Our ICU rounds deliberately end with Sabir every day, ostensibly for infection control purposes, since Sabir is colonized with a multidrug-resistant Acinetobacter species. However, he is also the last patient seen every day in unspoken recognition that we struggle to care for him—he requires nearly constant attention. His debilitation and inability to do much for himself, and his abdominal wounds that require frequent assessment of drainage and dressings, are significant nursing issues that are physically demanding and that detract from the ability of the ICU staff to attend to other patients. The healing of patient 4914's abdominal wounds is an arduous process, one that requires frequent trips to the operating room for enteral revision, skin grafting, and drain placement. Separate from the physical burden of his care are the reservations about the therapeutic course we are following. Reluctantly expressed, as if the thoughts should never have entered our consciousness, is the recognition by his American caregivers that patient 4914 consumes a large amount of limited U.S. military medical resources, which are provided via airlift and vehicle convoy through hostile territory for the care of our injured soldiers. In addition, there is a sense of futility to our care, in that the progress of patient 4914 has been slow and troubled by setbacks, such as hospital-acquired pneumonia and catheter-related sepsis. We know he lacks the means by which to leave his home country for care elsewhere, and the care he needs will probably not be available from indigenous resources in Iraq for some time to come. We see in front of us a greatly diminished person, with an open abdomen, tracheostomy, and unnaturally thin arms and legs devoid of muscle mass, who consumes much of our energies, and whose road to recovery, if ever achieved, will be long. We keep patient 4914 alive for the time being with our knowledge and capabilities, but to what end? Will our efforts and use of limited American medical resources ultimately result in a meaningful life for this Iraqi patient? Although we struggle with these same questions with our other Iraqi patients, they are for the most part strangers to us, numbers without voices, who quickly leave our sight and our thoughts. Sabir, with his prolonged stay and development of a persona, has become an emotional liability for his caregivers.