“August was the worst we’ve seen [here] medically. Hundreds of injured are coming in. Sometimes we have to go two or three days without sleeping. This month is incomparable to before. It is the worst I’ve seen. We are trying our best. We are trying to save lives and that’s what is keeping us going. We cannot do anything about the siege, it is what it is, and we are just struggling to survive. Of course, I have to hang on to hope. There is always hope.
There is much fear and depression in our community. You see it everywhere. Whenever there is a shelling or the sound of a plane, everyone desperately rushes home or to a shelter. The sound of a plane in the sky is terrifying. It is hard to explain how the situation is on the ground. You have to see it with your own eyes to understand, and even then it is unbelievable. We have seen huge numbers of injured over the past month; in these circumstances anyone who isn’t injured or dead can count themselves lucky.
Medically, we’ve had to become used to the situation, so we do things like rationing of medicine. Rationing has become an important part of our work. We have no choice, so we try to make do with what we have. There are too many patients, too many stories. But one patient shows the madness of this crisis – a child – who I will never forget until I die: he had injuries all over his face, his arms, his legs, and yet he was laughing! Just laughing and laughing. Children usually are afraid of our injections and needles, but he was not. He just laughed, laughed at everything.”Syria