Defence Forces Review 2008

Defence Forces Review 2008
and it was dark as we approached Dublin Airport. There, we were met by the General Staff.
We boarded our Aer Lingus jumbo, with a shamrock as its livery, at 7.30pm. We were soon
airborne, heading east into the unknown.
For many of us, it was an adventure. Most had never been outside of Ireland before. Midflight,
we watched a film called ‘Turning Point’. How fitting as this journey was to be just
such a turning point in many of our lives. Five hours later, we touched down in Tel Aviv – at
4.30 local time. It was warm despite the darkness and I witnessed my first Middle Eastern
dawn. I checked to make sure everyone was well and within two hours, we had started our
journey north for Tibnin.
My first impression was one of war. There was the sheer level of the military presence in Israel
and the memorial to the Holocaust and more recent wars, echoes of other conflicts.
As we crossed the border at Rosh Haniqra and through Naquora, we stepped from one civilisation
into another, from a country of the first world into a country torn by war and poverty. The
signs of conflict were everywhere. The beauty of the place was pockmarked with shellfire. We
were ushered through checkpoints, first by the Christian Phalangists and then the PLO, whose
football game we disrupted as we passed through. Beauty and carnage lived side by side. We
drove along roads that were carved into white cliffs. Just before Tyre, as we turned for Tibnin,
I saw a lone man with a donkey and three camels and in the distance some shepherds with their
goats. But the sounds of gunfire and the signs of shrapnel were never far away.
Then we passed through Qana, that village of ancient miracles and modern massacres and
munificence. A place where in recent wars all sects were slaughtered and yet a sense of
community spirit lived on to the extent that one religious group facilitated the other to worship
in their temple while theirs was being rebuilt. It didn’t matter to them whether they were
followers of the prophet from Nazareth or the prophet from Mecca. They worshipped the same
deity. Yet neither their God, nor the UN, could shelter them from the anger of God’s chosen
people. Finally, after passing through Harris, we arrived in Tibnin, a town dominated by its
castle built by the Crusaders. This place was to become a home from home for the Irish.
Our first day was one of simply trying to comprehend where we were and why we were
there. Mundane things were done; some mild ailments dealt with. After lunch, a call from
C Company informed me that a large Lebanese lady had suddenly lost consciousness in the
village of Bir as Sanasil. My first humanitarian mission: as I left the ambulance, I felt once
again just as I did as a newly qualified doctor; the only difference being that this time, I was on
my own. The woman was surrounded by a curious crowd. Given her large girth and the lack
of any other signs, I diagnosed a case of hypoglycaemic coma or low blood sugar. I injected
intravenous dextrose and some other medicines. The result was dramatic. Within a minute,
she shook her head, got up and walked. I heard the words ‘Shukran Hakim’ for the first time.
I’d passed my first test. There were to be many more.
Such humanitarian duties were to be an integral part of the life and work of the medical corps
over the 23 years. Looking back, I think it would be reasonable to say that during our time
there, we treated in excess of 150,000 people – some 6,000 or so every year. Not all of these
cases were to be as dramatic as my encounter with the unconscious lady. We ran medical
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