A cacophony of sounds from cows, roosters and dogs rouses me from my tired trance. It is 3 a.m. I twist and turn, sleepless in the cool night in a foreign land - in a foreign room. Outside my windows, I hear the rain gently pitter patter on the stone terrace. A lime falls from the tree in the garden, unable to withstand the deluge from above. I slowly drift off again only to be awoken five minutes later by the sound of men shouting in Spanish, of heavy doors slamming and a gurney being rolled down the halls. It was my first night on call, in Guatemala.
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