来自“森林中的革命医院”-前线医生的日记-缅甸边境

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来自革命医院

![](/media/202412//1733456957.16481.png)在森林里的日记 前线医务人员

2023年9月15日 意见

一名缅甸医科学生离开了

仰光将在一场冲突中提供护理 区域描述了一个不变的生命

危险和剧变，但也在燃烧 对革命的承诺。

由SU

去年3月，我离开了我在仰光的家去参加这个比赛 革命从那以后，我就一直住在战区。

在我去卡伦尼州之前，也被称为卡亚，我是最后一年 医科学生我的男朋友，他到达卡伦尼已经两个月了

排在我前面的，是一个合格的医生。

在我们住的第一个村庄，我们每天早上醒来都喝着倾盆大雨

从热中冒着汗水。我们在那里建立了一家临时医院 和医生和医学生组成。我们的一组有大约30人

人们为德莫索东部一个地区的流离失所者提供照顾 没有其他卫生设施的城镇。

这个村庄远离了活跃的冲突，周围被群山包围，

所以我们觉得我们对迫击炮的袭击和空袭没什么好害怕的。但之后 一个多月后，我听到了我曾经听到过的最响亮的声音

生活：一种刺耳的呜咽，最后以震耳欲聋的巨响结束。我男朋友和我

我们在医院值班24小时，我们给所有的病人打了急救电话

和工作人员进入附近的林地。幸运的是，只有一所房子空着 人们在迫击炮袭击中被摧毁了。

两个月后，也就是6月2日的晚上，天空在回响 迫击炮的声。我发现自己紧紧地蜷缩在角落里

我闭上眼睛，以为这可能是我的最后一天了。雪橇下雨了

在医院的前面和后面，似乎包围着它。但是 奇迹般地，他们中没有一个人击中了大楼。

当混乱平息时，村里的一名男子在胸前带着弹片 被带来接受紧急治疗。我们的团队拼命地努力

救他，但徒劳。偶然地，那个人那天早上来拜访他

他两个月大的女儿做了一个例行手术。那天晚上破了 我的心，让我因恐惧而颤抖。

我们决定搬迁。经过大量的努力，我们建立了一个 在一个新村庄的功能医院，由太阳能电池板和

柴油发电机。设施里有一个手术室，

实验室，里面有技术人员，外科医生，医生， 像我这样的护士和医科学生。

我们尽力保持清洁和健康，但条件没有做到

总是让这变得容易。从我们的房间步行10分钟就到了a 与森林中的一个水源相连的公共混凝土浴室。

在那里，男人和女人会用他们的长发一起洗澡。但是

在回去的路上，我们经常会被弄得很脏 牛给我们喷洒泥浆和灰尘。

尽管距离战斗很远，但我们还是听到了手榴弹的回声

和空中炸弹。我们的整个团队都患有创伤后应激障碍。看到之后 首先是，一次空袭和其他武器能造成多大的破坏程度

因为，我产生了一种创伤性的反应——甚至对着这个声音退缩了 车门砰的一声，汽车引擎启动或雷声轰鸣。

有时，我甚至被风吹得吓坏了。

如果我们听到飞机的声音，我们就立即逃到防空洞 我们在任何定居的地方都在挖土。甚至不是我们

我们的宠物猫和狗跑到了安全地带。但即使我们睡着了，我们也不能做到 逃离飞机仍然在梦里威胁着我们。

在其他的夜晚，当我们凝视着繁星点点的天空时，我们被打扰了 敌人无人机的嗡嗡声，它像阴影一样向星星移动。

但尽管有许多危险，我们还是决心支持这些人 需要

10月12日上午，一枚炮弹落在了医院的院子里。

我因为恐惧而瘫痪了，但我的男朋友很快就把我拉进了a

我们在房间的角落里，碎石从天花板上掉下来。 我感到无助，我想尖叫。

与其他袭击事件一样，当时附近也没有发生战斗。它

我们似乎很清楚，医院不仅仅是附带的损害 军政府故意袭击了它。

经过永远的感觉，我们小心翼翼地从藏身之处走了出来， 结果遇到我们的医生在流血

从她的头。其中一名医生急忙把她从废墟中救了出来

我们其他人团结起来，包扎她的伤口，照料另一个伤口 受了轻伤的同事。

很明显，我们必须寻找一个更安全的避难所，但我们已经做到了 厌倦了持续不断的剧变。然而，我们都没有人后悔或者

投降的想法。我们对革命的承诺被烧毁了

在我们所有人身上。无论代价如何，我们都会继续走下去。

我们在森林深处的新定居，远离任何地方

人口密集的地区。每个人都帮助运输建筑材料和建筑材料 建造我们的天堂——森林里革命性的医院。

两个多月来，医院逐渐成形，并由

高耸的岩石和被树木环绕的岩石。我们相信这些自然的障碍 会隐藏和保护我们。但我们并没有考虑到这些无情的后果

森林的寒冷。每天晚上都让我们瑟瑟发抖，都在祈祷 黎明

当许多人选择睡在防空洞里时，皮肤过敏导致了过敏

这对我来说太不舒服了，所以我睡在地上的一间小屋里。这个 这意味着当我听到飞机的声音时，我不得不迅速跑到避难所

上面的使用任何人造光都太不安全了，所以我经常会使用 当我匆匆穿过黑暗时，身上有瘀伤和割伤。

![](/media/202412//1733456957.178215.jpeg)流离失所的人在一个由一个

去年在凯亚州的医疗保健移动部门。（3月Naw |边境）

今年3月29日晚上，我们听说军方有

他入侵了两小时车程外的一个村庄，并放火烧了房屋。 第二天早上，我们关闭了医院和整个团队

搬到了西部的德莫索。大约两周后，我们又回来了 恢复我们的工作。

我们的日子累坏了。我们医院收治了卡伦尼士兵 炮弹和地雷造成的重伤， 以及枪伤。

在专科外科医生的指导下，我们进行了3到6次手术 每天进行主要作业，每次持续三到五个小时。我们

尽管在附近有激烈的战斗，但它仍在继续运作。几个小时就到了 当无人机和战斗机从头顶掠过时。

有时我们会被分成更小的团队，每个团队都包括一名医生 和医科学生，并被送到冲突的前线去

照顾受伤的抵抗战士。有一次，一个一线队是

成为了一次空袭的目标。幸运的是，他们有时间跑到安全地带，

尽管一名医科学生在500-的爆炸中手掌烧伤 磅炸弹。

5月20日早上，我们像往常一样醒来去做家务。我曾是 那天被分配到厨房工作，这意味着黎明前开始。但在

早上6点半，一架飞机从头顶飞过，我们都冲向防空洞 在空袭袭击之前。幸运的是，只有一人患有未成年人病

伤害但是我们的木制庇护所和我们建造的医院 包括砖砌的手术室，x光机，实验室

而药品和设备的储存也被摧毁了。我们不得不

迅速放弃我们的森林天堂，只有我们原来的衣服 穿着和一些口粮，把其他的一切都留下了。

那个地方一直是我们几个月来的家。这已经是第三次开始搬迁了

和第一次一样痛苦，我们知道这不会是我们最后一次痛苦了 不得不逃跑。

我们的新家住在德莫索南部的赫普鲁索镇的一个村庄里。 由于没有我们自己的庇护所，我们挤进了两所小房子里 从社区租用的。

不像在其他地方，我们只能上网

经过艰苦的跋涉或危险的开车到一个有连接的地区，

我们可以使用移动互联网。然而，这通常只持续到

每天下午3点左右，当太阳能供应到附近的移动电话时 网络塔被切断了。在阴天，根本没有互联网。

然而，更具挑战性的问题是缺乏可靠的供水系统。向

