ÔĽŅMy parents arrived extra early on Monday morning, filled with both dread and excitement. For my part, I seemed unnaturally calm. Eventually an orderly, whom they thought looked like a Hells Angel, put me on a stretcher and wheeled me down into surgery. My parents hung back for a few seconds. Setting aside years of betrayal, emotional estrangement, and petty fights, they briefly exchanged a hug and a few quiet tears. order asacol In vain, Ilijaz screams back at Nedret, and then he canít stop screaming. He spins around like a machine gunner firing at everyone in the room, yelling until heís hoarse, lashing out in a way he canít remember ever lashing out before. In the back of his mind he knows the situation is futile. The man will probably die no matter what Nedret does ordoesnít do. But Ilijaz has seen one too many young men die. He roars with anger. Anger at Nedret, yes, but also anger at the war, anger at the injustice of so many young, promising lives taken away by warís stupidity. Anger that nobody is helping them in Srebrenica. Anger, perhaps most of all, at his own inability to stop the suffering.