About a fortnight or more I was abed in The Police Hospital and still tolerating pain. They had not done any particular treatment for me except some pain relief injections. The bullets were still in my body. I was burning in pain. My injuries smelled disgustingly foul. One day it was reported to Dr. Javad Hey’at[1] –head of surgery section- that the foul smell had filled that section. He came to check the matter and found it was from the room that I was kept in. When he was entering the room, the agents impeded and told him: “You are not allowed to enter.” However, he came in by force.
Dr. Hey’at came beside my bed. He put away the sheet. He found out the foul smell was from my back injuries. He ordered to change the sheets and sterilize the injuries and room. The sheets had stuck to the injuries. When the nurse would pull the sheets the foul smell of pus would fill the room. I would bite my lips of pain. Hey’at who watched this terrible scene angrily shouted at nurses and asked: “What the hell is this condition?” They said: “They (SAVAKIs) do not let us to change the sheet and the bandage on his injuries. Doctor called the agents and blamed them: “Do you want him dead? Here is a hospital, and if you want to kill him take him out of here.” Then he ordered to inject me Novalgin and clean and change my bed and sheets.
The nurses executed the orders of Dr. Hey’at step by step and took me to the bath by stretcher. They gave me Novalgin pills. The doctor had ordered them not to let me eat them by myself. They were worried that I might gather them and then commit suicide. He wanted to set a time for surgery on me but the agents opposed. Hey’at shouted at them: “Here is not prison or garrison; it is a hospital. Here, I am the only one who orders…!” The agents asked for orders by their wireless. They were ordered to do what the doctors order.[2]
Part of my broken leg had been healed not in the correct direction. It was possibly because of the weights they had tied wrongly to my leg. Few days later they took me to the operation room and operated on my right leg and pelvis and installed some pieces of platinum; however, my left leg could not be operated on because of its leaning.[3]
After the surgery, I was burning in pain and fever for three days. Every 6 hours they would inject a 5cc Novalgin ampule. Once a nurse was evacuating the air inside the syringe some drops of it splashed on the wall. Two days later she came back again for my injections. She said: “I do not know what a creature you are?! Look at there.” Then she showed me the drops of Novalgin on the wall from the two days before. She touched it but it was not removed. The she said: “Look! It deposits likes this in the vessels.” When I heard it, I said: “I won’t inject Novalgin anymore!” She smiled and went.
About 10 o’clock at night, another nurse came for my injection. I said: “I do not need.” She checked my heartbeat and said: “You may die!” I said: “I won’t have even if I die!” She angrily said: “I don’t care. Listen! Don’t play the role of heroes for me. If you want to have your injection now, I’ll do it; if not I won’t do it for you at midnight when your pain begins. I’ll be sleeping then.” I said: “Do not come.” She surprisingly asked: “Really!? Won’t you have your injection?” I said: “I won’t!” She went and I covered myself with the sheet to sleep.
Some hours passed. About 1 o’clock at midnight pain and ever conquered me. All my body was sweating. I was uncontrollably weeping of pain. I covered my face by sheet to hide my tears and pain. It was a strange feeling; I had pain and also a beautiful sense of getting closer to God.
My tears wetted my bed a little. Suddenly I heard somebody was calling: “Bed No. 62”. I move away the sheet and saw the same nurse at my bed who had said that she would not come. She said: “I swear to God that I was only joking. I’ll do you injections whenever you want…” and then she tried to sympathize. I thanked her and said: “No! I am intended not to have Novalgin injections.” I was thinking by myself that at last I would die; something that I had asked God. When she understood that I was sure about my decision said: “I go but I’ll be back whenever you call.”
About 75 days a heavy weight was hanging from my leg. It was bothering me but I had to tolerate. They had drilled a hole on top of my knee and passed a wire through and a weight hanging from it. Once I told the doctor: “I cannot move my leg from here. I think it’s been drilled wrongly.” Few days later, three people and he came and said that the wanted to have an operation on my leg. They drilled another place without anesthesia. I was watching this scene and shouting of pain and cursing. Some had kept my leg and the doctor was drilling; and I was shouting. At last, they drilled another hole and hanged the weight from there.
