Gaza Archives — Insaniyya

This month, I had the honor of delivering a Grand Rounds presentation to my hospital’s Department of Surgery as part of an annual tradition to display the passions, accomplishments, and career goals of the graduating resident class.

Below is the presentation I delivered but in a slightly elongated form as there is no time constraint here. Each paragraph represents a slide in the presentation. I have included relevant images and photographs directly referred to during the presentation.

The title of my presentation is War: Perspectives of a Surgical Trainee.

Here, I will share the circumstances that propelled me toward a career in medicine and then, more specifically, the circumstances that shaped my trajectory toward trauma surgery and surgical critical care. I will also share what I imagine my future will look like as well as the lessons I carry with me every day as I continue my surgical training. Continue reading “Grand Rounds: How war shaped my surgical training and career pursuits” →

I kept a running tally, and when everything settled down, I confirmed my count: my surgical attending, an emergency medicine attending, two triage nurses, multiple EMTs, other junior surgical residents, two physician assistants, a recorder, more bedside nurses, an emergency medicine resident at the head of the bed, a medical student, the X-ray technologist, and others, including myself, a senior surgical resident to the patient’s left.

A young man had been shot in the leg. The headline might have read something to the effect of Another Victim of Gun Violence in Cleveland. He was bleeding but not catastrophically. His vitals were normal, his pulses intact, but his thigh was swollen and slightly deformed. He was anxious, naturally, and sweating profusely. The pain must have been unbearable judging by the creative strings of profanity he shouted through gritted teeth. Scout films confirmed a broken femur. Our orthopedic surgery colleagues joined us in the trauma bay and soon after booked him for surgery.

In the moments leading up to this trauma activation, I was glued to my phone, my main source of news from the front and sometimes the quickest way for me to learn about relatives and familiar neighborhoods. Fourteen killed in an airstrike, I’ll read. An entire building demolished. Two children missing, still buried in the rubble, presumed dead. And now another Israeli airstrike. This time the courtyard of a hospital. The casualty count can’t be confirmed; bodies are strewn everywhere. Are they dead or dying? Were they already here for medical care, only to become victims again? Who does this limb belong to? Continue reading “Twenty-Nine” →