I had closely followed the genocidal war in Gaza for nine months when an opportunity took place to volunteer as part of a medical mission organized by the United Nations, the World Health Organization and the American Palestinian Medical Association.
As a trained nephrologist, a doctor who treats patients with kidney disease, I estimated that there was a critical need for specialized medical care in the middle of the collapse of the health system in Gaza and the high number of specialists who had been killed.
I also thought that it was my duty as a Muslim to help the inhabitants of Gaza. Islam teaches us that whoever saves a life, it is as if he had saved all of humanity; Taking care of others is an act of worship, and standing against injustice is a moral obligation.
I believe that my diplomas are not intended to simply hang on the walls of an air -conditioned office or to help me drive the most beautiful car or to live in an expensive neighborhood. They testify to the fact that I took an oath to devote my expertise to the service of humanity, to maintain the greatest respect for human life and to offer my medical knowledge and my compassion to those who need it.
So, on July 16, I left for Gaza with a few other doctors.
We entered the band through the crossing of Karem Abu Salem. We have moved from the observation of prosperity, comfort and richness of the Israeli part to decline in destruction, devastation and misery on the Palestinian side. We have mainly seen what apartheid looks like.
During our short trip through the south of Gaza to reach our destination in Khan Younis, we saw many bombed, damaged or destroyed buildings. Houses, schools, shops, hospitals, mosques – you call it.
The amount of rubble was disgusting. To date, I cannot see the landscapes of destruction which I have witnessed in Gaza.
We were hosted at Al-Nasser Hospital because it was too dangerous to stay in any other place. We were welcomed and taken care of so much that I felt embarrassed. We were considered saviors.
I have dealt with patients with kidney problems, worked as a primary care doctor and sometimes helped during emergency mass events.
Dialysis requires drinking water, sterile supplies, reliable electricity, drugs and equipment that must be maintained and replaced – none of which was guaranteed under the Israeli blockade. Each dialysis session was a challenge. Each delay has increased the risk of dying of my patients. Many of them died – a fact that I had trouble accepting, knowing that in normal circumstances, many of them could have been saved and live a normal life.
I remember the smiling side of one of my patients, Waleed, a young man who suffered from renal failure caused by early bloody pressure, a condition which, with access to appropriate treatment, could have been managed appropriately.
Dialysis was Waleed’s life buoy, but it could not obtain an adequate number of sessions due to Israeli blocking causing serious shortages of medical supplies. The malnutrition and the worsening of living conditions have only accelerated its decline.
I remember how breathtaking it was, its body overloaded with liquid and its dangerously high blood pressure. And yet, every time I saw him, Waleed greeted me with a warm smile, his spirit in a way intact, his mother always by his side. A few months after leaving Gaza, Waleed died.
Another of my patients was Hussein, a gentle man, with good heart and deeply respected. His children took care of him with love and dignity.
He suffered hypokalemia and severe acidosis: his body’s potassium levels were dangerously low and acid accumulated at toxic levels. To resolve his condition, he needed basic drugs: potassium supplements and sodium bicarbonate pills.
They were simple, inexpensive and vital drugs, and yet the Israeli blockage did not allow them to participate. Because he could not find these pills, Hussein was hospitalized several times for intravenous potassium supplementation.
Despite his immense suffering, Hussein remained graceful, courageous and full of faith. Speaking, he has always repeated the Alhamdulillah sentence (praise to God). He died a few weeks ago, I was told.
Waleed and Hussein should be there – smiling, laughing, living happy with their families. Instead, they have become victims of siege and silence. These are two of so many tragic stories that I know and I have witnessed. So many beautiful lives that could have been saved were lost.
Despite this dark reality, my colleagues in Gaza continue to do their best for their patients.
They are doctors who are bruised in every way. They are fighting not only on the daily difficulties of life like all the other Palestinians in Gaza, but also attend the daily horrors of headless babies, amputated members, fully burned human beings and sometimes lifeless remains of their loved ones.
Imagine working without anesthesia, limited pain relievers, very few antibiotics. Imagine that surgeons rub the ordinary water, children undergoing amputations without sedation, the complete body burns the dressings of the patients being modified without relief of the pain.
These health heroes are still continuing.
One of the nurses with whom I worked, Arafat, made me a deep impression. He lived in a makeshift refuge with several family members. It did not offer any protection against elements – cold winter, hot heat or soaked rain.
He hungry – like all the other Palestinians from Gaza – losing 15 kg (33 lb) in nine months. He traveled 2 km at 3 km (1 to 2 miles) every day to work with worn sandals, facing the danger of Israeli drones who bombed him or pulling him in the street.
And yet, the smile has never left her face. He took care of more than 280 dialysis patients, treating them with care, listening carefully to their anxious families and edifying his colleagues with light humor.
I felt so little next to heroes like Arafat. His and the resilience and the persistence of his colleagues were incredible.
In Gaza, I had the opportunity to visit the Al-Shifa hospital with a United Nations delegation. What was once the largest and most vital in the Gaza Medical Center was reduced to ruins. The hospital which was once a symbol of hope and healing had become a symbol of death and destruction, of the deliberate dismantling of health care. He was beyond the heartbreaking to see his left and bombed leftovers.
I stayed in Gaza for 22 days. It was an absolute honor to visit, serve and learn the lives of the inhabitants of Gaza. Their incessant courage and determination will remain with me until my death.
Despite what I could never have imagined, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay. In the United States, I felt deeply guilt that I left behind my colleagues and my patients, which I did not stay, that I did not do enough.
Feeling this constant sorrow, I cannot understand the growing number of people accustomed to the daily reports of Palestinian death and images of torn bodies and hungry children.
As human beings and as health agents, we cannot leave Gaza. We cannot remain silent and passive. We must express themselves and act on the devastation of health care and attacks against our colleagues from the Gaza Strip.
Already fewer and fewer health workers are allowed to enter Gaza into medical missions. The current blockade has prevented all medical supplies from participating.
As health professionals, we must mobilize to demand an immediate lifting of the seat and free access to medical missions. We must not stop making us volunteer to help the medical teams in difficulty in Gaza. Such acts of expressing themselves and volunteering give our colleagues in Gaza the hope and comfort that they have not been abandoned.
Let’s not allow Gaza to be just a symbol of destruction. Instead, whether it is the example of the unbreakable mind.
Take hold, talk and act – so history remembers not only the tragedy but also the triumph of human compassion.
Let us confirm human dignity.
Let us tell Gaza, you are not alone!
Humanity is on your side!
The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of Tel Aviv Tribune.