As a practising British Muslim and doctor, I was born into my religion and have grown up learning and appreciating that Islam is my way of life.

When I was a child, the significance of being a Muslim to me was trying to be a good person as well as taking part in a few extra activities in addition to my time at Brownies and calligraphy classes with other school friends. Arabic lessons for an hour after school in the evenings with my siblings helped us to read and write Arabic (an important prerequisite to being able to read the Quran), and some of us began to learn parts of the Quran off by heart. I learnt how to perform ablution (washing and purifying oneself before prayer), as well as the correct actions, direction (towards Mecca), and timings of praying five times a day from my parents.

The excitement of Ramadan peaked when I was old enough to begin to keep a few fasts during the long summer days and join in with cooking the iftari (fast opening) meal in the evenings. The celebration of Eid, which comes at the end of Ramadan, is a wonderful occasion with plenty of time to meet up with relatives and friends at the mosque, where everyone congregates for the special Eid prayer.

As a sixth former I began seriously to try to understand what it meant to be a Muslim. Because I changed secondary schools, I took the opportunity of wearing a headscarf (hijab). I admit that I found this difficult, especially at first, when bumping into old friends, but dressing modestly was part of the religion I accepted and understood. Just as police officers are more professionally aware while in uniform, wearing a headscarf gives me a stronger sense of being a Muslim. I also had the opportunity of travelling to Mecca for the Hajj (pilgrimage). Meeting so many other Muslims from almost every country was an incredibly spiritually motivating experience.

The essence of Islam's mission is to elevate our humanity, to make us more conscious of justice and the need for unity. Representations of Islam by the media are often reductive and negative. Incorporating Islam in my daily life is the only way to practise the religion. My friends have long since realised that there is little point in hoping to include me in any social outing that includes drinking alcohol, because Muslims are forbidden to even touch it.

The main aim is to believe in God and to do good. Making the decision to become a doctor meant that not only would I be doing a job that was satisfying as well as interesting but that I would be "doing good" throughout the day and getting reward for it in religious terms, collectively earning a place in paradise. As a Muslim I attempt to practise Islam through everything I do--from praying the afternoon in the hospital chapel to fasting during the holy month of Ramadan, and, of course, in my daily social encounters and communications with people.

Muslim doctors have faith in God and destiny, and the conviction that there is a cure for every disease. They are an agent of healing and believe that the act of healing is not theirs but depends on God's will.

The art of healing, or the medical profession in modern language, has been highly respected all through the ages. For a long period in human history this was closely correlated with religious leadership and quite often confluent with magic and miracles. Since the advent of Islam 1400 years ago, medicine has become a science subject to human intelligence and discovery. Nevertheless, medical doctors have persistently captured the appreciation and respect of their contemporaries, especially as medicine was usually associated with other philosophical and social knowledge. In fact this close marriage between philosophy and medicine distinguished the medical history of Islam. The gist here is that the doctor's prognosis included the spiritual, psychological, and social sides of the patient over and above the pathological aspects.

But what is it that makes me, a Muslim doctor, different from other doctors? From the technological and scientific points of view, all doctors fall in one category. When it comes to practice, however, Muslim doctors finds themselves bound by particular professional ethics plus his Islamic directives issuing from their belief. Muslim doctors are expected on some occasions to behave differently from and meet greater responsibilities than other doctors.

In my career I will often be confronted with questions regarding the legitimacy of my activities. There are almost daily controversial problematic issues on which decisions have to be made, for example; birth control, abortions, transsexual operations, brain operations affecting human personality, plastic surgery, extra- uterine conception, and so on.

By accepting the fact that God is the healer and that the doctor is only an agent, both the patients (irrespective of their creeds) and their doctors fight their battle of treatment with less agony and tension. I think it is true that such spiritual conviction would improve the psychological state of the patient and boost his or her morale, thus helping him or her overcome his physical weakness and sickness. There are many examples where faith has played a miraculous part in the process of healing. I think that a Muslim doctor, as does a doctor of any faith, has an advantage of making this the backbone of the healing procedure.