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valtrex generic dosage One day Eric stood up from his TV set and decided to do something to help the war’s victims. He made an appointment at the Brussels office of Doctors Without Borders and asked to be sent to Baghdad. When they told him they didn’t work there, he deemed them a bunch of fraidy-cat “wankers” and went home. That was it. He’d considered it just one afternoon. But two weeks later, someone from the aid organization called him back. Kurds were fleeing Iraqi air strikes in long columns toward the north. They needed assistance. Could Eric go? To counter his paralysis, Ejub steers his mind away from the patient and toward the wound. He forces himself to sit down beside the low-standing cot and take up his instruments: a pair of pincer-like forceps in one hand, for gripping skin, and a scalpel in the other. He holds the blade like a pencil and inscribes a semicircle in the skin of the swollen, dusky lower leg. This is his first mistake. He admits that he isn’t a trained surgeon. He tells of his journey on foot to Srebrenica. Although he has done his best the past few months, now, in December 1992, he is tired and almost completely out of supplies, trapped in Srebrenica along with the rest of the population, ready to get out and go back home. He asksEric for help.
