A beautiful flower

It felt terrific to express what she needed to hear and even more rewarding to speak from the heart. We were silent for the next few moments, perhaps pondering the new bond that had just formed between us.

Before we left, Mohammed came over to see how we were doing. He asked me, “Is there anything you would like to know about Za’atari?”

“Why don’t you enlighten us with some interesting facts?”

“Certainly, we currently have about eighty thousand refugees here, making it the largest refugee camp in the world. Did you know that we have had so many babies before here that half of our population are children?”

“Wow. Who takes care of all these children?”

“Besides Elaina, many charities, including the United Nations, lend a hand.”

“And what is your story? How did you end up here?”

“I was a restaurant owner in Aleppo. My wife and I fled here after the government started bombing the city. We have adopted three children.”

“You have a kind heart, Mohammed, even though I know you will try to sell me more tea and take my money.”

Mohammed laughed. “Yes, I will. Enjoy your stay here, Joe.”

“Shukran.”

After the tea, we continued our journey, with Elaina diligently showing me around and sharing insights about how electricity and water were supplied to the camp.

We reached the hospital thirty minutes later, signaling the end of our time together. Although we had spent the whole day with each other, it felt as though only a few hours had passed.

“So, this was the tour of the camp, Mr. Joe,” she giggled.

“Is it? I guess my luck has run out,” I attempted to flirt.

“But seriously, I had a wonderful time.” I praised her with a smile. "Taking a walk around the camp was nothing short of magic. You're a terrific guide, Elaina. I hope that from here on, the two of us cross paths more often.”

“Thank you,” she blushed.

“Shukran,” I said, attempting to thank her for her time in my less-than-fluent Arabic.

“Not bad,” she laughed. “Don't worry, I'll teach you some Arabic.”

“Looking forward to it,” I replied, tipping my beach hat.

With those words, we bid our farewells and went our separate ways.

***

Elaina

Once the tour was finished, Elaina went to see Dr. J. She went into his office and sat across from him.

“How did it go?” Dr. J asked.

“Everything was fine. There were no problems at all.

“Good. What did you think of Joe?”

“I only met him today.”

“I know that. I don’t want to know your personal feelings for him—but do you think he can work and survive here?

“Probably. He’s very curious about everything in Za”atari and appears to want to learn more about my culture. He seems like a good guy.”

“Who did he meet?”

“We met Salah, Ishmael, and Mohammed from the tea place.”

“All right. I guess the day was fine. I’d like you to please keep an eye on him and help him out if he needs anything. I will handle his medical training, but you know a lot more about Za’atari than I do.”

“OK. I will help him if he needs it. Right now, he’s doing fine and making contacts.”

“Thanks for stopping by. You can rest now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Elaina left and went to her room to rest. One thing she didn’t tell Dr. J was how interested he seemed to be in her. Maybe that’s just his personality. Yet, she felt she would like to learn more about Joe. He had been very kind and gave her many compliments.

Chapter 4: The Daily Routine of Za’atari

During the next few days after the tour, there was little time to converse and socialize with Elaina. We would occasionally share meals in the mess hall, but always in the company of other hospital staff. Most of our conversations focused on work or Ishmael. Private conversations remained elusive.

As Dr. J’s intern, I adhered to his rigorous schedule, often spanning sixteen-hour days. The operating room became my classroom, where the delicate choreography of life and death unfolded with each precise incision. Dr. J’s unwavering focus impressed me; he seamlessly performed multiple surgeries daily, never faltering or showing emotion. His tools spoke for him, orchestrating the intricate ballet of healing and recovery.

Deciding whether to save a limb was a constant battle of ethics and emotions. The world's harsh reality, so relentless and unforgiving, starkly contrasted with my idealistic notions. The scenes of suffering and trauma shattered my preconceptions, forcing me to confront the raw and unfiltered nature of reality.

During the operations, I often observed Elaina, a nurse with a unique aura of diligence and compassion. Her mere presence seemed to uplift everyone’s spirits. Elaina would gently grasp patients’ hands, offering comfort and solace with her soothing words spoken in Arabic. Remarkably, her compassionate approach consistently yielded positive results. Even when faced with patients who had endured the loss of a limb, Elaina’s empathetic demeanor managed to coax a smile from their weary faces.

One morning, I was assigned to observe an operation on a young boy named Ali. His eyes bore witness to the unspeakable horrors of war, and now he faced the necessity of having part of his leg amputated. To my astonishment, Elaina would also be part of the surgical team for this procedure. My task was to prepare Ali in his room for the operation while Elaina took on the delicate role of comforting and explaining the procedure to him and his anxious mother. The weight of responsibility settled upon us as we stepped into that room, knowing our actions would shape Ali’s future. When I first observed him, he looked extremely nervous. His lips quivered, and his forehead was sweating.

