at the hospital last night..
At the hospital last night, inside the makeshift medical tent, I sawa middle-aged mother lying on the first bed near the entrance. Her face was pale. She was dressed in black. I was busy caring for other patients, moving from one emergency to another. When I finally sat down in the small office chair opposite her bed, I noticed she was lying on her right side, very still.
Her young daughter sat beside her on the same bed, tired, restless, on the verge of tears.
I went to them and sat on the next bed, leaning forward so I could speak gently. I asked the mother what was wrong. She told me she had a fever, cough, and body aches. All of her children were sick with the same symptoms, including her three-month-old baby, who was still back in their tent.
I asked the nurse to bring her fluids and painkillers, and asked for the daughter to be taken to the other tent for the same care.
A few minutes later, the daughter was gone. In her place appeared two younger children, a boy and a girl. They were beautiful and innocent, wearing old, unclean clothes that immediately told the story of tent life, like that of more than a million others. They walked around their mother's bed. I wished I could film the way they moved; taking three or four small steps forward, then stepping back, over and over. They looked around without knowing what to do, how to behave, or where to go. I wished I could protect them from this misery. They kept circling her bed for more than a minute. Then I realized their mother was too sick and exhausted to care for them.
I asked her if there was anyone who could take the children to the pediatric room. She told me her husband was at the other medical tent with their daughter. I immediately left my tent to find him and bring him back so he could take the other children to be seen.
He was already overwhelmed; his daughter had just received an injection for pain and was crying, He came with me, and as soon as he saw his children, he said, "Baba, come on, let's go get treated." His voice was so caring, and carried desperation and exhaustion.
The mother asked me to stop the IV fluids and remove the line so she could get up and go check on her baby in their tent. When things finally calmed a little, and all of them were together, feeling slightly better, the father reminded me that their baby back in the tent was suffering from the same illness. He asked whether it was necessary to bring him to the hospital.I insisted that he do so as soon as possible. This infection is widespread, serious, and could become life-threatening.
What is truly inhumane is that this mother lay on a hospital bed, too exhausted even to call for help, while her sick children wandered around her, unnoticed, because no one was free enough to see them, to protect their vulnerability, or to care for their illness What breaks me is that this family is only one among thousands enduring immense suffering every day, freezing in the cold, falling sick, struggling just to reach a hospital tent. And then returning to their own tent, relieved of pain for only a few hours, without the medications needed to treat their symptoms when the pain inevitably returns. That was the saddest image of my shift.
These are basic supplies I was able to afford through the campaign two weeks ago for patients in my department, simple thermometers, blood pressure monitors, and somne paracetamol. They cost just $300. These items were not available before, and they have helped, and continue to help, many patients.
ANOTHER was when a man was carried in by his old mother, sister, and brother. He had a fever of 40°C, and there was no paracetamol anywhere to give him.
ANOTHER was hearing my colleagues quietly begging God for a short break, asking for no more patients, just a little time to let their bodies rest.
THIS is the result of an ongoing genocide; one that has left vulnerable families exposed to endless storms, trapped in a place where life itself is no longer the safest option. One that has pushed everyone to the very edge of collapse.
