Quote:
Originally Posted by Drake
A message posted to Facebook from Dr. Hassan Masri — one of the doctors who was at the scene when the young men and hockey staff were brought in to the hospital.
Last night can only be described as the longest, worst and most tragic night of my career. The images can’t be unseen or forgotten, the stories can’t be unheard or ignored.
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For context: Dr. Masri is a Syrian-Canadian, and in 2012 he volunteered to travel overseas and work at a field hospital in Syria. It really says a lot if he's describing this bus crash as the worst night of his career, even worse than what he undoubtedly would have seen while treating those injured in the conflict in Syria.
http://thestarphoenix.com/life/bridg...s-social-media
Quote:
Dr. Hassan Masri visited Syria two times as a child. But his third trip to the country, as a second-year medical resident in 2012, was the most memorable. The Saskatoon-based critical care physician snuck into the embattled country through the Turkish border to work a northern field hospital.
He and other volunteers worked day and night in minus-15 degree weather. He often woke up terrified after hearing bombs fall nearby. Death was a frequent reality. Meals were often no more than a few olives and a piece of bread. He lost 12 pounds in two weeks.
“That trip was probably the most life-changing event in my life. I knew the situation was really bad in Syria, we hear news, see videos and listen to Amnesty International’s reports but when you see it first-hand it’s quite different,” he said.
[...]
He often thinks about a Syrian girl he befriended during that trip. She visited him every day, bringing a sandwich and a cup of coffee made by her grandmother. She loved taking photos, often posing for selfies with Masri. She obsessed over filters and editing, even though she’d never have access to the photos herself.
Masri saw dozens of patients every day, many of whom hadn’t seen a doctor in months or sometimes years. The hospital only had one life support machine. Often more than one patient needed it at a time. Masri and his counterparts sometimes had to choose who needed it most.
“It was a very unsettling feeling to play God,” he said. “When I came back I was very different, very grateful.”
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