What Am I Doing Here? (Part 3)

The final installment of the 'What Am I Doing Here?' trilogy and perhaps the singular most defining moment of my life.

     Kani Masi, Northern Iraq.��������
     Danny pulled the Land rover into the side of the road at the entrance to a gently sloping scree valley, pockmarked here and there with tufts of rough grass. I had already spent close to three months in the stifling heat and desolation of Northern Iraq. Our thoughts had turned to humanitarian aid and the provision of food, water and care for the Kurdish people. Freezing temperatures, starvation and the need for clean drinking water had forced them from hiding in the mountains. 28,000 of them were now crammed into the valley with more arriving everyday. Some had filtered down from Uzumlu Camp and the banks of the River Zab, it was thought that there was close to 1 million refugees fleeing persecution and the war, another part of the major co-ordination headache for the guys of Support Company RM.
     I hefted my medical kit onto my shoulder and looped the rifle sling round my neck. It had been some time since anyone had seen fit to take pot shots at us but we had learned quickly never to take anything for granted. The town of Zakho a little further north had been used previously as an IRA training ground so the lads were still a little edgy. There was also danger of an engagement from the remnants of the tattered Republican Guard although generally and in an unusually absurd way, they used to just wave as we drove past. Unfortunately it was recognised that some of the Kurdish guerrilla groups or the Peshmerga (comprising the PDK, PUK and PKK groups) were taking shots in our direction in order to kick start more fighting with the Iraqi soldiers. It was a confusing time where you could never really be sure who was on whose side and so you learnt to turn you back on no-one.
     Part of my task that morning was to do rounds with Danny who was a Lance Corporal and my driver. We were there mostly to show face and offer basic medical aid where we could; when you�re faced with 28,000 people there is little else you can really do. A few of the refugees recognised us and greeted us with waves, smiles or the odd courteous nod of the head. Others watched us suspiciously through narrowed eyes and us them.
     I was called across to a rough tarpaulin held up by rough hewn sticks under which a large family huddled, a middle-aged man greeted me with a cordial handshake and waved me towards an old man. His English was surprisingly good and he expressed a deep concern for his father who was near blind. A quick examination revealed that the old man was suffering from cataracts and I started to explain that there was little I could do. It was at that point that I heard a faint mewling sound, a little like a cat. Something shifted slightly by my foot beneath a threadbare rug. To my shock and disbelief, the mother leaned forward and jerked back the rug to reveal a child. A girl, perhaps little more than a year old. Straight away I could tell by the child�s pallor and the way she rolled her eyes backward under fluttering eyelids that she was seriously ill. I asked her mother if I could take a closer look. At this point the grandfather began to complain to his son and waving at his feet with his walking stick.
�My father also complains that his feet are sore and cracking,� the man said. It was some time before I realised that this was this not a case of child neglect; the Kurdish tradition, whether you agree or not, is that the eldest take priority. The grandfather�s health and comfort take precedence over that of his son, that of his son over the eldest male child and so on and so forth working down the family line before crossing over to the female side. This meant ultimately that the youngest daughter�s needs were the lowest of priorities.
     A cursory exam revealed that she was badly malnourished and running a high fever. �We have to get your daughter to the hospital.�
     �But my father, his feet are cracking and he finds it difficult to walk,� the man replied as the old man complained some more.
     �I have to get this little girl to hospital now,� I told them. There was a moment of confusion as the mother, who did not speak English, began to question her husband. I watched mortified as the grandfather rebuked the woman severely and waved his stick threateningly at her. The father shrugged and waved his wife silent as the old man continued to harangue them.
     �If we don�t get your daughter to a hospital she will die,� I told them, feeling frustration and anger welling to the surface. Rummaging in my pack I tossed the old man some athlete�s foot cream and said, �two times a day.� Staring at me with thinly veiled contempt, the old man acceded and nodded to his son.
     The little girl was unconscious by the time we had gotten to the vehicle and I was terrified. She weighed almost nothing, a little bag of bones in a thin brown skin. I climbed into the back where her mother and father joined me. I told Danny to get us to the Canadian Field Hospital as quickly as possible.
     I fixed the girl up to my portable oxygen and pressed the oversized mask to her face; my mood didn�t improve when I saw how low my oxygen supply was running. Danny gunned the Land rover kicking up a spray of dust and stones as he slid onto the weathered track
     �What�s her name?� I asked attempting to keep her parents� attention away from the condition of their daughter.
     �Her name is Basinah and she is nearly three years.�
     I found out some years later that the name Basinah was Arabic for kitten, it seemed fitting somehow.
     She was so small; I had taken her for a few months past her first birthday. I brushed her thin dark hair out of her eyes as she lay cradled in my arms and nodded at her parents, �Basinah will be fine.�

     I was about to learn the harshest lesson in medicine: never, ever promise someone that everything is going to be fine.