I cannot describe the pain I had that day and night. I was sweating and weeping of pain. They took me to the operation room again because my left leg had mended in a leaning position. My body had become really weak. They took me to take a bath before the surgery. There I could see the pieces of my leg’s dry skin dropping down on the ground like the pieces of an eggshell.
In that operation they did another surgery on my thigh’s bone connecting pelvis. It got better but not okay. After the operation physiotherapy began. They would clean and sterilize my back to prevent it from infection. During my coming and goings to the physiotherapy section I noticed they had put a banner four the last four rooms in the surgery section of hospital that I was in one of them, saying: “Do Not Enter; Psychiatric Section”!!
[1] Doctor Javad Hey’at was born in Tabriz in 1925. He passed elementary school in Roshdiyyeh Elementary School in Tabriz, high school in Nezam High School in Tehran, medicine in Tehran University and specialty of general surgery and heart in Paris University. Before the Islamic Revolution he published the journal of Danesh-e Pezeshki (Medicine Knowledge) for 12 years and at the same time was the head of surgery department of Dadgostri Hospital. From 1963 to 1996, he worked as surgeon, surgery consultant, and head of surgery department in Shahrbani (The Police) Hospital. He is a member of Surgery Academy of Paris and professor at Islamic Azad University. He has been publishing the Turkic-Persian journal of Varliq since 1980. He has published three books in surgery and some other books in the fields of philosophy, Turkology, Azerbaijan literature history, history of Turkic-Persian dialects and languages, history of oral literature, and comparative studies of languages in Persian and Turkish.
He narrated for us: “…from early beginning I was interested in social studies and hated politics. I liked to be as old hakims (wise men) and know philosophy and literature and history. I did not want to be a doctor only. God benefited me a lifetime to learn and study philosophy, history, linguistics, and Islamology beside surgery because I did not have any other fun…”
[2] In this regard Dr. Javad Hey’at in an interview with Oral History Unit of the Bureau for Islamic Revolution Literature said: “It was in 1976 that they brought Mr. Ahmad to Shahrbani Hospital. We did not know the opposition fighters at that time though and it was their bed number that would introduce them to us. Ahmad was shot and injured in his knee, thigh bone and pelvis. He had been bedridden in surgery department but under orthopedist’s supervision; I mean they were responsible to treat him. So I would only visit our own department’s patients every day and Ahmad if it was necessary. One day I felt the department was filled with the smell of foul. I asked about the reason for. I was told that it was possibly from such and such room and bed. I entered Ahmad’s room and found the smell was from that room. I examined him and saw his back was infectious. I got angry. I shouted at the personnel and asked why such a condition was there. They said that it was not their fault and if they wanted to serve him the agents would prevent and make problems. So I browbeat them. I was not afraid of my deed. The patients could me only after God. They agents also needed my job. I shouted at the agents: “Here the patient is under our supervision and we are responsible for. Whenever you take it from here you can do whatever you want. Here we should do our task.” I also ordered the nurses to renew his bandage every day.
After that event the trend was corrected. General Hussein Mokhtari -the hospital’s president- came and kissed and thanked me and said: “Doctor! I really thank you all by heart. You can say such things to them. I am a military man and cannot say such things. If you did not do that, here would become infected.”
Doctor Hey’at said: “Patient is the dearest person for us as long as he/she is sick; no matter if he/she is a compatriot or thinking as what we do or not; if he/she is a friend or enemy. Patient is weak. Our godly task says that we help him/her without considering his/her situation and status.
French physicians would say: ‘I do not know who you are and were coming from; you have pain, so come near to me.’”
[3] Mr. Ahmad’s leg was operated two times after the Islamic Revolution and become recovered to some degree but the problems made by those bullets are still clearly seen. There are two bullets in his legs which cannot be brought out. In some occasions during the days of interviews, he was suffering from a deep pain that even would force him to crawl on the ground instead of walking or being able to stand on foot.
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