Nurse: I carried 15 South Sudan bodies to the morgue in one day

When Medecins Sans Frontieres nurse Michael Shek, 28, from Dumfries, saw images from the South Sudanese civil war, he knew he had to help.

In a plane flying 8,000ft over the plains of South Sudan, I was faced with one of the toughest calls of my nursing career. My patient, a 10-year-old boy and victim of the country’s vicious civil war, was dying from his gunshot wounds before my eyes. His lungs had collapsed because of the air pressure on the plane, and I was terrified he would die before I could get him to hospital in the capital of Juba.

I was the only medic on the plane, and I was also caring for another gunshot victim, the boy’s uncle. With sweat pouring down my face, I knew the only way I could save him was to puncture his chest with a needle and allow the air to escape.

Normally, this sort of procedure needs an ultrasound or X-ray, but I knew if I didn’t act straight away the little boy would die – I had no choice but to punch the needle into his chest. The sound of the trapped air hissing out from the cavity filled me with so much relief I nearly cried. This boy, at least, was going to survive.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to help people. I knew the only career that would fulfil me would be in medicine, so when I finished school I started my nurse training right away. I left my home in Dumfries and moved to London, where I worked my way up to Charge Nurse in a busy A&E.

I’d see all sorts of emergencies, from car crashes to stabbings and shootings, but I always felt like there was a way I could do more with my skills. When I read about the civil war in South Sudan and the terrible conditions, I had to do something.

I signed up with Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders), a charity that specialises in sending medics to where they’re needed most. My parents were livid and worried when they found out I was going into a war zone, but I just had to go.

Arriving at the hospital in Leer, where I’d be stationed, was a shock. The building had been shelled to ruins, and we slept in tents with no running water or electricity. Scorpions and spiders were everywhere, at night hyenas would stalk the compound, and eagles nested in the trees, swooping down to steal our food.

My job was to do my best for the patients, working with very limited resources. Beyond the walls of the compound, the war raged on, and the trauma we saw was relentless – gun shot wounds and blast injuries, but also a lot of children with malnutrition.

At night, the sound of gunfire and massive rocket launchers would keep me awake, but weirdly I didn’t feel afraid, only upset that many of the patients I’d helped during the day were under fire again.

The soldiers stopped fighting when they saw the MSF Land Rover bringing patients in, because they understand we don’t have a political agenda, we’re just there to treat people – in fact, I was more safe in my MSF T-shirt than I would have been wearing a bullet-proof vest.

The hospital had been looted regularly in the past – the team of medics there before me were robbed at gunpoint, so we learned not to stockpile supplies, especially malnutrition packs, because people were so desperate for food. I got used to working with very few resources and we were constantly low on supplies.

Devastating choices

After four months I returned to the UK, but I knew my work with MSF wasn’t over. I’ve now done three missions with them, one in a refugee camp in the north of South Sudan. 120,000 people had fled the violence and were living in cramped conditions, so when malaria broke out, it spread with terrifying speed.

People were too scared to bring the sick to the hospital during the night because of the fighting, so the patients arriving in the morning were often close to death. The hospital was designed for 100 people, but there were hundreds queuing outside. I would have to walk along the queue and pull the sickest children out, often resuscitating them.

There was very little blood available for transfusions, and sometimes there would be four children that needed one. You just have to choose the one you think has the best chance of survival. That was when things got really bad – there were just too many sick for us to treat.

One day I carried a child’s body to the morgue, and realised it was the fifteenth I’d carried that day. It was devastating, but you just have to carry on.

People ask me how I do my job, but I know if we didn’t treat these people, they’d die. It’s rewarding, and I suppose there is an adrenaline buzz to it. You can’t save everyone, but you can make people’s last days and hours more comfortable.

There are sleepless nights where you are trying to keep children alive that you think are lost causes, and, yes, some of them die. But sometimes they’re running around a week later, and there’s nothing like that feeling. It’s what keeps me going.

Whenever I finish on a mission, MSF flies me to Amsterdam to see a psychologist to make sure I’m not suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.

It takes a while to adjust to life in the UK, but the post-mission care is great, with a team checking on you regularly. You make friends for life when you’re in that environment, and I’m very lucky to have people around who support me.

I’m about to start a Masters in Advanced Nursing Practice, so will be in the UK for a wee while. But I know if there was some kind of disaster tomorrow, I’d go there to help.

Right now, I’m young and enthusiastic, but my priorities might change after I have kids. First I have to find a girlfriend who understands why I do these things.