3

11 1 0
                                    

from broken limbs to severe chest trauma. Unlike the other doctors, I immediately set down my duffel bag and pulled out my tools. I stared at the familiar picture of my face and read

In a few minutes I was already helping to do a minor lung surgery. I worked diligently for a few hours running this way and that, a pattern slowly sinking in. I was diagnosing a fracture in a small boy's arm when the blast of a bomb erupted from maybe a block away from the tent. Most of the doctors, me included, dropped what they were doing and ran to the side of the tent where the fighting was going on. The scene was that of a scene from the Washington Post, soldiers ducking into houses and hiding behind rubble, peaking out just to fire a few shots onto the enemy side. My eyes darted up and down the main intersection of the fighting. Suddenly, amidst a fallen wall I saw a small girl. She was streaked with blood and was crying fiercely. I knew I had to do something. I couldn't leave this girl to be shot or die of blood loss. Immediately, I grabbed a few medical tools and ran into a cement house for cover.

I gradually moved closer to the house where the girl sat, by dodging from rubble to house to rubble. I was two doors down from where she sat when the fighting began to pick up. I could see a tank coming into view from where the Assad forces sat. When I looked over at the other doctors who were all crowding to look at my heroism from where they sat, maybe 250 yards from where I crouched, I couldn't believe what I was doing-- it felt good. I knew I had to find better cover to rest in, so I ducked inside a more sturdy looking cement-brick house. This time instead of just ducking into the house I fully went into it and sat against the inner wall of the house for cover. I gasped for air. The risk didn't bother me as it used to.

As I buried my head in my hands I did not notice the heavy footsteps of a man coming down the stairs. Or that he had an Assad badge on. By the time I noticed him he had already 

Al Qusayr, Syria; Doctors Without BordersWhere stories live. Discover now