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Arch Pediatr Adolesc Med. 2004;158:1105.

	Since this article does not have an abstract, we have provided the first 150 words of the full text and any section headings.

"Dobre dien, sleepyhead." Jeffrey awoke me from a Sunday afternoon nap. An American and the director of our project, Jeffrey was a fluent Russian speaker. "Nazir and his wife are upstairs with their son. They want you to examine him."

Where was I? It came back quickly—on mission with Doctors Without Borders in Chechnya. We supplied physicians in war-torn hospitals with medications and equipment and recorded the number of land-mine and gunshot victims. I’d come for an adventure, restless with my plush American life. However, I’d begun to wonder if I could make any difference.

As I trudged up the outside stairs to the medical office, the afternoon air was chilly, the sun low in the cloudless sky. Nazir was one of my favorite guards. Each evening, he made a quick trip home to administer vitamin injections to his son. It made me uncomfortable; medical practice was so . . . [Full Text of this Article]

AUTHOR INFORMATION

Therese Zink, MD, MPH