War Doctor- Book Review

This really is a brilliant book. I was captivated from start to finish. David Nott is a true hero, putting himself in danger in order to save the lives of his patients, training medical professionals on the front line, working tirelessly in the hardest countries. I appreciated learning about different parts of the world we hear about on the news and others we hear nothing about from the perspective of a doctor and his patients. 

Here are a few quotes:

Sierra Leone:
The RUF began attacking civilians, carrying out mass amputations as a terror tactic. What makes people do this to one another? It must in part be the exercise of power without control or fear of retribution. Once people start blindly obeying irrational authority and conforming in both mentality and dress, it becomes easier to dehumanize your enemies.

Aleppo, Syria:

Despite the snipers having telescopic sights, we rarely saw the head shots that would have resulted in an instant kill – the goal seemed to be to wound, to disfigure or disable. Abdulaziz told me that he’d heard that the snipers were playing a game: they were being given rewards, such as packs of cigarettes, for scoring hits on specific parts of the anatomy. He was certain this was true, and certainly the evidence seemed undeniable. This sick competition reached its nadir towards the end of my time there when it appeared that one particularly vicious and inhumane sniper had a new target of choice: pregnant women. 

David Nott returned, traumatized by his time in Aleppo but had to attend a lunch at Buckingham Palace and ended up sitting next to the Queen. I love this account of what happened and you cannot but help love the Queen!

The dessert arrived and the Queen turned to me. At first I couldn’t hear what she was saying, as my hearing had been damaged by a bomb blast near the hospital in Aleppo. I tried to speak, but nothing would come out of my mouth. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to speak to her; I couldn’t. I simply did not know what to say. 

She asked me where had I come from. I suppose she was expecting me to say, ‘From Hammersmith,’ or something like that, but I told her I had recently returned from Aleppo.

 ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘And what was that like?’ 

What was it like? What could I say? 

My mind filled instantly with images of toxic dust, of crushed school desks, of bloodied and limbless children. And of Alan Henning and those other Westerners whose lives had ended in the most appalling fashion. 

I don’t know why it happened then, or why it should have been the Queen who breached the dam. Perhaps it was because she is the mother of the nation, and I had lost my own mother. My bottom lip started to go and all I wanted to do was to burst into tears, but I held myself together as best I could. I hoped she wouldn’t ask me another question about Aleppo. I knew if she did, I would completely lose control. 

She looked at me quizzically and touched my hand. She then had a quiet word with one of the courtiers, who pointed to a silver box in front of her. I watched as she opened the box, which was full of biscuits. ‘These are for the dogs,’ she said, breaking one of the biscuits in two and giving me half. We fed the biscuits to the corgis under the table, and for the rest of the lunch she took the lead and chatted about her dogs, how many she had, what their names were, how old they were. All the while we were stroking and petting them, and my anxiety and distress drained away. 

‘There,’ the Queen said. ‘That’s so much better than talking, isn’t it?’ 

Queen Elizabeth’s instinctive insight into my emotional fragility was remarkable, as was the compassion she showed towards somebody she had never met.