节约燃料，我们只能偶尔去旅行去取水

别处这意味着我们只能每两三天洗澡一次， 尽管热得闷热。

然而，季风很快就来了，很难描述我们的快乐

在倾盆大雨中还能感觉到。但随着下雨，其他的问题也浮出了水面。许多 我们感染了流感， 由于没有蚊帐，三个

队友患有疟疾。雨也带来了许多蛇 我们没有足够长的皮靴

进入森林。我们也缺乏足够的抗毒液来治疗更多 但由于我们采取了预防措施，它不是

需要

然而，最大的打击是在我们到达的三周后，当我们到达时 村长告诉我们，村民们不再需要我们去那里了。

因为我们的医疗队参与了革命，他们担心

他们的村庄可能会遭受和我们以前要去的地方一样的命运 停留在那里，并被迫击炮和空袭摧毁。

这让我们感到无家可归、无助和绝望。我们再一次 我们把自己连根拔起，开始在另一个村庄建造新房 两个小时的车程，不知道我们能呆多久。

*

一次空袭可以摧毁我们的家园和财产，但不能摧毁我们的灵魂。 我们为损失悲伤，但永远不想放弃。每当我感觉

疲惫或沮丧，我听泰勒 ·斯威夫特的歌让自己振作起来。

我们经常发现自己渴望着我们的舒适的家

我们家庭的温暖和我们最喜欢的食物的味道。没有 夜晚，黑暗与前面的不确定道路

这让我们质疑我们何时、是否会回家。

但通过唱一些关于我们深爱的母亲和我们珍爱的家园的歌曲， 我们采取行动来填补他们的缺席所留下的空白。我们也能在 知道我们的旅程，有许多挑战，是我们的证明

信奉

我们正计划在地下建一所新的医院，以抵御空气污染 打击和迫击炮。与此同时，我们作为一个村庄旅行

流动诊所，照顾儿童，孕妇，老年人和

其他需要帮助的人。有时，我们会被叫到前线去

治疗伤员。当时间允许时，我和我的几个同事在研究

我们最后一年的体检，由临时大学管理 国家团结政府委员会。

我们将继续在卡伦尼革命中发挥我们的作用。我们相信我们的工作 不仅对卡伦尼士兵对抗军政府至关重要，而且

为流离失所的社区。我相信我们会赢，我也相信我们的胜利 队我们没有相同的血统，但我们是一个面临的家庭

许多障碍交织在一起——冒着死亡的风险，甚至几周都没有肉 或者是我们曾经习惯过的任何其他奢侈品。我们将继续前进

团结起来，直到政变结束。

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![](/media/202412//1733456983.2245786.png)From ‘a revolutionary hospital in the forest’: The diary of a frontline medic

September 15, 2023 OPINION

A Myanmar medical student who left Yangon to provide care in a conflict

zone describes a life of constant

danger and upheaval, but also burning commitment to the revolution.

By SU

I left my home in Yangon in March last year to take part in the revolution. I’ve been living in a war zone ever since.

Before I left for Karenni State, also known as Kayah,I was a final-year medical student. My boyfriend, who arrived in Karenni two months

ahead of me, was a qualified doctor.

At the first village we stayed at, we’d wake up each morning pouring with sweat from the heat. There we established a makeshift hospital with a team of doctors and medical students. Our group of about 30

people provided care to displaced people in an area of eastern Demoso Township where there were no other health facilities.

The village was far from active conflict and surrounded by mountains, so we felt we had little to fear from mortar fire and airstrikes. But after little more than a month,I heard the loudest sound I’d ever heard in my life: a shrill whine that ended in a deafening thud. My boyfriend and I were on 24-hour duty at the hospital, and we rushed all the patients

and staff into nearby woodland. Fortunately, only one house empty of people was destroyed in the mortar attack.

Two months later, on the night of June 2, the sky was reverberating with the sound of mortar fire. I found myself crouching in the corner, tightly shutting my eyes, thinking that this could be my last day. Shells rained down in front of and behind the hospital, seemingly encircling it. But

miraculously, none of them struck the building.

As the chaos subsided, a man from the village with shrapnel in his chest was brought in for emergency treatment. Our team desperately tried to save him, but in vain. By chance, the man had visited that morning with his two-month-old daughter for a routine procedure. That night broke my heart and left me trembling with fear.

