I was surrounded by the comfort of my family, the affection of my friends, and dreams that seemed close to reality before this catastrophe even started. I rotated between the laboratories of the Islamic University in Gaza and the eye hospitals spread throughout the Gaza Strip, getting ready for my graduation and moving from lecture halls to practical training fields for my graduation in the middle of 2023.
I was organizing my books, tools, and white coat for a demanding training day at Gaza’s Al-Nasr Eye Hospital on October 6. I had no idea that night would bring the end of my peaceful life, but my emotions were a mix of excitement and apprehension. I woke up at 6 a.m. on October 7 because of rockets, not my alarm. When I squinted, “Is this a nightmare or a dream,” I opened my eyes. However, it was impossible to refute the truth. Our once vibrant lives had been transformed into a never-ending nightmare by a war.
On October 8, I learned horrifying news that my university had been destroyed, including all of my classrooms, labs, and other locations where I had studied how to treat patients. Even the graduation hall, where I had envisioned myself sprinkling the year’s end, was ruined. My chest felt sharply in pain, as if a portion of my soul had collapsed. Everything suddenly crumbled. All I had in the dream had become was lost in the night.
We were forced to leave our homes and flee to the ‘humanitarian zones in Rafah on December 27, 2023, as the bombings in our neighborhood increased. In one of the hundreds of tents that had become the only place for survivors to shelter there, we found ourselves.
My knowledge and limited experience in the field of eye care were two things I still retained. Children and women who were exposed to dirt and smoke and dust and for a long time were the victims of persistent eye infections. Even my own eyes became infected. I realized I couldn’t just sit back and watch as they looked at me before I did it myself. I wanted to be a reason why someone was healed and the light came back to their eyes.
I worked in the eye clinic at Al-Razi Health Center in December 2024 while working there under the supervision of a remarkable patient. I initially had a fear and a reluctance. My memory and confidence were both harmed by the war. However, the doctor said, “You are hardworking, but I’ll never forget.” You’ll have everything in mind. And you’ll be used to assist others in healing.
North, central, and southern Gaza saw the influx of patients from all over. Although we made every effort, the clinic was not equipped for such numbers. Cases I’ve never seen before came to mind:
A four-year-old girl suffered severe corneal burns in the explosion-plagued neighborhood of her home, which caused her to completely lose her vision. She cried in pain. She was a far too young to endure such suffering. She had surgery to remove her damaged eye and replace it with a new one despite the lack of resources.
A late-thirties man was struck in the face by shrapnel and suffered skull fractures. He suffered a severe corneal injury and a torn upper eyelid. He required delicate surgery, but it was repeatedly postponed due to the need for more general anesthesia, which is currently unavailable.
A young woman in her 20s had suffered a direct hit that resulted in hypotropia and facial symmetry as a result of an orbital fracture and muscle tears around the eye. Every visit, she emotionally degenerated. I felt her wound as though it were my own because I was a young woman like her.
Another elderly man had eye cancer. His eye was being eaten up by the illness, and there was a good chance it would spread to the other eye. But we couldn’t stop him. Due to the border closure, he couldn’t travel for treatment because there were no available resources. I tried my best to lift his spirits each time, hoping that, perhaps, I could at least help him a little bit.
Due to dust, touching their eyes with their hands, chronic conjunctivitis, and chalazion (fatty cysts on the eyelid), the camps’ children were most frequently affected.
The elderly, the majority of whom had cataracts, were required for intraocular lens implantation and lens removal surgery, but all of these procedures were postponed because of the equipment’s difficulties with communication with northern Gaza, the only location in the Strip.
After the occupation destroyed the university’s lab, the operating rooms turned into actual teaching labs for me during those months. Every surgery I underwent was performed by the doctor in a bright hope and bombing-sounded environment. When we were inside the operating room, a rocket once struck a house right next to the center. We kept ourselves together despite the fear. We didn’t collapse. Instead, the operation was successfully completed.
There wasn’t just room for discussion about medicine in the spare time. We discussed delayed dreams, our lost homes, our missing relatives, and the pain. Every corner of the clinic heard the war’s ring.
Due to a lack of medicines, we had a lot of trouble. What else could we do if we had to prescribe alternatives whose side effects we didn’t know for certain? There was no other option. The medications were not available at the crossings.
I experienced severe chest pain and dizziness one day while having surgery. I couldn’t bear it, and I drank from extreme exhaustion, malnähration, and psychological pressure. I was merely attempting to hold on. But I persevered. I left the next day to resume my work at the clinic.
The university resumed its classes at the European Hospital in January 2025 when a temporary ceasefire was announced. Only four times, I went. The area was deserted, with remnants of war all over, and the road was long. Tanks were stationed just one kilometer (two-thirds of a mile) from the clinic’s window. I pondered whether to flee or remain. There was no guarantee that the ceasefire would exist. In fact, days did not pass before the occupation of the area was over, and sessions were called off.
We hit the ground running again.
I’m still here, moving between hospitals, undergoing healing, listening, and attempting to literally bring light back into people’s lives. My goal is still present. My spirit is unbroken. I was made to assist. And I’ll carry on, even through rubble and smoke, with steady hands and an unshakeable heart until the light shines on all around us.
Source: Aljazeera
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