As physicians, we have sworn our lives to uphold a famous oath to obey the wise words of Hippocrates that implore us to “Cure sometimes, Treat often, Comfort always.”

Unfortunately, this is easier said than done amidst America’s gun violence epidemic.

It is not possible to cure every gunshot wound. Modern medical science has tremendously improved our ability to save lives. Emergency medical systems excel at rapidly treating and transporting victims; emergency physicians and trauma surgeons collaborate to stabilize patients, operate, and maximize the odds of survival. Yet still, for far too many people, once a bullet enters their body, cure may be impossible.

For those who survive a gunshot, even those without disabling injuries, we must often treat both the visible and the invisible wounds that persist for a lifetime. Rehabilitation specialists help the injured restore their physical health, while psychiatrists and therapists piece together the mental well-being of those shattered in so many ways by firearm injuries. Post-traumatic stress disorder, something many incorrectly assume is a soldier’s disease, haunts patients for years after trauma. Simultaneously, we treat patients for decades after their initial injuries for complications like wound infections and bowel blockages. A rifle round tearing apart a body can lead to years of learning how to walk or talk again. Stitching up a wound in an operating room is not the end, but the beginning.

Too often, we are simply left to try to comfort the relatives of those who have died from their gunshot wounds. Too many of us have felt the weight of delivering bad news — the worst news — and only being able provide a shoulder to cry on, eventually leaving the newly bereaved alone in a sterile hospital “family room” to grieve. Anyone who has ever worked in a trauma bay can remember the visceral cry of a parent who has just been informed their son or daughter has died at the hand of a gun.

Last year, nearly 40,000 Americans died from firearm injuries. Tens of thousands more were injured but survived. We can only vaguely state tens of thousands because, if we’re honest, we really do not know the exact number for that statistic. Plagued by decades of intentional policy decisions and under-funding, America lacks an accurate reporting system for non-fatal gunshot wounds.

When physicians do speak about the facts — and our own experiences — the National Rifle Association demands, to quote a recent tweet, that “someone should tell self-important anti-gun doctors to stay in their lane.”

To be clear: We are not anti-gun. We are anti-bullet hole.

We see the impact of this epidemic in our daily lives, often leaving us with no real remedies beyond applying dressings, mending wounds. We are often forced to discharge our patients back to the same communities and situations that led to their initial injuries, newly scarred both inside and out.

As one of the leading causes of death for young people in America, gun violence must be addressed to prevent injuries and deaths. While we as doctors will continue to develop and refine medical science to save lives once a bullet strikes the flesh, it is our collective duty as a nation to prevent the bullet from striking our patients in the first place. We know that despite the efforts of physicians and nurses, once a trigger gets pulled, lives are changed forever.

Good research can make a difference. Medical research solved AIDS but physicians never took away sex. Medical research and public health interventions have dramatically reduced deaths and injury from car crashes but physicians never took away cars. Medical research can solve gun violence and firearm injury and physicians will not take away all guns.

We know how to prevent firearm-related deaths. Policies like universal background checks and allowing the temporary removal of firearms from individuals in crisis are proven to save lives. This election showed that the American people support these live-saving solutions — in fact, they’re demanding them. As citizens and caregivers, we have a responsibility to speak up.

In response to the NRA’s demand that we stay in our lane, we want to make one thing clear: This is our lane.