     Suddenly I was acutely aware of something fleeing from her body; the oxygen mask had stopped fogging on the inside. Her chest was no longer rising and falling and her thin arm trailed away from her slight body. I felt for a pulse at her wrist, nothing. I checked immediately for the brachial pulse at the midpoint of her upper arm, nothing. The pulse at her throat. Nothing.
     Basinah had begun to develop a deathly grey pallor and the faint bluish tinge of cyanosis, due to lack of oxygen, at her lips. Her mother noticed it too and stared to scream.
     �Howie?� Danny shouted from the driver�s seat glancing over his shoulder and swerving the Land rover across the road.
     �Danny, she�s stopped breathing, put your f*****g foot down mate!�
     No, no, no, no.
     I pressed my mouth to Basinah�s nose and mouth and gave her a rescue breath watching for the rise and fall of her chest, this way I knew air was getting into her lungs. I began artificial ventilation, careful not to exhale too hard for fear of pushing air into her stomach and making her vomit. Gently I felt for the sternal notch and using two fingers began to depress her breastbone. Her father began to wail and hugged his wife, beating the side of his head with his free hand in frenzy.
     One, two, three, four, five, six�. come on, come on.
     I continued to breathe for her, becoming light headed with panic and my own hyperventilation. Two breaths, fifteen compressions. Two breaths, fifteen compressions. Two breaths, fifteen compressions. Two breaths, fifteen compressions. Check pulse. Nothing.
     She was too weak, there was no fight left in her system. I continued CPR, my heart hammering, my eyes blind with tears and my ears ringing with her parent�s cries.
     �How you doing mate?� Danny shouted, his voice broken.
     I couldn�t answer.
     �Howie, don�t f*****g let her die. DO NOT LET HER F*****G DIE!�
     One, two, three, four, five, six�
     Keep going, keep going.
     �Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen�
     Two breaths, fifteen compressions. Check pulse. Nothing.
     My hands were shaking and sweat was pouring into my eyes, stinging and running down my face. Keep going, keep going.
     Danny was thrashing the Land rover across the awkward terrain and twice I almost lost my grip on her as the wheels found potholes on the ground.
     Two breaths, fifteen compressions�
     She�s not coming back� she�s dying and you can�t f*****g stop it.

     What am I doing here?

     �Howie! Keep going, nearly there!� Danny shouted wiping the tears out of his eyes as he drove, �don�t give up!�
     One, two, three, four-
     All of a sudden, it was there. Basinah�s lips curled back and she let out a cry, a sound that will stay with me forever, her legs kicked and she twisted in my grasp. Her parents shouted as I placed the oxygen mask over their daughter�s nose and mouth and kept it pressed close, cracking the bottle fully open � giving her every last drop. If I could have rung the steel canister out with my bare hands I would have done.
     �She�s okay! She�s okay! She�s back! I got her back.�
     Danny shouted something too; I couldn�t quite make it out but I do know he almost put the Land rover on its side in his jubilation.
     Moments later we were through the makeshift gates and skidding to a halt outside the Field Hospital. She was collected by two nurses and hurried inside as I attempted to spit out what had happened. Her parents rushed after them, her mother pausing to clasp my hands and press them against her tear-wet cheeks.
     Danny threw his arms round me and squeezed me till I thought my ribs would break. Evidently he had a daughter of the same age; I had not counted on this affecting him in such a way. Outside the hospital I slumped onto my arse in the dirt and threw up on my trousers.

     Sometime later the father came out of the hospital complex and took my hand in his; I saw that his eyes were red and wet. He smiled and said that Basinah was well and that the Doctors expected her to make a full recovery. The he said something that affected me more deeply than anything I had ever heard.
     �No matter where you go in this world, for this, what you have done for us, you will always be my son, in my heart.�

     What am I doing here?
     This is what I�m doing here.

For Basinah and her family, wherever they are.


...............................

Reviews

[Marie Anzalone]

Vesa directed me to read this achingly beautiful story. I can actually completely relate to how you feel, as I had a similar experience while volunteering in Guatemala, in a place where newborns with disabilities are left out to die of exposure. I was working as a field veterinarian, and was called in to assist the birth of a child, my neighbor's baby. She was in her 18th hour of a breech delivery, being tended on the dirt floor next to a fire by a woman whose medical experience consisted of having survived delivering 12 babies of her own. I was never so humbled in my life. What are we doing here? The baby died of malnutrition after I left, and I have devoted my life to medical cures and economic development for the poor. This is what we're doing here, indeed.

