More than 300 days have passed since the war began in the Gaza Strip, resulting in more than 130,000 deaths and injuries, the majority of which were children and women. Unknown heroes face the danger of death every hour and perhaps every minute: the paramedics who respond to the call for help. The work of first responders is dangerous all over the world, but in the Gaza Strip it is considered deadly because the Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) have broken all the rules of warfare, and they target paramedics. As a nurse, I began to know many paramedics, some of whom are now friends and have remained in northern Gaza, working to save people’s lives with the limited capabilities available to them.
I finally succeeded in making a video call with my friend Amer, a 25-year-old who worked as an ambulance officer (dispatcher) before the war began and continued his work throughout the war. He has been at it ever since. I worked with Amer before the war on routine transfers of patients to other hospitals or departments. He was energetic and always had a smile on his face. In the ambulance, he would never stop trying to make patients smile. But when I called him in early August, his face was tired and pale and his eyes were teary. I suspect he has severe anemia. He has changed a lot since the last time I saw him, which was when I was working at Al-Shifa Hospital.
I asked him how he was doing. Amer smiled and told me that he lost about 10 kilos and he was suffering from severe stomach pain with no treatment available, clean water to drink, or healthy food — only canned food like peas and mushrooms. The sounds of gunfire and drones were very loud in the background. I asked him whether he was in a safe place, and he just laughed and said, “Don’t worry, the army just ordered people to evacuate. They are now moving toward us. We don’t know where to go, and if we leave, how will we help the people?” His eyes conveyed regret and pain, as if to say that while international laws protect ambulance personnel, in Gaza they are captured and killed on sight.
Ambulances operate under direct fire. Every day, the ambulance department in northern Gaza receives dozens of calls for help, but in many cases they are unable to go to rescue the injured because they will be shot. I recall Amer telling me at Al-Shifa Hospital that he was fortunate to escape death when a bomb fell directly on the ambulance he had been driving and had stepped out of before it was bombed. But now it is even more dangerous and the work pressure has increased exponentially. At any moment, the IOF may storm the northern Gaza Strip, commit massacres, and leave. Amer tells me that one day, after the IOF withdrew from western Gaza City, he and his colleagues went in ambulances to check for injured and dead bodies. They found decomposed and burned bodies, some of which had been food for dogs and cats. The scene was very frightening.
I had hoped that paramedics might receive some privileges, such as food or resources so that they can continue their work, but Amer told me his colleagues collapse from malnutrition while moving the injured and martyrs. Yet despite everything, he remains committed to his work. Today only about 20 ambulance officers cover all northern Gaza. He told me that if he did not die in the ambulance, he would probably die at home, so he chose to continue working.
The most painful aspect for Amer is being away from his family of seven for weeks at a time. Recently his brother was seriously injured in his feet and hand in one of the massacres that took place in Al-Shati camp. He worries that he may have to transport injured people and then find out they are his relatives. He has become increasingly nervous and struggles to control his emotions; even small things rattle him. He needs medication to sleep at night. Every day, he sees decomposed and charred corpses, some of which have been eaten by animals, and their horrific smell lingers in his mind. He returns to the ambulance station each day haunted by the images of the dead in white shrouds. Sometimes he hears screams but doesn’t know their source. He is troubled by fears that the war will never end and that the few remaining medical teams in northern Gaza will be killed. If that happens, all the residents of northern Gaza will die.
I am acutely aware of the trauma Amer has endured, which is becoming more apparent the longer we talk. I try to reassure him that he will receive appropriate treatment after the war, and he asks wearily when the war will end. Frankly, I don’t know. To turn the conversation to more hopeful topics, I ask Amer about his future dreams. He paused and said he wants the war to end, for everything to be rebuilt, and then he hopes to start a family and a home. He dreams of a stable life, free from wars, killing and destruction, and he wants his family to remain safe. Amer’s dreams are basic human rights, but in Gaza, even the smallest rights are achieved only after immense suffering and hardship, if at all.
I do not know how medical teams will recover from the successive shocks of loss, displacement, fear and the awful carnage they have been witnessing for the last 10 months.
This article is co-published with Washington Report on Middle East Affairs.
