A beautiful flower. almeen bano

into a deep respect for the resilience of the human spirit and the lengths to which medicine reached to mend shattered lives.

      The moment the scalpel touched Ali's leg, my stomach tightened. Vivid with raw blood, painting a distressing portrait of the struggle for survival. Dr. Schmidt seemed to sense my discomfort even while focusing on Ali.

      “You can stand back and observe from a distance if you wish. I know this must not be easy for you. You’ll get used to it.”

      I stepped back and moved next to Elaina, who was also observing. My body brushed against hers. She patted me on the back, trying to comfort me. No doubt, she had seen numerous operations. Unfortunately, my nausea got the best of me, and I grabbed a bag and threw up into it. After discarding the bag, Elaina presented me with a bottle of water. I was genuinely embarrassed, but Elaina and the others in the operating room were—Thank God—focused on Ali and not my discomfort.

      As the surgery unfolded, my unease transformed into an acknowledgment of the dedication before me. The room was soon filled with antiseptic smells and the rhythmic beeping. After a few hours, Ali was sent to the recovery room and then back to his hospital bed.

      Every day after the operation, I went to Ali’s room to assess his progress. Initial visits revealed the intense pain he endured. However, as days passed, a heartwarming scene unfolded: Elaina, standing by his bedside, held his hands firmly and gently brushed his hair with her other hand. Despite the weight of his tragedy, Ali smiled at her, finding solace in her presence.

      I stood there watching them.

      After a moment, I said, “It seems you are the only one who can make Ali smile in the hospital. I know I can’t.”

      “You don’t speak the language, so it’s more difficult for you. I’m sure Ali has met very few people who do not speak Arabic. It’s a matter of trust.”

      “I see. Please tell Ali that Arabic is a beautiful language, and I wish I could speak it well.”

      Elaina said, “All right.” Then she spoke to Ali. Ali looked at me and gave me a thumbs-up.

      That melted my heart. I bowed to him, and he laughed.

      Ali was on his way to recovery. Of course, there were other patients to work with. A few days later, Dr. Salama assigned me to change some bandages on a twenty-five-year-old man, Suleiman, who had recently had his leg amputated above the ankle. To my surprise, I found myself teaming up once again with Elaina. I couldn't be more grateful for this arrangement. Her proficiency in English made her an invaluable asset to the medical staff and the patients, and I was glad to have her by my side.

      As I walked into the patient's room, I heard, “Look at you,” from a familiar voice that I recognized as Elaina's. “You've gone quite pale since I last saw you. Aww, has this been too much for you?” Her teasing demeanor put me at ease, dispelling my concerns about potential awkwardness after not seeing each other for a while.

      “At least I hope I don’t throw up again in front of you. That was quite an experience. Maybe I should have fainted instead.”

      “You will get used to these operations. Think positively. We are saving someone’s life each time we operate.”

      “I’ll try. So what are you doing today?”

      “Dr. Salama asked me to apply an ointment and a dressing to an amputated leg wound.”

      “Ok. Great. How can I help you?”

      “Suleiman doesn’t speak English, so right now, he can’t understand us. He’s not the most excellent patient and complains quite a bit. Let's bring in a regular interpreter, as I don’t always like the way he speaks to me. I need to be able to focus on my job as a nurse.“

      “OK.” I went outside for a moment and brought a female interpreter with me.

      As Elaina began talking to me in English, the interpreter spoke in Arabic to Suleiman. “First, we must remove the old dressing and examine the wound for infections.”