Today, I find myself grappling with an overwhelming mix of grief, frustration, and anger. Two recent losses have left a profound impact on me, shaking the very core of my being.

One was a tiny, fragile life—a patient only two weeks old. This little one had just begun to experience the world, and I had hoped that Mercy Ships could provide the help needed to save this precious life. But despite our best efforts, we lost the fight. The other was the seven-month-old son of a colleague, a child full of promise and potential, who also succumbed to a preventable death.

The patients that always break my heart the most are the ones we could have done surgery on. Being in Sierra Leone while the ship is not here has been a stark reminder of what life is like without it. As corny as it may sound hope and healing are significantly reduced. And while I’ll never know whether we would have been able to help the little baby—he was so young and so sick—it is something I will always wonder. That is the reality for so many patients, waiting for the ship, hoping and praying they survive long enough to receive surgery.

These losses are hard to bear, not just because of the deep sorrow they bring, but because they were preventable. Knowing that these deaths could have been avoided with the right resources and timely intervention fuels a fire of frustration and anger within me. It’s an anger that comes from seeing the devastating consequences of inequity in healthcare—a system where access to life-saving treatment is a privilege, not a right.

Each loss feels like a personal failure, a heavy burden that weighs down my heart. It’s a struggle to reconcile the love and care we pour into our work with the harsh reality that, sometimes, it’s not enough. The grief of losing these young lives is a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the urgent need for change.

Yet, amidst the sorrow, I find a strange sense of resolve. The anger that burns within me is a sign that I still care deeply. It’s a reminder that to stop being angry is to stop caring, and I cannot afford to become indifferent. This anger fuels my determination to fight for better healthcare, to push for the changes needed to prevent such tragedies in the future.

It’s difficult to carry the weight of so many griefs, to witness the pain of families who have lost their loved ones. But I believe that this anger, this fire, is necessary. It drives me to keep advocating for those who cannot speak for themselves, to work tirelessly for a healthcare system that values every life equally.

In these moments of profound loss, I hold onto hope. Hope that our efforts will lead to a day when preventable deaths are a thing of the past. Hope that we can create a world where every child has a chance to live a full and healthy life. And hope that the anger I feel will continue to fuel my passion for change.

To my colleagues and fellow healthcare workers, let us never stop fighting, never stop caring, and never stop getting angry. Because our anger is a testament to our compassion, and our compassion is what will drive us to make a difference!