Our Filthy March 1st
Azat Hay's Blog (via nazarian)
Right then they brought another wounded person. We put him in the car, and it took off. At the intersection of Zakian and Grigor Lusavorich, violent clashes were taking place. They brought over a severely wounded, bleeding youth on a makeshift stretcher. We started looking for a car. We stopped a truck. I sat inside with the wounded young man. I called D. but apparently he was too far away. We heard an ambulance from afar. We got out and entered the "Raf" ambulance. Somehow we got going through the violent commotion outside.
Suddenly, I saw what had happened to the wounded one: they'd opened up his head; large chunks of brains had fallen out. I tried to say something to my colleague sitting in the front, but she didn't want to hear it. I asked for sterile bandages to put pressure on the cut-up chunks; his sister, who was sitting with me, gave them to me, while avoiding looking at the patient. Maybe they were scared.
Suddenly, they stopped: there was yet another wounded person. Inside, the doctor sitting in the front and the sister said that we can't [pick up another person], but I insisted, because I had no hopes for the victim that we had. We picked him up and he somehow managed to sit beside me. His name was S.. He had a head wound, but it wasn't very serious. On the way he spoke to his relatives on his cell. Mine was ringing, too, but I didn't want to answer with my blood-covered hands. I'd put the cell in my pants pocket. They couldn't decide which hospital to drive to. The road to the hospital they'd decided on was closed.
By that point, I'd become convinced that the one with the head wound was dead. I insisted that we drive to the first hospital. We arrived. They were dealing [with arriving patients] too slowly, until I yelled a few to times for them to open the the door for the other patient from the outside so we could get out. Then, the 25-26-year-old's cell-phone went off; it played a hilarious rabiz [down home] tune. We took the other to patient acceptance. V. was there, organizing. I saw a doctor whom I know. He recognized me, but I didn't let on. Then I saw A. whom they'd called.
There was an 18-19 year-old military policeman at the arrivals area; he looked fine, as if there was nothing wrong with him; I couldn't figure out what his ailment was. I was washing up at the arrivals area when they put on the seat next to mine the policeman's baton and defensive equipment, telling the secretary, "These are the boys' equipment. I'm leaving them here."
I saw A. through our clinics' connections. He asked me, "What were you doing there?"
-"I was trying to help to help the people out, our brothers and sisters."
-"You have to answer for you politics. It's because of you that..."
-"What do I have to answer for? That I transported patients? Helped people?"
-"If you did it as a doctor, then fine, thank you," he answered in a softened manner.
-"If you could try to send ambulances there. People are getting wounded and staying there."
-"At the Zakian/Grigor Lusavoritch intersection."
I answered him and thought, He really doesn't know where that is.