In a Baghdad Emergency Room

The Dead and Wounded

         Every time there's news of yet another bombing in Baghdad, the most important piece of information is always the body count.  

         With multiple incidents each day, it's easy to let all the numbers become a blur.   It's such a common occurrence that it isn't big news anymore, unless the number of people instantly killed is particularly high.   If this happens, it will then be reported that "It is the most people killed in a bombing since..." and a date will be supplied, then a brief description of a destroyed market or mosque that had an especially grizzly outcome, a month or so before.  

         Each person killed had a family.   Very often, the person killed supported one.   Think of someone you know who has died, and then think of all the people who were affected by it.   According to UN figures, 3,149 Iraqis were killed in June alone.  

         The second number often listed when a bombing is reported is the number of wounded.    It always soars much higher than the number of deaths, and is forgotten much more quickly.   Casualties aren't reported much.   This is true of American casualties as well.   Many people know that over 2500 Americans have died in Iraq, but many are completely unaware that the Pentagon's official numbers for Americans wounded are about 19,000.   One can only guess at how many tens of thousands of Iraqis have been wounded.

         It was about nine in the morning and the day was just starting to get hot when I arrived at Yarmouk Hospital.   It is Baghdad's main emergency care center, and it's where many of the people from the news stories are taken.

         I was lead to the office of the assistant director of the hospital.   A chair was pulled up for me in front of his desk, and we spoke for a bit while person after person brought him papers to sign.   Others sitting outside the office who had been waiting to see him before I arrived continued to wait.  

         He told me that the work of the hospital was severely impaired, due mainly to three factors; the extremely high casualty rate, and the lack of trained staff, and the lack of medical supplies.  

         Now, the high casualty rate is obviously due to the violence which envelopes Baghdad.   The lack of health care professionals exists for a number of clear reasons, not the least of which is that doctors are often kidnapped or killed, and most who are able to flee from Iraq have already done so.   What about the medical supplies, then?

         Is it possible that, with all the billions of dollars from America earmarked for "the Iraqi people", with international aid organizations present (though most have pulled out for security reasons), and with an Iraqi government that is supposedly functioning, that this, the main emergency hospital in Baghdad is extremely low on medical supplies?

         Hospitals all over the world are severely lacking in such things, and it wouldn't be surprising on its face if there was a shortage at Yarmouk.   With the eyes of the world on Baghdad, though, and with the governments of two nations (ours and theirs) trying so hard to convince the international community that things are going well, I would think that an effort would be made to have the main ER in Iraq's capital at least somewhat well-stocked.   Even if it's just for appearances, I would hope for this, especially since it would represent such a miniscule part of the vast resources that are being spent, and it would have real PR value.   If hearts and minds are really trying to be won, this seems like a pretty good place to start.  

         I was written a note, giving me permission to take photographs in the hospital, and a guard took me to the ER.   I stood in the entryway for a moment to visually take in the whole room, but quickly moved to the side and began taking pictures.

         It's always very uncomfortable to work in this sort of environment.   Both victims and their loved ones are severely traumatized, and I try to be as quiet and respectable as possible, yet make eye contact to motion a quick request to take someone's picture.   It's a tough balance, and no matter what, I'm a stranger intruding on the worst, most horribly naked moment of their life and immortalizing it for other strangers to see.

         Several beds littered the room, filled with burn and trauma cases from bombings that day.   It was crowded and hectic and loud, and there was blood on the floor.  

         Nothing was sterile, and no one (including me) had a mask to protect the patients from infection.   A female doctor performed a chest operation with no exam gloves.   A patient with no pain medication had his legs held still by a family member while deep stitches were sewed into his skin.   I saw an IV bag being refilled with tap water.   A young man with extensive black burns covering his face, chest, and arms sat halfway up, with no dressings or bandages covering him at all.