Malala Yousafzai by Jenni L. Walsh

Author:Jenni L. Walsh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2018-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

The gunman fired three times. A bullet hit Malala’s head, above her left eye. Two other bullets hit two of her classmates, in the hand, shoulder, and arm.

There were cries and panic.

Malala was rushed to a Swat hospital. Doctors and nurses, too many and moving too fast to count, examined her and did a scan of her head. They didn’t see the bullet. Somebody stitched where the bullet hit her head and covered her forehead with a big white bandage.

Minutes later, Malala was wheeled on a gurney into an ambulance. Normal civilians injured by the Taliban were treated at the hospital, but Malala wasn’t normal. She was high-profile. She was an activist. The government wanted her taken to a military hospital.

The ambulance sirens blared. Her father was with her, his eyes filled with fear for his daughter’s safety and also because the Taliban could try to attack again. The helipad was only a mile away, but the drive felt as if it took forever.

Malala’s father began to panic further when the helicopter wasn’t yet there. Finally the helicopter landed and Malala was carried on board. Her father let out a breath and scrambled in next to his fifteen-year-old daughter.

The whooshing blades Malala had heard years ago now roared right above her. She vomited. It was scary to see blood in her vomit. Malala tried to wipe her mouth with her head scarf. Finally, they touched down at the military hospital in Peshawar, one of the largest cities in Pakistan. Three hours after being shot, she was rushed to the intensive care unit (ICU). Malala stared blankly at clear walls surrounding her, in a space called a glass-walled isolation unit. She was restless, constantly moving her arms and legs. A nurse stilled her arm to attach an intravenous (IV) line to keep her hydrated.

Malala was examined again. “If there’s an entry, there has to be an exit,” a doctor mused to himself. He felt her spine, and found the bullet lodged next to her left shoulder blade.

Then, more scans of Malala’s head were done. The original scan at the Swat hospital was taken only from one angle. They thought Malala’s brain was fine. But the additional scans showed that the bullet went very close to her brain, splintering her skull. One of those splinters damaged the membrane around Malala’s brain.

The doctor thought the best course of action was to wait and see how Malala’s body reacted. He assured Malala’s father she seemed stable, but he promised to keep a close eye on her. Nurses monitored her heartbeat and vital signs. Malala was still restless. Sometimes she grunted.

Hours later, the doctor knew Malala wasn’t doing well. Malala’s brain was swelling. He needed to relieve the pressure.

“Surgery,” the doctor told Malala’s father.

Malala’s eyes fluttered. She needed help.

“What will you do?” Malala’s father asked.

“In order to give her brain room to expand, we need to remove a portion of her skull.”

Malala’s father’s eyes were huge with worry. “There are risks.” It wasn’t a question he asked but a statement.

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