Provided the Kuwait Times doesn't read this and think it's complete garbage, this should be getting published within the week. I've got mixed emotions about this piece, perhaps it could have been stronger, but at this point if I get paid I'll be happy. Some time in the next couple days I'll put up a little "behind the scenes" thing about writing this story. I saw quite a few interesting/depressing things riding around in Red Crescent ambulances for two days. Anyway, here's what I've got for now:
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In the West Bank town of Nablus emergency medical technician (EMT) Mohamed Harshi had just dropped off his partner after a day of work. On his way to return the ambulance to the Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS) Harshi happened upon an unconscious teenage boy who’d just been shot in the head. It was unclear who shot him. Harshi loaded him into the ambulance, turned on the siren, and delivered the boy to the nearby emergency room.

Long considered one of the most turbulent cities in the West Bank many expect stories like Mohamed Harshi’s to be a part of everyday life in Nablus. Although EMTs still contend with extreme situations, violence like Harshi experienced is becoming less common in Nablus.

In October 2004 PRCS in Nablus treated fifteen people with gunshot wounds; last October they only treated one. Dr. Mohamed Adaweh, PRCS medical director in Nablus, says that injuries related to violence decrease every month. However, remnants of a more violent time plague daily life in Nablus.

A day after finding the teenager, Mohamed Harshi and his partner Sami Seirfe have a full ambulance. A woman who’s just finished a chemotherapy session and her daughter share the ambulance with a couple and their new baby just delivered through a caesarian section. No one requires emergency medical attention; they just need a ride back to their village. Not needed Seirfe and Harshi chat in the front of the ambulance as they drive towards Qalqilila, a town outside Nablus.

Non-emergency cases like these have become one of the largest issues facing PRCS in Nablus. At the start of the second Intifada the Israelis installed checkpoints that cut off Nablus from its surrounding villages and the northern cities Tulkarm, Jenin, and Qalqilila that relied on Nablus’ medical facilities.

For people who required routine medical procedures in Nablus, like chemotherapy or hemodialysis, potentially spending multiple hours waiting at checkpoints would have been difficult, if not impossible.

Red Cross and PRCS secured an unofficial agreement with the Israelis that ambulances wouldn’t be delayed for more than fifteen minutes at a checkpoint. So PRCS tried to aid these people by using its ambulances to transport them from their villages to hospitals.

“This has put a burden on our shoulders,” sighs Dr. Adaweh. During the pre-Intifada years without the non-emergency cases PRCS in Nablus responded to about twelve calls a day. Now they respond to over thirty.

With so many non-emergency cases, patients sometimes wait up to three hours for an ambulance to arrive. To ensure that non-emergency cases don’t impede emergency responses one ambulance is always left on standby.

In the past some EMTs tried to learn more about their trade by following up with doctors about the people they dropped off. They no longer have the time for that. “Everybody’s wishing we’d go back to just emergency,” says Dr. Adaweh.

“I talk to these people everyday, I know they’re not that sick,” says Mohamed Ramadan Saka, a PRCS EMT for the last eighteen years. While Saka is friendly with everyone he transports, he complains that driving someone from Nablus to Ramallah to visit an eye specialist makes him feel like a taxi driver.

EMT Radwan Abu Hamdan is empathetic but admits, “A person might be sick, but maybe he doesn’t need an ambulance. He is just poor.”

Before the Intifada PRCS charged non-emergency cases to use the ambulance. A ride from Nablus to Ramallah cost 250 NIS ($50). When the second Intifada began PRCS removed the fee. Saka believes that half of the non-emergency cases would stop using ambulances if they cost more than a taxi. While there is talk of bringing back fees, the service remains free.

As PRCS emergency services struggle to define their role in Nablus, some feel that Palestinians no longer respect ambulances. Dispatcher Khalid Khalil answers the phone, turns to the others in the room and asks if anyone wants sex. He holds the phone out so everyone can hear the illicit moaning on the other end. Prank calls have become such a problem that Khalil no longer answers calls from public telephones.

“The situation is still bad, but it’s better than it’s been in the past,” says Sami Seirfe. The number of non-emergency cases dropped from 1,051 in October 2004 to 830 last October. This may indicate that those who rely on Nablus’ PRCS ambulances are feeling more comfortable crossing checkpoints on their own.

“If the checkpoints were not there everything would go back to normal,” says Dr. Adaweh. Almost everyone at the PRCS station in Nablus agrees.

The Israelis have indicated that within a month they will remove a dirt berm blocking the road between Nablus and Ayseera, one of Nablus’ villages. The barrier forces those in Ayseera to drive forty kilometers and pass through the Huwera checkpoint to enter Nablus. If the direct road reopens, Nablus would be only a ten-kilometer drive from Ayseera without any checkpoints. This would most likely create a substantial reduction in the number of people using PRCS ambulances.

While Dr. Adaweh is optimistic, he still has his doubts. “We’ll see what happens in a month,” he says.