No matter what we do, baby Faizul continues to lie there, in his hospital crib, not making a peep.
Even when we change his bandages/dressings, tighten the bars that hold his shattered remaining leg together, tighten the screws on the cervical traction halo he wears, and treat his burns, he remains silent.
Faizul is not in a coma. His eyes follow the staff around the room. He is aware.
Tears pop out in his eyes, but he refuses to let him fall. Such a tough little guy ... it's enough to break the spirit of all who tend to him.
I'm beginning to get angry at God for allowing this to happen. While we from America or any other free nation enjoy the benefits of freedom, other places, like here in Afghanistan, are being torn apart by war.
And for what???
The factions/disagreements, unending bloodshed and violence, and hatred ... when's it going to stop? Seems that the innocent (particularly the elderly, the disabled, and especially the children and babies) suffer the most.
Such as in the case of baby Faizul Mohamed, who turned sixteen months old yesterday. He's been in the hospital for only a few short months but is in no condition to go home. He has no family to claim him (his family was killed). Faizul was the only one who survived.
He faces months of painful treatment/rehabilitation. It is too soon to tell if he'll live or even fully recover.
I find myself wishing I were back home in Louisiana, with my family. Enjoying life and not worrying about war. Not seeing all of the ugliness I've seen.
I joined the Peace Corps, hoping to make a difference in a needy person's life in a far off land, not expecting to have my heart broken over and over again. What happened to baby Faizul is quickly becoming the straw that broke the camel's back.
It is enough to make me want to put a gun to my head and just end it, so I won't be subjected to any more suffering. I've already seen enough; God, how much can one person take??
I want to stay and help care for Faizul and hundreds, no, perhaps thousands, of needy people, but my spirit is quickly falling to my toes. I am beginning to dread each day that comes. If anything were to happen to Faizul, I don't think I could go on. He's only a baby: he did not deserve to have one leg blown off (the other, badly wounded), arms broken, spine possibly damaged, and his entire family killed in front of his eyes.
There's no telling what the child saw or how much he remembered: he hasn't cried or made a sound since coming to our facility.
~To be continued.~