A group photo of a woman, authored by Amal Ismail

My body is wrapped like a half mummy from the waist to the neck and arms, unbearable heat, and the bandage drippings know their way toward the thorny path. I try the movements I can make; I am unable to lift or move my arms freely, and my fingers are still swollen like pieces of sausage. My face I do not see, it itches me, my nose bone appears reddened between my medium-sized eyes wherever I look. I take a deep breath before listening again to Umm Nizar's voice, a strong voice indicating stubbornness and a trembling tone indicating her advancing age. She is still calling out to neighbors who do not come. I did not see her and she did not see me, but I remember her sobbing and her prayers while the doctor and nurses are peeling my skin like a helpless rabbit and I am howling like a wolf that lost its entire pack at once, my howling echoes through the hospital and gathers the curiosity of everyone in the corridors from visitors. My husband pats my head to help me endure, repeating: "It's okay... it's okay." As for her, Umm Nizar, she was sobbing and praying: "May God ease it for you... May God relieve it for you." Was she praying for me or for herself? Perhaps it was a woman’s prayer for another woman. Maybe it was a woman’s prayer for all the women of the earth. So will God ease it for her?