In the summer of 1996, when I was just six years old, I had my first brush with the world of medicine. It was a humid afternoon in suburban Mumbai. I was out playing street cricket with my cousins and some other kids. It’s the city I was born in, although by this stage our family was living in England after stints in Hong Kong and Nairobi. I stood in the road, wielding my bat, as one cousin ran towards me to bowl. As he did, he was struck by an invisible force: clutching his abdomen, he crumpled to the ground in agony a few yards in front of me. I ran over to him, with nothing to offer but panic and fear. As far as I knew, he was about to take his final breaths. At that moment, I felt so helpless.
My family rushed him to hospital, where doctors diagnosed a ruptured appendix. I didn’t know what that meant at the time, but I knew I wanted to find out. That sense of helplessness had a profound effect on me: I decided once I was older, I’d be someone who could act in a medical emergency, not simply stand by. Now in my 30s, I accept that my six-year-old self can be forgiven. But this visceral sensation has shaped my career, first as an NHS surgeon and health advocate, and now, somewhat surprisingly, in the world of social media, too. With more than 8.5m followers across my channels, it’s safe to say I’m not your typical influencer. My videos are all about the human body, medicine and science: fun, fascinating facts and the history of medical advances; health hacks and tips on how to worry less and live better.
After that incident with my cousin, I was committed to a career in medicine. My mum is a doctor – still practising. She’s a haematologist now, but in those earlier years she worked in emergency rooms and intensive care. That day, once my cousin was safely in surgery, I asked her what was happening. From then on, I never stopped asking questions. As a kid, I loved the stories she told me about interesting interactions, particular patients and prognoses. Tales of major emergencies, life-changing interventions from night shifts opened my eyes.
At 18, I enrolled at Imperial College School of Medicine in London. Mostly, I loved to get under the skin. Above all, I was drawn to the practical anatomy sessions. I dissected abdominal muscles and uncovered the full length of the intestines, various blood vessels and a network of nerves that runs through the body like phone lines. This behind-the-scenes view of life felt invasive and unnatural, but also essential. It was here that I decided I was going to become a surgeon; to understand how our bodies are equipped to wipe us out, but also how we can enhance them, or tweak our lifestyles, to minimise the chances of falling apart before our time is due.
While a student, I stumbled upon social media. It was 2012. I’d just completed a series of practical examinations and realised there weren’t many good video tutorials online to help my fellow medical students learn and pass. While in training, you’re tasked with tutoring students in the year below. I’d guide them in-person, then they’d be sent home with few resources to help. So, I started my own YouTube channel. In the first one, I asked a friend to lie down on a bed and I did a cardiology exam, then a respiratory exam, then an abdominal one. A following of medical students grew, first at university, then across the country. Soon, I had viewers all over the world and it’s become a permanent repository for medical students.
In those early days, I had no idea how labour-intensive making YouTube videos could be. Then, towards the end of 2019, I found myself scrolling through TikTok. It was so different – with just a camera and minimal editing I could get clips out right away.
Now a few years into my career, I knew it was important to shift my focus. Educating my peers was no longer my sole intention. Instead, I wanted to speak to the general public. Doing so felt more important, for a host of reasons. Medical misinformation is rife and a quick Google can lead the sharpest of minds to feeling convinced they have cancer whatever their symptoms. I know the feeling: for much of my time in medical school, I was constantly inaccurately self-diagnosing myself. Yes, you’re always best to see a doctor, but what if I could arm people with more of the facts to help them on their way?
While wellness gurus and pseudo-scientists promote supplements and unsustainable lifestyles, my experience in evidence-based medicine teaches us small, sustainable changes can vastly improve our health. It’s that information I’m determined to get out there. Accessible, achievable advice that can transform lives.
Did you know, for instance, the recommended intake per day of fibre for an adult is 30g? The average Brit consumes around half that. Published evidence suggests increasing your fibre intake by 10g a day (that’s two tablespoons of chia seeds, or a pear and some lentils or a banana) can lower your bowel cancer risk by 10%. A tiny change with an incredible payout. And the whole “you need eight hours of sleep”? That’s a total myth. We all have clock genes and individual clock proteins in every cell in our body: tiny little clocks which answer to the master clock in the brain (the suprachiasmatic nucleus). These clocks are different in all of us, so one person may need six hours, another may need over eight. All you need to know is: aim for a consistent sleep and waking up time, and you know you’ve had a good night’s rest if you wake up feeling refreshed.
Did you know it takes around 90 minutes for 50% of the contents of the stomach to empty into the small intestine? For this reason, it’s a good idea to avoid eating in the two to three hours before you go to bed. Eating meals high in fat before sleeping can delay gastric (stomach) emptying thanks to a hormone called cholecystokin, which can also worsen acid reflux if you have it, and will disturb your kip.
I tested the water by making videos about weird medical facts, to grab people’s attention: your stomach acid is strong enough to melt razor blades; the dangers of plucking your nose hairs. Holding in your farts can be dangerous – the gaseous emissions are absorbed into your bloodstream and eventually exhaled via your lungs (yes, fart breath). In your body right now, you’ve got as many bacterial cells as the entire human kind. From there, I’ve covered all corners and crevices of the human anatomy.
Empowering people with knowledge isn’t just an educational aim. There’s evidence to show it can improve health outcomes as well. Take pain: there’s research that shows if you explain to a patient how pain works and why they’re experiencing it, that information can help reduce their perception of the pain itself. Pain is a physical manifestation of our thoughts, something happening in our brain. It’s not purely mechanical. Explaining how it works can, at times, reduce that suffering. We can apply that logic to many conditions: knowing and understanding gives you control of the situation. When a patient is in poor health, helplessness can be a heavy burden to bear.
Having such an intimate understanding of the human body can be quite a strange feeling. Sitting in a busy train carriage, I might pick up on other people’s conditions – Parkinson’s from the way they walk; hyperthyroidism from the appearance of their eyes – sometimes before they themselves have realised. Certainly, I’m more comfortable talking about subjects (periods, bowel movements, blood and guts) that can be sensitive for those who work in a different field. I’m often unfiltered in a way friends can find a little off-putting over dinner: there’s even a section in my book on how to have the perfect poo… It’s all about angles.
How I see life and death is also coloured by this knowledge. I can appreciate the wonder of what’s happening beneath my skin, yes. I’m also conscious of just how fragile it is; how quickly things can start to break down and unravel. I’ve seen it happen to patients – you can walk in the door thinking you’re healthy and be dead within a few hours. Understanding all this means you can embrace opportunities and take no moment for granted. It’s why I try to live every day to the fullest.
However counterintuitive it might sound, all of this is why health and wellness isn’t my only priority. Becoming obsessed can be all-consuming, sucking the joy out of living. I prioritise my family, my friends, and embracing new experiences as much as making the healthiest choices day in and day out. Think of arming yourself with health and medical knowledge as a way of helping you make sensible, informed choices that can give you more time to do whatever makes you smile. And trust me, health literacy can help you live a life that’s happier. So, why be a stranger to your own insides?
As told to Michael Segalov
This Book May Save Your Life by Dr Karan Rajan is published by Century at £18.99. Buy a copy for £16.71 at guardianbookshop.com
