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“Penicillin.” “Ampicillin.” “Erythromycin.” WHEN ERIC RETURNS TO THE MSF OFFICE in Belgrade, he thinks of Vukovar and its hospital and the doctors killed there. He believes it will happen to Srebrenica, too. The city is a dying place, a place likely to be overrun, like most of the other non-Serb pockets in Bosnia, its population massacred, raped, deported. Unless… These individuals offered hundreds of hours of their time, recalling in great detail the most difficult days of their lives. I was most surprised by the extent to which their work influenced the war itself. Doctors mixed medicine with advocacy, community organizing, and politics. Some—with the painful conviction that they could save more lives by taking lives—shook off their white coats, picked up guns, and turned themselves into fighters. Here is their story. Lindsey’s weekend with me had come to a close. She and our friend Jeff (my karaoke partner in St. Louis), who happened to be in New York for an unrelated trip, were planning to drive the sixteen hours back to St. Louis together. When she called to give him directions, he said he’d like to see me. She warned him I wouldn’t be the same.
