Seven-year-old Saad’s mother attempted to ease the pain in her son’s right arm by telling him fairy tales, but the throbbing persisted. Having just been released from a 13-hour surgery, the pain medication wasn’t enough for Saad, who suffered shrapnel wounds during a Syrian regime bombing of Homs. Saad is one of more than 40 Syrian refugees at Tripoli Public Hospital, a place that has emerged as a bastion of medical care for those wounded in the uprising against the regime of Syrian President Bashar Assad, so much so that it has become known as the Syrian Field Hospital. Despite miserable living conditions for the more than 22,000 Syrian refugees in Lebanon, at this hospital – where the third floor is full of wounded refugees – at least there is some medical relief. Although the suffering of each refugee is unique, after 13 months of conflict the horrible stories have taken on a familiar ring. On the third floor, where Saad was taken after the surgery, Manar and Hosni share a room. Thirty-year-old Hosni lost his voice from the trauma of an intestinal injury, and could only move his lips in greeting. His left leg, broken, was in a cast and suspended. His roommate Manar, 16, spoke on the phone to his mother, telling her that he will be back to Syria to get her in a few days. While still in Syria, his right leg was shot off while he attempted to save another young man from sniper fire. “My mother does not know the severity of my injury,” he said. “I don’t want her to see me like this.” Like Hosni and Manar, most patients arrive at the hospital from Syria through various border crossings, usually in critical condition. Doctors said many come with limbs already gone. Syrian emergency room doctor Ahmad Jdoud, who came to work as a volunteer, said that “we’ve been successful in saving hundreds of refugees since the beginning of the crisis in this hospital.” Many say that if it weren’t for the hospital, they would be dead. The staff said they don’t turn away any cases, and some doctors bragged that other hospitals transfer patients with the most significant injuries here. But this doesn’t come without a financial burden. One doctor said that the Higher Relief Committee pays for 60 percent of medical treatment, leaving the hospital or patient to pay for the rest. Recently, the hospital itself received some relief. The charity Human Appeal International U.K. fully equipped the first floor with 16 beds and medical equipment. Their name now hangs on a plaque outside the unit, which cost of $150,000 – none out of the hospital’s pocket. Adnan Hmeidan, the charity’s media adviser, said it is also hoping to set up a blood bank at Tripoli Public Hospital. He said the facility also needs additional operating rooms – it currently only has two – but each would cost $180,000. He added that the group is facing problems in bringing medication into the country because of Lebanese government oversight, insisting that “we can preserve the standards of Lebanese drugs and still facilitate the importing of medication for the refugees.” Some cases can’t be treated in Lebanon, and his organization also helps provide travel documents for those wounded who arrive with no identification, often under the supervision of the Red Cross. One Syrian doctor, who facilitates the transfer of patients between the countries and preferred to remain anonymous, said that on average, one injured person arrives a day. But their problems can’t all be solved at the hospital. “When their wounds heal,” he said, “they have nowhere to go. They don’t have homes, or identification ... They have no money to rent homes, and if they find money there are no homes to rent.” And after discharge, he said, most patients require physiotherapy and more medication, incurring even more costs. A group of longer-term patients stood around the third floor this week to visit the newly arrived, among them Mustafa, who lost an arm to shrapnel, and Abdel Rahman, who was using a cane in place of a missing leg. Abdel Rahman said that “once, those who spoke against the Syrian regime would have their tongues cut off. Instead we lost our limbs. But we spoke out, and our throats are hoarse from screaming.”