In English we had to write a creative writing story/speech/whatever based on the concept of 'belonging' (although, just recently it was decided that 'belonging' is not a concept but a theme). Our stimulus was a picture of two refugee children behind a diamond fence.
* Just so you know, this is not a true story. I am not a doctor!
Okay, so now we are clear. Please read.
* And sorry that I couldn't attach the stimulus :)
Refugee Camp
I have been doing volunteer work in refugee camps around the world for 10 years now and so you would think that I would be used to seeing the poor living conditions the refugees must live in. In a way I have gotten used to it. I’m a doctor and so I see this all the time – this is my reality. So when I go out to work I expect to see the rooves damaged by the weather, the food shortages, the contaminated water, and the poorly dressed children. But in such conditions they have to make-do – and they do. But these aren’t the poor living conditions I’m talking about. As I said, I have been to many refugee camps around the world, including the Palestine camps and Christmas Island. The conditions of each are different in many ways, but there is commonality between all of them. Disease. I’ve seen Typhoid, TB, Hepatitis, AIDS, HIV, and many other numerous diseases flow through these camps continuously. And no matter how many times I’ve seen the sick suffer with these diseases I still cry and ache for them on the inside.
Only two weeks ago I met two little African girls. They came to me for advice about their pregnant mother. They said that she had become very ill with headaches and she wasn’t eating or moving. Instantly fear and concern washed over me for their expecting mother. I visited their mother and she was indeed ill. She was unhealthily skinny and was running a temperature of 40 degrees. I called for a nurse to come immediately, and as I expected, no one came. The camps are always busy with limited staff running around for room to room. I told the two girls to leave the room to find a nurse and they left. I turned my attention to the mother again. I took out my torch and flashed them into her eyes – no response. I checked her pulse and it was weak. She had been sick for at least two weeks before I got to se her. I stripped her down and looked around the room for water, but every bucket was empty. I ran over to the woman and placed her hand in mine. As the minutes passed I sat, watching her chest slowly and shakily move up and down. I could do nothing for her. The girls finally came back with a nurse, but it was too late. Their mother and unborn sibling had been lost to typhoid. I stood up and approached the two girls and had to give them the same speech I’ve given to too many new orphans.
“Your mother was very sick and her heart couldn’t take the strain anymore. I’m sorry that I couldn’t do anything more. Your mother has passed peacefully with both of you in her heart.”
I led them to the bed so they could say their last goodbyes and then I left.
That night I did not – could not - sleep. I had trained and studied for years to help and save people. But here I am helpless – powerless. The episode ran in my head for hours repeating, skipping, rewinding. I just got there too late. And now there are two little girls without a mother, without a home, and without understanding. They don’t know how their mother got sick and they don’t know why she had to die. All they know is that they are alone.
It understand that it wasn’t my fault that their mother died, but never the less I feel responsible. I had been called to help, but could do nothing. It was out of my hands.
They came from a country where there was corruption and no hope. They came here and were affected by disease. They came here for help, but did not get it. But Typhoid was not their disease. It was much greater than that - much greater than any combination of doctors could ever match. It was the disease of the world. The conflict, the wars, the separation, the death – it was all one big disease. And that is what killed their mother and their hope for the future they thought they would have.
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