She starts crying.
“Bite on the belt,” I tell her.
This isn’t what I ever envisioned myself doing. I was supposed to be a pharmacist. I wasn’t supposed to cut into children’s stomachs in their homes.
My hands shake as I take out the disinfectant and a scalpel. Until now, every time I’ve operated alone has been at the hospital, with Dr. Ziad always somewhere nearby in case I messed up. It’s reassuring to know he’s there.
But here, if I slip, if I cut a vein or cause even more internal bleeding, she will die. And I’ll have murdered her.
I shut my eyes tightly, try to regulate my breathing and think of the daisies.
“Hey,” I hear Kenan saying. “Are you okay?”
I immediately open my eyes.
“Yes,” I say, and I’m proud that my voice doesn’t break. All the times I’ve needed to keep a cool head at the hospital are paying off. His eyes go soft, and I think he can read the fear I’m frantically trying to hide. I ignore the quick flash of hesitance darting across his expression.
I look at Lama, who’s staring up at the ceiling with tears glistening in her eyes. Her lips quiver where she bites on the belt. She’s too young for this.
God, please guide my hand, and let me save this poor girl.
I disinfect her stomach and the scalpel and look at Kenan. This is going to hurt him far more than it’ll hurt her.
“Hold her hand,” I instruct him.
He nods, white-faced. I press the cool metal against her stomach, and she winces.
“Lama, look only at me,” her brother says.
I take a deep breath and move the scalpel down in a small cut. It doesn’t stop Lama from howling. She tries to push me away, kicking her legs all the while, but Kenan holds her down.
“Lama, please, I need you to stay still!” I say, working as fast as I can.
Blood spurts out of the wound I made, and I dig in two fingers to feel for the shrapnel. She sobs, begging me to stop. I feel like a monster. But there’s no time for me to be delicate. The tip of my finger brushes against a pointy edge.
“Found it!” I yell and clamp on it. It’s lodged in a shallow area, away from her large intestine, and I nearly keel over with relief. Despite that, I pray hard it isn’t causing any internal bleeding. I pull out slowly. This was a close one. Carefully, I make sure there is no more debris sticking around before stitching her wound up. Every puncture through her skin sends a fresh wave of pain for her, Kenan, and me. The suture is ugly and will definitely leave a scar, but she’s alive and that’s all that matters. I press around her stomach, making sure there’s nothing else.
“I’m done.” Panting hard, as if I’d run a marathon, I start gently wrapping her with a set of fresh bandages.
Kenan’s face sags with relief. He kisses her forehead, smoothing away her sweat-soaked hair.
“You did amazing, Lama. I’msoproud of you. You’re so brave.” Their tears mix together. She smiles weakly, her eyes drooping with exhaustion.
But my work is still not done. I get up to wash her blood off my hands only to remember that the water is cut off.
“Here,” I hear Kenan say from behind me. He holds a big bucket of water, which they probably use to drink and cook.
I shake my head. “I can’t do that. You need this water. I’ll wipe them back at the hospital.”
“Don’t be silly. Come here and wash the blood off you. We have buckets of water.”
No one has buckets of water.
But I take it from him. The water runs over my scars like little streams washing away the blood.
“Did the hospital give you any antibiotics?” I dry my hands on my yellowed lab coat.
“Yes.” He takes them out of his pocket and hands them to me. Cephalexin, 250 milligrams.