This was a wonderfully written piece with a very important story to tell. I am very glad you wrote it, and equally glad I was directed to it.

[Coyote Poetry]

The forgotten people are the woman and children in the path of the War machine. Your story happen too often. I was a water and gas man in the Army for 15 years. I follow the Medics and the tanks. Medics and Doctors did great things to try to help the innocence. Sometime the good we do can overtake some of the bad we had to learn and see. A powerful story. Thank you for sharing.
Coyote

[.Bunnie.]

Oh Howie....! Part of me wishes you never had to go through any of that, but then another part is so glad that you did. I can only imagine how good you felt after you learned that she lived because of your actions alone, and after what her father said to you. Once again you've more than managed to make me cry. You are, without a doubt, my favorite author of all times!! I'd EVEN go as far to say that you top Sherrilyn Kenyon--and that's saying A LOOOOT, trust me!

The way you write is perfect. I found no errors whatsoever, and the entire story flows so perfectly well and everything is kept nice and neatly in order. Fantastic job! Once again...I say...why the hell are you wasting your time on here?? You're not like the rest of us. You're far more gifted and talented. Everyone has talent, so don't get me wrong there (and nobody send me any nasty emails calling me nasty words). I think everyone who's read anything you've ever written will by far not only understand what I'm saying, but completely and utterly agree with me.

IMO, I think you should definitely become published. I'd love to see books written by you over the time you've spent in the military. But of course you HAVE to send me a signed copy once you're all famous and stuff. :P Fabulous job, Howie!!

Now...I'm off to fix my eye makeup once again. -.- That's the only thing you suck for.

[A sea person]

Thank you for serving as God's hands in a country where He is working to save the lives and souls of so many.

God bless you and keep you.

Psalm 91:5-12
5 You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday.
7 A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.
8 You will only observe with your eyes
and see the punishment of the wicked.
9 If you make the Most High your dwelling-
even the LORD, who is my refuge-
10 then no harm will befall you,
no disaster will come near your tent.
11 For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways;
12 they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

v.r.
Ryan

[Carla (trying to make e..]

Howie,
I don't know what to say......
That people have these experiences in real life and it's not just a movie or a fiction novel is something that alot of us forget about. You have seen and done things that would put most of us to shame. we couldn't do these things....even if we tried...could we? ?
I am in awe of your story telling ability..it captures your heart and doesn't let it go to the end....

[Donald Meikle]

Great bit of reality recognized the buzz by sound glad you saved the kitten

[Amanda Crandall]

I've read them all. thinking of what to say is hard. You could have the writing skills of a third grader and that tale would have still been powerful, the fact that you have written it so well leaves it breathtaking. I am at a loss.

[Phillip J Clayton]

dude that was intense! raw yes an di guess because it's so real, but that was way more than i expected after part 1 it got so major bro, reminds me fo some things i was todl about the war by my friends, i'm sorry but i am not a tradional perosn i woudl have told the old man to go f**k himself, iguess thats why i can't dp people work, because i will loose my temper too easy, when ego's start getting in my way of helping those who really need it.

but great story man, enjoyed every part of it.

cheers! for sure!

[Narnie]

Yeah.. ok.. Im crying. I had to leave this after the first time I read and come back to it. The writings all there - nuff said on that. You are a fabulous writer and no-one could say otherwise. As far as the story goes it is too much and not enough all at once. You must have more - please write more - its so important. Sorry this is a weak review - I feel totally humbled by this story.

[C.m.v]

Where do I start? This was beyond amazing. Reading it, I got goosebumps! You know, how when you hear a song that just really deeply touches you, you get them? Reading this..it was so..I cant even think of a word. Ive read all your installments to this, and found myself depressed, but ofcourse impressed with your writing abilities. But with this? It answered that question you so brilliantly put in your title and added in the story here and there. You structured this whole thing remarkably well for the reader. At times I felt like I was watching a movie as I read this. So, great job with your descriptions and expressing the urgency in the entire piece!
I also like how you did the Bold font on certain words to emphasize them. Very impressive Howie. I loved this...thank you for sharing! I am so glad basinah lived...I was going to be really pissed if she died! I didnt like that whole thing about the men being first and the children being last. what kind of sh** is that??? And the fact that Basinah means Kitten...aw. It was just wonderful. you should publish this. I think alot of people need to read this and know what you've done and what you guys do over there. ;)