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In 2005, at a time when the world’s eyes were focused on Iraq, during the height of the insurgency, I was beginning the first year of my surgical residency in the biggest hospital in Basra, Iraq’s southern province.
I had just graduated from medical school and was excited to start my internship. But my training hadn’t prepared me for what I was about to experience. Basra was a place torn by violence, fighting and even disrespect for what I was relentlessly dedicated to—saving lives. The hospital was in the middle of the fighting; any time a bomb went off, we were flooded with patients. People were killing each other, and it was dangerous, no matter where you were. That year, my country experienced an increase in insurgent attacks. We had more than 34,000 incidents, which was 30 percent more than the year before.
When I arrived, after three years of continuous war, the hospital was in terrible condition. Basic supplies, like gloves, were non-existent and electricity was unreliable. I had to be creative—if the right size needles weren’t available, I had to find something else to use, like veterinarian needles. Many of the hospital’s doctors had left because of the conflict, leaving us understaffed for the number of patients coming through our doors. The first time I went to the hospital’s Emergency Department (ED), I met the doctor who was staffing it. He greeted me, saying, “You are new here, welcome!” He told me to take a seat and said he was going outside for a cigarette. After an hour, I realized he wasn’t coming back.
I was alone, the only doctor in the ED. It was quiet for the first hour. Then, I heard the sound of a trolley coming down the hall and a rush of patients. A bomb had gone off and suddenly we were inundated with patients. This was a frequent occurrence. In May, suicide bombers ripped through the country, and about 700 civilians died in that month alone. I treated many innocent people in the hospital. Someone would be sitting in their garden drinking tea and a bomb would fall on them.
Because we were so short-staffed, most doctors, including me, lived at the hospital. When I got a break, I would walk over to another wing and try to get some sleep. My aunt would bring me home-cooked food. When I traded shifts with another doctor, we would exchange three things: the shock-box, which was used for resuscitation, a walkie-talkie to communicate and a gun.
You develop good leadership skills working during wartime. Your judgment improves. You learn to trust only in chance. I would tell myself, “If I’m going to die today, I’m going to die.” One day, a bomb drops on your neighbor’s house, which could have just as easily landed on your house. You stop thinking about these things. You learn to use humor to get by and the people you work with become your best friends. Although it was scary, I always knew that when I needed someone, when I was swamped with patients or when I didn’t know how to proceed, someone would be there next to me. They may be half-asleep in their slippers, but if you needed them, they would come. At times, I wanted to stop and leave the hospital, but I knew if I did, there would be no one to take my place. You stop caring about the lack of gloves and scrubs and you adapt to what you have to work with. The hospital saved a lot of lives in that time, but we lost a lot of people too.
After what felt like a lifetime, but in reality was only eight months, the situation got too dangerous and I had to leave. My family fled to Jordan, a neighboring country, where I stayed until I got asylum in the United States in summer of 2008. About two months after I arrived here, I got a job at Children’s Hospital Boston’s International Center as a case manager. Here, I coordinate cases of families from all over the world. I help identify what physician or department they should see when they arrive and assist them with all aspects of their visit.
Unfortunately, I can’t practice medicine in the United States yet, but I plan to in the future. Because my internship was interrupted, I will need to start over again here. But even though I’m not able to physically care for patients, I’m so grateful to be working at Children’s. It is an unexpected dream. I get to met and witness the work of some of the best doctors in the world, and see sick children receive amazing, life-saving care. In the International Center, I enjoy meeting people from so many countries and learning about their backgrounds. It is truly beautiful. So much good happens here at Children’s, and I’m happy that I am here, helping by doing my part.
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