We decided to relocate. After a lot of hard work, we established a

functioning hospital in a new village, powered by solar panels and

diesel generators. The facility was complete with an operating theatre, laboratory and X-ray, and was staffed by technicians, surgeons, doctors, nurses and medical students like me.

We did our best to stay clean and healthy but the conditions didn’t always make this easy. A 10-minute walk from our rooms took us to a communal concrete bath connected to a water source in the forest. There, men and women would bathe together in their longyis. But

during the walk back, we would often be made dirty again as vehicles and cattle sprayed us with mud and dust.

Despite the distance from the fighting, we heard the echoes of grenades and aerial bombs. Our whole team suffered from PTSD. After seeing

first-hand how much destruction an air strike and other weapons can cause, I developed a traumatic response – even flinching at the sound of a door slamming, a car engine starting or thunder rumbling.

Sometimes,I was even frightened by the wind whistling.

If we heard the sound of jets, we instantly fled to bomb shelters, which we dug into the earth wherever we settled. And it wasn’t just us – even our pet cats and dogs ran to safety. But even when we slept, we couldn’t escape. The jets still threatened us in our dreams.

On other nights,when we gazed at the starry sky, we were disturbed by the whir of enemy drones, which moved like shadows against the stars. But despite the many dangers, we were determined to support those in need.

On the morning of October 12, a shell landed in the hospital compound. I was paralysed with fear, but my boyfriend swiftly pulled me into a

sheltered corner of the room we were in, as rubble fell from the ceiling. Feeling helpless,I wanted to scream.

As with the other attacks, there was no fighting nearby at the time. It seemed clear to us that the hospital wasn’t merely collateral damage – the junta had deliberately targeted it.

After what felt like forever, we cautiously emerged from our hiding spot, only to encounter one of our medics crying for help with blood trickling from her head. One of the doctors rushed to pull her from the rubble as the rest of us rallied, dressing her wound and tending to another

colleague with a minor injury.

It was clear we had to seek out a safer sanctuary, but we were already weary from the constant upheaval. Yet, none of us had regrets or

thought of surrender. Our commitment to the revolution burned brightly in all of us. We would keep going, no matter the cost.

We settled on a new location deep within a forest and far from any populated areas. Everyone helped transport building materials and construct our new haven – a revolutionary hospital in the forest.

