22nd Jul 201413:30117 notes
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descentintotyranny:

The boy who clung to the paramedic: the story behind the photo — Belal Dabour
July 20 2014
Thursday night, 17 July, was the heaviest yet since Israel’s bombardment of Gaza began almost two weeks ago.
Dozens of people arrived to Gaza City’s al-Shifa hospital, where I was on shift that night. Some arrived torn to pieces, some beheaded, some disfigured beyond recognition, although still alive and breathing.
Seemingly indiscriminate artillery fire, a new element in Israel’s assault, had exacted a heavy toll on civilians.
The medical staff were lucky to get a break of less than half an hour. Some spent it watching the flares and bombs Israel was raining on the eastern neighborhoods of Gaza City, while others refueled with coffee or lay down for a few moments.
The relative calm did not last long. At around 3am, about eight or nine casualties arrived at the emergency room all at once. The last to come in were four siblings — two of them little children, both about three years old, with relatively superficial wounds. But it was clear they were pulled from under rubble, their faces and clothes covered in dirt and dust.
Then came the older of the four siblings, a boy in his early teens. His head and face were covered in blood and he was pressing a rag to his head to stanch the flow. But his focus was on something else: “Save my little brother!” he kept screaming.
The last to arrive was his brother, the child in the above photo that circulated around the world.
“I want my father!”
He was carried in by a paramedic and immediately rushed to the intensive care unit, which is right next to the ER. He clung to the paramedic, crying, “I want my father, bring me my father!” until he had to be forced to let go.
As I stood by, alert for orders, a group of four medical personnel immediately started to treat the boy. But he kept kicking and screaming and calling for his father.
His injuries were serious: a wound to the left side of his head which could indicate a skull fracture and a large piece of shrapnel in his neck. Another piece of shrapnel had penetrated his chest and a third had entered his abdomen. There were many smaller wounds all over his body.
Immediate measures had to be taken to save his life; he was sedated so the medics could get to work.
Upon carefully examining the wounds, it appeared that the explosion from the artillery round sent flying small pieces of stone from the walls of his house, and that some of his wounds were caused by these high-velocity projectiles.
He was extremely lucky: his neck injury was just an inch away from a major artery, his chest injury penetrated all the way through but failed to puncture his lung, and his abdomen was struck by shrapnel that just missed his bowel.
Luck
He had a stroke of luck denied to many that night.
The medics performed heroic measures in a remarkably short time, and the little boy’s life was saved.
Meanwhile in the emergency room, the elder brother was stitched up and the younger two siblings were washed and thoroughly examined for possible hidden injuries.
Somehow, despite the horror and the pain, they were sleeping. I don’t know how they did it, but I felt envious and grateful for the divine mercy that found its way to them.
Their brother with the most serious wounds will almost certainly survive, but with many scars and a difficult recovery period, both physical and psychological.
Too many casualties came in that night, too many for me to get this boy’s name, to know whether he was reunited with his father, or even what became of the rest of his family.
But there’s one thing that I know for sure, which is that hundreds of children just like him suffered similar or worse injuries, and up to the moment of this writing, nearly eighty children just like him have been killed as Israel’s merciless attack goes on.
Belal Dabour is a recently graduated doctor from Gaza, Palestine. He blogs at belalmd.wordpress.com.
21st Jul 201412:14645 notes
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hotmesswithouthehot:

lemonmintcoughdrops:

the-grudge-girl:

I live in Osaka, Japan and often use the subway to go to work in the morning. One day while I was waiting for the train, I noticed a homeless man standing in the corner of the subway station muttering to himself as people passed by. He was holding out a cup and seemed to be begging for spare change.
An overweight woman passed by the homeless man and I distinctly heard him say, “Pig.”
Wow, this man is insulting people and he still expects them to give him money?
Then a tall businessman went by and the man muttered, “Human.”
Human? I can’t argue with that. Obviously, he was human.
The next day, I arrived early at the subway station and had some time to kill, so I decided to stand close to the homeless man and listen to his strange mutterings.  A thin, haggard-looking man passed in front of him and I heard the homeless guy mutter, “Cow.” Cow? The man was much too skinny to be a cow. To me, he resembled a turkey or a chicken. A minute or so later, an obese man went by and the homeless man said, “Potato.” Potato? I was under the impression that he called all fat people “Pig”.
That day at work, I couldn’t stop thinking about the homeless man and his puzzling behavior. I kept trying to find some logic or pattern in what he as muttering. Perhaps he has some kind of psychic ability. In Japan many people believe in reincarnation, so maybe he knows what these people were during a previous life. I observed the man many times and began to think my theory was right. I often heard him calling people things like “Rabbit”, “Onion”, “Sheep”, or “Tomato”.
One day, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to ask him what was going on. As I walked up to him, he looked at me and said, “Bread.” I tossed some money into his cup and asked him if he had some kind of psychic ability. The man smiled and said, “Yes, indeed. It is an ability I obtained many years ago, but it’s not what you might expect. I can’t tell the future or read minds or anything like that.”
“Then what is your ability?” I asked eagerly.
“The ability is merely to know the last thing somebody ate,” he said.
I laughed because I realized he was right. He said, “Bread.” The last thing I had eaten for breakfast that day was toast. I walked away shaking my head. Of all the psychic abilities someone could have, that one must be the most useless.

HUMAN

HUMAN
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