Tattooed and pale , with an Arabic vocabulary of a few dozen words at best , 24-year-old American Peter Kassig is not who you would expect to see striding up and down the corridors of a hospital in Tripoli , Lebanon , clutching a wad of bloodied bandages . `` This is one of the worst wounds we have on the floor ; this one is pretty bad , '' he says as he works to help clean out the raw lower leg wound of a patient . `` They were going to have to amputate the leg , but they were able to reconnect the artery , right , '' he asks Marwan , a 27-year-old nurse from Homs , Syria , who , like most of those Kassig works alongside , fled his homeland to treat his countrymen in Lebanon . Despite the language barrier , the two have bonded , as Kassig has managed to with all those he 's been interacting with , the type of unique bond born of shared intense experience whether it 's with the patients , some who do n't survive or the doctors and nurses who have suffered horrors Kassig is only beginning to comprehend . `` There is this impression , this belief that there is no hope , '' he explains . `` That 's when it 's more important than ever that we come in against all odds and we do something . '' How did an American end up in a Lebanon hospital treating wounded Syrians from months of escalating violence ? Kassig 's journey began when he joined the U.S. Army Rangers in 2006 and deployed to Iraq in 2007 . He was honorably discharged for medical reasons after a brief tour and returned to the United States to study political science and train for 1500-meter runs . But something was n't right . `` I was going to school with kids who look the same , were the same age as me , but we were n't the same , '' he says . `` I wanted more of a challenge , a sense of purpose . '' Portraits of conflict : Can an image stop the bloodshed ? In 2010 , Kassig took time off and began his certification as an emergency medical technician . In the two years that followed he fell in love , got married and quickly divorced . Devastated and heartbroken , he went back to school , but he could n't shake his depression . `` I needed to make a drastic decision . It was a huge identity thing ; it was time to re-evaluate , '' he says . `` I needed a game changer . '' He decided he would head to Beirut , follow the situation in Syria and try to help . So on his spring break this year he packed his medical kit and flew into the Lebanese capital . `` I took a chance , '' he says . `` There was n't a single person when I told them I was coming to Lebanon who said , 'Yeah , that 's a great idea . You should do that . ' '' The next two weeks were filled with eye-opening misadventures as Kassig began to scratch at the surface of the complexities of the Syrian conflict and the Middle East as a whole . `` I had learned enough to know that I did n't know anything , '' he says . After finishing the semester back in the United States , he returned to Lebanon , only this time with a plan . `` We each get one life and that 's it . We get one shot at this and we do n't get any do-overs , and for me , it was time to put up or shut up , '' he says . `` The way I saw it , I did n't have a choice . This is what I was put here to do . I guess I am just a hopeless romantic , and I am an idealist , and I believe in hopeless causes . '' Kassig is now working to start a number of projects to help those in need and putting his EMT skills to use whenever he can . `` I am not a doctor . I am not a nurse . But I am a guy who can clean up bandages , help clean up patients , swap out bandages , help run IVs , make people 's quality of life a little bit better , '' he says . `` This is something for me that has meaning , that has purpose . '' Some of those Kassig helps to treat are rebel fighters , all who vow they will return to the battlefield as soon as they can . Others are the innocent victims of a spiraling conflict . Lying in one of the hospital beds is 24-year-old Louliya . She says she and her three children were run over by a military jeep as they were trying to escape the Syrian military siege of their village . Her spinal cord was crushed , leaving her unable to move from the neck down . She was smuggled across the border to Lebanon for surgery . She 's only just started to be able to regain feeling . She smiles bravely but is unable to stop the tears from rolling down her face . `` All I want is to be able to hold my children in my arms again , '' she says softly , trying but failing to imitate the cradling of a child . Despite dangers , doctors honor oath in a secret Syrian field hospital . In a room across the hall , Yaseen smiles devilishly as she tells us she 's 7 , laughing as her older sisters correct her . She 's actually 5 . Both her little legs are bandaged , a result of gunshot wounds she sustained as her family was fleeing the violence and their vehicle came under fire . `` It just itches , '' she says , giggling and insisting she was never afraid . Other wounds are more gruesome : Dr. Ahmed Obeid , also a refugee from Homs , shows pictures on his cell phone of a raw wound , crawling with maggots . There 's another photo of a young man with all of the flesh on his back removed -- a patient they were unable to save . It was a case that caused Kassig to begin to appreciate just what it was they were up against . `` The tissue had turned necrotic , which basically means it was dead , '' Kassig explains . `` We had to cut out a huge piece of skin , the whole upper side of his back . '' It 's what happens when the wounded ca n't be evacuated in time . A bitter lesson Syrians know too well . Kassig says his direct exposure to what was something of an alien conflict and culture before has now transformed his perspective . `` There is this mentality from where I come from back home that I have a little bit of a problem with , '' he says . `` I do n't want to get on a political soap box , but at the same time we have to think about why as a country we choose to help certain people and not others . `` We have to think about why we just chalk up the Middle East [ as ] this complex enigma that we will never understand because they are so different from us . But at the end of the day , they are really not . It 's just about whether or not you 're willing to go out on a limb and understand something , '' he says . `` Peter can tell the American people who we are , '' says Marwan , the Syrian nurse . `` We are not what the regime says we are -- terrorists and al Qaeda . Peter knows we are good people , who love joking and laughter . We just want to live . '' Kassig has been struck by the resilience of the Syrians he has met , by their ability to smile and somehow joke even in the darkest of circumstances . `` This kid has his leg blown off , '' he says , `` and he still had the ability to crack jokes and smile , and he had the doctor cracking up . He had the whole room laughing . That 's just the way they are , the people that I have met and worked with in the hospital . It 's been absolutely humbling . '' Sitting in the room where the hospital workers also sleep , Kassig stares up at the TV screen , always following with everyone else the news in Syria , image after image of death and destruction . He says he believes that America has lost its humanity , that the nation needs to take a firm political stance , although he 's not advocating military intervention . `` This is real , and it 's scary stuff , and it 's sad what is happening to people here , '' he says . `` People back home need to know about it , they need to know . Sometimes you got ta take a stand , you got ta draw a line somewhere . '' When outrage is n't enough | Your take : Intervene or not ?
American , meanwhile , helps treat wounded soldiers in Afghanistan . He has served in Iraq but looks for a ' game - changer ' after returning home . He hopes Americans understand what 's going on in the world .