After the applause of support, let's stop the system that expels elite soldiers in white

Applause echoes around the world. Support, primarily for doctors and other medical warriors, police, and others who work while we are under house arrest. And it's better to be under arrest than on respirators.

Applause, as is now customary at 8 PM, echoes through my neighborhood. More and more people are coming out onto their windows. They clap for a minute or two. And the younger ones, perhaps from the tension of being confined, are getting louder from the only safe space for interaction with neighbors, from balconies and windows.

It seems that in these difficult times, we know how to appreciate the people fighting for us. The president of a neighboring country said that his country is at war with an invisible enemy.

The enemy is the coronavirus, and although our neighbors have deployed the army, and we have deployed the police on the streets, there is still an elite guard against this enemy.

Heroes in white are fighting hand-to-hand with a phenomenon that this modern world has not seen before. And thank them, they deserve much more than applause.  

Somehow, every evening after the applause, I remain silent for a few minutes. I remember those elite soldiers in white whom we have expelled, practically left stranded. We stood by and watched these soldiers leave, and today we need every single one of them.

The world awaits such specialists with open arms. They don't ask about their party affiliation, nationality, or ethnicity; they see them in action and pay them with pure gold.

I remember one such person well in May 2018. You know, a day in intensive care is much longer than this one in quarantine. In that intensive care unit, you are alive, awake, and all you can do is watch and listen. Something like being in a state of artificial death.

The clock seems to stand still, and it doesn't matter to you whether it's night or day. It's as peaceful as paradise. You hear an occasional voice that, without any provocation, asks what day it is, what the weather is like outside, and similar questions. They ask to feel that they are not alone, nothing more.

That night, the paradisiacal silence was broken by commotion and the slamming of doors. Someone is being brought into the intensive care unit on that cold gurney. Everyone is rushing somewhere. Phones are ringing.

I hear, as it's one of my two options, an older lady in a white coat saying that it's a young man from Travnik, that doctors in that city put him in an artificial coma. The nurses reply that the doctor is coming.

"The young man was born in '86, he came home, had coffee with his wife, and just collapsed," the lady in the white coat continues.

The doctor arrived, I recognize him; he was on rounds a few days prior. It's Dr. Kemal Dizdarević. He reads some papers from the bed of that young man from Travnik. He tells the nurses to call the on-call doctors and to prepare the operating room. He leaves, but returns about 15 minutes later.

"I've discovered..." he says, explaining what happened to that young man from Travnik. "Is the operating room ready, has everyone arrived?" he asks the nurses, who reply they are waiting for someone else, I've forgotten his role in this story. But I remember he was coming from Vogosca. Dr. Dizdarević orders the patient to be taken to the operating room. There is noise again, doors are slamming again. But in intensive care, that's like good music. You've been in silence for too long, so every sound represents new hope.

I fell asleep. But the dream passed in an instant. I was woken up, again by a lady in a white coat interrupting my sleep. I ask what time it is, she says 4:30 AM. Again, as on previous nights, they came to draw my blood. What the hell are they testing so much, I wonder. The lady in white finished her work, packed my blood sample, and pricked my finger for a little more. She left. I see a nurse at the counter and call her over. I ask about the young man from Travnik.

"He's fine. The doctor assessed the situation excellently," she says, explaining that something like a vein in his brain had ruptured. I don't understand medicine well, so I wouldn't explain it. "We've kept him in a coma, but I think he'll be okay," the nurse replies and urges me to sleep.

Celebrating medicine and Dr. Dizdarević in my heart, I was as happy as if that young man from Travnik were my closest relative.

A few months later, the news arrived: Dizdarević left KCUS. The first thing that came to my mind was the night I described to you. I wondered who could drive away such an expert. For what reason?

I still don't know the answer today. Not just for Dizdarević, but for all the others we have expelled from the white brigade, the only one that can fight against visible and invisible health enemies.

People, I will never say that all those who remained at KCUS are bad and incompetent. Two of those who stayed operated on me. One admitted me to the ward and gave me hope that everything would be okay. The other diagnosed me in 5 seconds, returned after rounds, and said he would operate on me. They are Doctors Eldin Burazerović and Ibrahim Omerhodžić. I will never be able to thank them enough.

But, why? Why are we thinning out our medical expertise? Why are those whom the world recognizes and admires considered surplus to us? That never makes sense to me. People, God decides who will live and who will die, but in the situation in between, doctors are an x-factor. Why are we driving them away?

Another situation prompted me to write this text. Dr. Emir Solaković recently, on a television program, laid bare the relationship between us and our system towards doctors.

He pointed out that now, when things have gotten serious, we are calling retired doctors to help. The system rejected these people upon reaching retirement age and forgot all they had given to this society. Now we are hypocritically begging them to return.
"The world keeps such people close. It uses their knowledge and experience. Because someone who has worked for 40 or more years has invaluable experience. That is great wisdom. Why do we give up on such people, why do we reject them? Instead of giving them some money so they are always available, we would help them too, so they don't live only on their pensions," said Dr. Solaković, telling us the truth we turn away from.

Applause is support, but let's emerge from all of this wiser. Let's stop the system that is driving our talent out of the country.

Because, for each of us, a dark hour will come, and our lives will depend on their hands and knowledge.

Therefore, after the applause, let's be silent for a minute, for us who remain, in a society that has expelled top doctors - elite soldiers in white.