Written in Arabic by:

 Dr. Samah Alajjawi

 Glory Batch graduate- Fifth batch- 2017-2023

Translated by: Dr. M.A. Awwad

"We declare you now new doctors in our Homeland" 

By those words , our graduation ceremony ended on August 8th, 2023

The End launched a new start. Though ends always mean the end , but in Medicine, There are no ends when we start. I 'll never forget the night of Sept. 17th, 2017 as it was last night, When Medicine chose us heroes for a new adventure written in a book whose first page is decorated with the Quranic verse : "and if anyone saved a life, it would be as if he saved the life of all mankind".

We start in the name of Allah 

When I first met my new colleagues; I have snapped-shot the faces in mind, I haven't known the names then. The hope was starting to light in my eyes, Will there be images that gather me with those new colleagues? Will there be memories that we are going to share one day?

In these first days I was preparing myself for the hidden battles with all the passion for science and knowledge. Yes, there was that ambiguous dread of the beginnings, the fear of failures and many many question marks, the first of all was ( Am I able to do it? ).

I was repeating this question till I felt bored of it , I think it was not me alone who asked herself or himself this question. But now -my colleagues- after six years of hard work , I am asking you all (Were we able to do it? ) YESSS, we were and we are. We got the title (Doctor of Medicine)  after all the nights we stayed awake studying. Books are our witnesses, they will tell how many times our heads hit them when naps overcome us. Our coffee mugs are our witnesses too. letters , lines, pages and our eyes and tongues which read them accompanied us while we say Bye to moon and say Hi to the first lights of the sun with so short rest times. 

The few hours of sleep we hear in our dreams the melody of the slogan that medical graduates sing ( We are going to stay here till all pains disappear).

With the early birds ,on our exam days we used to travel to our hospitals and the FM/YU campus holding our papers, white coats, stethoscopes and the prayers and tears of anticipation of our beloved family members and friends. He was right who said: " Medicine is a science that doesn't give you some of it, except when you give it all of you".   

Mom , You are my doctor, my first inspirer. I still remember the flower bouquet that you made for me in a night before a hard exam that I was so tense while studying it, You wrote in the card: " Samah , Hug me as tight as you can, the flute lost its voice, the tea lost its taste, and now I am addicted to you my baby as the waiting helpless person addicts coffee, Hug me as if you are my mom".

No words in dictionaries and the meanings in poems could describe those beautiful words. Everything I get was because of you, God bless you. I was unable to do what I've done except with your care and prayers. Every time doubts try to sneak to my mind, you whisper in my ear (No glory comes without hard work, No life gives without pain). So for you Mom, I am wearing our dream , Why don't you wear it with me , so we continue this way together.

My brother, Do you remember how much we repeated that childhood song together (Don't forget your brother, You exchange care together) , how much we played, we cried, we laughed , we left and we reunited. Now we graduated together. Congratulations for me that you are my bro (Malik), Promise me that we'll stay friends even if life put distances between us, One soul in bad and good times.

In this occasion, I won't forget who taught me the ABC's of medicine, My doctors and teachers in Faculty of Medicine-Yarmouk University, One by one. without names , though every name is precious.

Today, I put my stethoscope and wear the dream-graduation robe and graduation cap and chant with my colleagues the Medicine Oath "I swear to God - Allah- that I watch God in my profession and protect the lives of Mankind".

Could be continued .....

Written in Arabic By:

Dr. Abdulrhman Al-bourh

Adrenaline graduate- Third Batch

Translated by: Dr. M.A. Awwad

Written in Arabic by:

 Dr. Jamal Bani Issa

 Adrenaline graduate- Third batch- 2015-2021

Translated by: Dr. M.A. Awwad

 Your voice echoes the chambers of my mind, just like your son's once echoed yours..

A year or some more ago, I've met you, I can't place when exactly, for my memory is fragile when it comes to the sufferings of daily living; such as remembering deadlines, birthdays, and remembering not to spill my teacup everyday, or paying attention as to not bump into everyone in my wake.

It is a mixed feeling, that I have towards you, indeed. It's the type of tough love a single mother bears upon her rebellious child; cold, tough, but still sparks like the light of a thousand stars.

But you're not my son nor I your father, oh uncle. And who am I to judge? For I am a sinner, just like you, and repent, just like you. Many life lessons gathered on your pages, I wish I got the chance to read them all. For I have not read well, forgive me. Time did not serve me well, neither did my arrogance and selfishness, which manifested as I ignored some of your personal calls.

I have witnessed the passings of many patients over my brief career, but I remained always a rock in the face of adversity. You were the exception, why? Why do I morn you so deeply when in fact our meetings were so brief and conditional? Perhaps it was because as I treated you, you treated me as well. Perhaps it's the skeleton in the closet, knocking on the door of my adaptive apathy? Or is it because our meetings were cut short, for I expected many more of those cups of tea to gather us. Perhaps the best things in life are as such — fleeting, passing, sudden, and leave a hidden scar.

But now you speak to me just like when your son spoke to you, in your delusions of loss. You speak to me of my distance, my preoccupation in the face of the many times you requested that I come see you as a friend, as a son. You speak to me of how I thought I had time, but so appears I didn't. I thought that we had more time, but you passed, and here I am morning you, just like when you morned your murdered son.

Oh uncle, the matters of everyday life bother me, but what are those compared to what you had to live through? What your broken heart had to deal with?

Your patience speaks to me, oh uncle. From power and wealth, to that apartment I found you gasping for every breath, drowning in pulmonary secretions and the weight of your enlarged heart weighing you further.

I know, oh uncle, what truly made you ill was the weight of memories and loneliness, and I wish I were there for you. The memories of your deceased daughter and your murdered son, and the absence of your elder son abroad. You kept telling me 'he'll come back, he'll come back'. And then came disease, like a wolf preying on what remained. Heart failure and pulmonary failure, as if one was not enough.

You told me many times, that adversity is the cloth of purification. I came to agree. Perhaps you treated me so much more than I did treat you, after all.

I have never, and will never forget your humble house and our cups of tea and especially the tattoos you tried to hide in embarrassment. Don't hide them please, for the soul of man hides many depths darker than the ink of a needle.

You speak to me in my times of need, just like your son spoke to you in yours. Your times of need are over, yet mine stand still for my time on this earth remain.. until we meet.

It is my pleasure to tell you that the souvenir that holds your name is in safe keeping, and it is a promise, to hang it on a wall, if i ever own one.

You speak to me, oh uncle. I wish i spoke to you when you asked for me, forgive me.

In memory of the late 'uncle A.Y.' , a patient of mine, who passed after a long struggle with heart failure, COPD, Arrhythmias, PTSD, the passing of his daughter, and the murder of his son. May his soul find peace.

By: Dr. Jamal Bani Issa

Adrenaline graduate- Third batch