frustrated me even more because I felt how inadequate I was.  So at base of his bed there was his EKG, all the results.  I picked it up and I went to read it and I couldn’t.  I just blanked out on what the squiggles meant.  It upset me so much it just made me feel like such a fraud that I didn’t know this basic thing.  It hurt me and I couldn’t really get out of that. 

But I've learned since then that you can’t let science tell you how smart you are, and in certain moments it’s okay to not know because the whole point of science is to learn it.  If you don’t know something, go find out the answer. 

So, for all of you, an EKG is an electrocardiogram.  It’s organized into P, Q, R, S, and T complexes.  P is arterial depolarization.  It’s the kick.  It’s picking up and flying from Pakistan to American with nothing and coming in the middle of February from the hottest place in the world just because you want to have new opportunities for your family. 

Q, R, S is ventricular depolarization.  It’s the flexing of the thick cardiac muscle.  It’s working hard despite the quality of reimbursement being complete shit.  But you know that you have to drive these taxis, work at these airports to provide food for your family. 

And then T is ventricular repolarization.  It’s the relaxation before the next kick.  Relaxation is a tricky word here because there isn’t time for that.  There's never enough time because the next shift starts soon.  And that’s how my dad got here.  That’s how I operate too, because I am my dad’s son. 

As soon as I knew my dad was okay and back home, I went to NPS and did what I needed to do.  The reason why is because these goals have to get accomplished.  You can’t wait for life to be pretty before you keep going. 

Then, with that, my relationship with Sinai really started in 2014 when I applied for this master’s degree.  The reason why I did it was because I knew that I’m still not qualified yet to be in medical school because med school is really a complicated process.  I was like I need to do this so that I can get my stuff together. 

I explained that to my dad and he got it and he kind of let me do my own thing.  And I’m glad I did it because one of the issues that I've been having was, how do science and art fit?  Opportunities like this, opportunities throughout Sinai have made that really obvious.  It’s like, duh, it always has fit. 

And here at Sinai, meaning what I do now, I work on cell death and mitochondria.  So it’s basically understanding like how cells determine their fate, which is a cool idea.  This is really a basic biology kind of lab and what it teaches me is why the cells or the neurons in Muhammad Ali’s brain couldn’t answer the ten-count, why the beta cells my father’s pancreas are disappearing like sugar crystals in water, and why cancer cells they blossom into tumor just before petals fall beside gravestones. 

Another thing here I learned is that, ironically, the metaphors, they find you. 

I’m constantly worried about my fate, especially now because I didn’t get into med school this cycle.  That means I have a whole bunch of other stuff to do now.  It’s weird, it’s frustrating, it’s nerve-wracking, but I think that’s just life.  I’m trying to embrace that as best as I can. 

Now, you would assume my dad would be upset about all this.  But he's not.  He's actually really supportive because he's seen how much I've struggled and really pushed myself. 

A unique thing that my dad and I both have -- I don't know if unique is the right word -- but we were both actually patients at Sinai.  Right at the beginning of 2015 I was there for about ten days.  I had diverticulitis, just like Brock Lesnar.  He gets it.  He gets that, “You know what, my son, he's doing his own thing.” 

I’m also understanding that, although science has learning curves, the greatest learning curve is being a dad, and he gets that.  Like I've done the part where I've pushed him and pushed him and he's going to do what he needs to do.  He gets that I can’t just walk into Columbia. 

One thing I’m learning is the mistakes that you make, you have to own them.  And the people who love you will get that those are your precious things, those are your gifts that you're learning from. 

So my folks still live in Greenpoint and I visit them on the weekends.  Then one day after the night before, I had a conversation with my dad that, all right, med school is not happening yet. 

That morning, I always see him before I go, and I shake his hand.  Then he holds my hand a little longer.  His hands are big, big and puffy.  He holds my hand and he says, “Beta, I’m proud of you.  I’m proud of all the hard work you've done.” 

Thank you.