This is a piece I wrote for an assignment I had at University. I thought of sharing it because it means a lot to me.
Have you ever had an assignment that got your head paralyzed? No, well, I have had one. We were asked to write about a certain moment or event in our lives and connect it to a larger cause. Once I heard the assignment description, one thought took over my mind: “The night Mohamed Mustafa died”! Mohamed was one of many I couldn’t save his life; it was out of my hands. However, he was different, I thought he was already dead and cried him a river. Then a tiny rope of hope ignited; he was still alive in ICU. He needed blood donations and I cried out to all people I know for help. Then the doctor diagnosed his case- later we knew it was a wrong diagnosis- and asked for fibrinogen. Four hours asking people to look for fibrinogen, with no hope. I called a surgeon I trust and explained the case and he shouted at me “Fibrinogen would kill him, he needs plasma!” I went back to my computer to ask people to donate plasma, which was when I knew he passed away. He died, it was as simple as that, yet, as huge as no one would imagine. I felt guilt, I wasted time, the answer was simple “Plasma”, I could have saved his life, but I wasted time! I felt as if time is a bullet that has killed him, passed through his body, and rested in my heart. This memory is so dear, that I was scared of sharing it in an assignment. I was scared of sharing it anywhere; so I thought about writing about Ice cream, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t put myself to choose between human life and ice cream. I finally made the choice; I chose to share my experience with death, with the failure in saving someone’s life. How did I feel when I knew he died? I felt so fragile, I felt occupied with my soul, and I felt an urge to apologize to him for wasting his life. How did I react? I broke down; I cried.