Over two months, the hospital gradually took shape, backed by

towering rocks and ringed by trees. We believed these natural barriers would hide and protect us. But we hadn’t reckoned with the unforgiving coldness of the forest. Each night left us shivering, praying for the

dawn.

While many chose to sleep in the bomb shelters, a skin allergy made that too uncomfortable for me, so Isleptin a hut aboveground. This meant I had to quickly run to the shelters when a jet was heard

overhead. It was too unsafe to use any artificial light, so I would often get bruises and cuts as I rushed through the darkness.

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Displaced people wait outside a temporary medical tent set up by a healthcare mobile unit in Kayah State last year. (Mar Naw | Frontier)

On the night of March 29 this year, we heard that the military had

invaded a village two hours’ drive away and was setting houses on fire. The next morning, we shuttered the hospital and our entire team

relocated to western Demoso. We returned after about two weeks and resumed our work.

Our days were exhausting. Our hospital admitted Karenni soldiers with major injuries from shells and landmines, as well as gunshot wounds. Under the guidance of specialist surgeons, we conducted three to six major operations each day, lasting three to five hours each. We

continued to operate even as battles raged nearby. The hours would tick by fearfully as drones and fighter jets passed overhead.

Sometimes we’dbe divided into smaller teams, each including a doctor and medical student, and be sent to the frontlines of the conflict to

care for wounded resistance fighters. One time, a frontline team was targeted in an air strike. Fortunately, they had time to run to safety, although a medical student got burnt palms from the blast of the 500- pound bomb.

On the morning of May 20, we woke as usual to do our chores. I was

assigned to kitchen duty that day, meaning a pre-dawn start. But at

6:30am, a plane flew overhead and we all rushed to our bomb shelters before the air strike hit. Fortunately, only one person sustained a minor injury. But our wooden shelters and the hospital we had built from our sweat – including the brick-built operating theatre,X-ray machine, lab and store of medicines and equipment – were destroyed. We had to

quickly abandon our forest haven with only the clothes we were wearing and a few rations, leaving everything else behind.

That place had been our home for months. Relocating for the third time was as painful as the first, and we knew it wouldn’t be the last time we’d have to flee.

Our new home was in a village in Hpruso Township, south of Demoso. Lacking our own shelters, we crammed into two small houses that we rented from the community.

Unlike in the other locations, where we could only access the internet after an arduous trek or dangerous drive to an area with connectivity, we could use mobile internet. However, this usually only lasted until about 3pm each day, when the solar power to the nearby mobile

network tower was cut. On overcast days, there was no internet at all.

More challenging, though, was the lack of a reliable water supply. To conserve fuel, we could only take occasional trips to fetch water from elsewhere. This meant we could only shower every two or three days, despite the sweltering heat.

The monsoon soon came, though, and it’s hard to describe the joy we felt in the pouring rain. But with rain, other troubles surfaced. Many of us caught the flu and, with few mosquito nets to go around, three

teammates suffered from malaria. The rain also brought many snakes out of the undergrowth and we didn’t have enough long leather boots to go into the forest. We also lacked enough anti-venom to treat more than a few bites, but because of the precautions we took, it wasn’t

needed.

The biggest blow, however, came three weeks after we arrived, when the head of the village told us that the villagers no longer wanted us there. Because our medical team was involved in the revolution, they feared their village could suffer the same fate as the previous places we’d

stayed at,and be destroyed by mortar and airstrikes.

This left us feeling homeless, helpless and hopeless. Once again, we uprooted ourselves and began building new homes in another village two hours’ drive away, with no idea of how long we’dbe able to stay.

*

An air strike can destroy our homes and possessions but not our spirits. We grieve our losses but never want to give up. Whenever I feel

exhausted or despondent,I listen to Taylor Swift songs to lift myself up.

We often find ourselves longing for the comfort of our homes, the

warmth of our families and the taste of our favourite foods. With no electricity at night, the darkness matches the uncertain path ahead of us, making us question when and if we will ever return home.

But by singing songs about our beloved mothers and cherished homes, we act to fill the void left by their absence. We also find strength in

knowing that our journey, with its many challenges, is a proof of our commitment.

We are planning to build a new hospital underground to withstand air strikes and mortar fire. In the meantime, we travel between villages as a mobile clinic, caring for children, pregnant women, the elderly and

whomever else is in need. Sometimes, we are called to the frontlines to treat the wounded. When time allows, several colleagues and I study for our final-year medical exam, administered by the Interim University

Council of the National Unity Government.

We will keep up our role in the Karenni revolution. We believe our work is essential not only for the Karenni soldiers fighting the junta, but also for displaced communities. I believe we will win, and I believe in our

team. We don’t share the same blood, but we are a family that has faced many obstacles together – risking death and going weeks without meat or any of the other luxuries we were once used to. We will move forward united, until the coup is undone.