Conditions in Karavia were harsher than I had imagined.
Power and running water were luxuries. The air was always thick with smoke, gunpowder, and the metallic smell of blood.
For the first three days, I barely slept. I followed Julian from one emergency to another, treating whatever injuries were brought to us.
Children who arrived crying often fell silent before the night was over.
I was close to breaking.
Julian handed me a cup of warm water.
"We're not gods. But every life we save is one more victory."
During a lull in the shelling late one night, we sat outside the medical station and talked.
Julian told me his mother had been a war correspondent. He'd grown up following her from one conflict zone to another.
He eventually chose pediatrics because, in his words, "Children are