As Ali faced the impending amputation of his leg, mentally preparing for a life without the physical freedom to run through the streets whenever he pleased, I couldn't shake the arrogant comparison I drew between his fragile form and my privileged childhood. The room hung heavy with the weight of Ali's suffering and my shame.

As I assisted another nurse in putting in the IV line, Eliana patiently spoke in Arabic to Ali and his mom. She was able to coax a smile from him.

During a momentary break, I asked Elaina, “What did you tell him? He is in much better spirits since you spoke to him.”

“I told him he was strong and could get through this. Also, I spoke the truth. I told him that if he wanted to grow up, he must go through with this. Then I told him the hospital staff, including myself, would be here to comfort him and how much I admire his courage.”

“Wonderful words for the boy. Good job.”

Elaina and I escorted Ali to the operating room, where Dr. Schmidt would perform the critical surgery. Elaina provided comfort, holding Ali’s hand until the anesthesia gently lulled him to sleep. As the room hushed, Dr. Schmidt assumed control. He beckoned me to his side, inviting me to witness the stark reality—the damage inflicted upon Ali’s leg.

He pointed to the scar above his knee. “You see all the rough texture. Over here, pointing to another area is untouched skin. Notice the contrast. You can also see remnants of stitches with the scar, which hints at previous attempts to mend the leg.”

“Is there no possibility of saving the leg?” I asked.

“No. Believe me, if I could do so, I would, but his leg is too badly infected. If we do not amputate the leg now, his pain will increase greatly, and eventually, he will die. This is the only course of action.”

Dr. Schmidt and the surgical team moved with precision, which belied the emotional gravity of the situation. My discomfort at the sight of blood transformed into a deep respect for the resilience of the human spirit and the lengths to which medicine reached to mend shattered lives.

The moment the scalpel touched Ali's leg, my stomach tightened. Vivid with raw blood, painting a distressing portrait of the struggle for survival. Dr. Schmidt seemed to sense my discomfort even while focusing on Ali.

“You can stand back and observe from a distance if you wish. I know this must not be easy for you. You’ll get used to it.”

I stepped back and moved next to Elaina, who was also observing. My body brushed against hers. She patted me on the back, trying to comfort me. No doubt, she had seen numerous operations. Unfortunately, my nausea got the best of me, and I grabbed a bag and threw up into it. After discarding the bag, Elaina presented me with a bottle of water. I was genuinely embarrassed, but Elaina and the others in the operating room were—Thank God—focused on Ali and not my discomfort.

As the surgery unfolded, my unease transformed into an acknowledgment of the dedication before me. The room was soon filled with antiseptic smells and the rhythmic beeping. After a few hours, Ali was sent to the recovery room and then back to his hospital bed.

Every day after the operation, I went to Ali’s room to assess his progress. Initial visits revealed the intense pain he endured. However, as days passed, a heartwarming scene unfolded: Elaina, standing by his bedside, held his hands firmly and gently brushed his hair with her other hand. Despite the weight of his tragedy, Ali smiled at her, finding solace in her presence.

I stood there watching them.

After a moment, I said, “It seems you are the only one who can make Ali smile in the hospital. I know I can’t.”

“You don’t speak the language, so it’s more difficult for you. I’m sure Ali has met very few people who do not speak Arabic. It’s a matter of trust.”

“I see. Please tell Ali that Arabic is a beautiful language, and I wish I could speak it well.”

Elaina said, “All right.” Then she spoke to Ali. Ali looked at me and gave me a thumbs-up.

That melted my heart. I bowed to him, and he laughed.

Ali was on his way to recovery. Of course, there were other patients to work with. A few days later, Dr. Salama assigned me to change some bandages on a twenty-five-year-old man, Suleiman, who had recently had his leg amputated above the ankle. To my surprise, I found myself teaming up once again with Elaina. I couldn't be more grateful for this arrangement. Her proficiency in English made her an invaluable asset to the medical staff and the patients, and I was glad to have her by my side.

As I walked into the patient's room, I heard, “Look at you,” from a familiar voice that I recognized as Elaina's. “You've gone quite pale since I last saw you. Aww, has this been too much for you?” Her teasing demeanor put me at ease, dispelling my concerns about potential awkwardness after not seeing each other for a while.

“At least I hope I don’t throw up again in front of you. That was quite an experience. Maybe I should have fainted instead.”

“You will get used to these operations. Think positively. We are saving someone’s life each time we operate.”

“I’ll try. So what are you doing today?”

“Dr. Salama asked me to apply an ointment and a dressing to an amputated leg wound.”

“Ok. Great. How can I help you?”

“Suleiman doesn’t speak English, so right now, he can’t understand us. He’s not the most excellent patient and complains quite a bit. Let's bring in a regular interpreter, as I don’t always like the way he speaks to me. I need to be able to focus on my job as a nurse.“

“OK.” I went outside for a moment and brought a female interpreter with me.

As Elaina began talking to me in English, the interpreter spoke in Arabic to Suleiman. “First, we must remove the old dressing and examine the wound for infections.”