My daughter, 14-year-old Tala, was a happy, healthy, energetic girl. Until one day: “Mum, my back hurts,” she said.

I reassured her, saying, “I’m sorry, sweetie, it might just be some flu. Relax, it’ll get better.”

A couple of days later, her lower-back pain had lessened, and she could run again. But only for a couple of days — soon, I noticed she was running less. She was walking less. I took her to a pharmacist, who diagnosed her with hepatitis, which was widespread at the time. But Tala had no liver problems, no jaundice. They gave her a painkiller injection, and I bought her medicine I swear by. However, on our way back to the tent, she started to feel dizzy.

I treated her as if she had hepatitis, with three medications and a special diet. But her condition worsened, and her health deteriorated. When she lost control of her bowel movements, I battled to get her to Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital as quickly as I could, but God knows how difficult transportation is; getting to any hospital is almost impossible.

Finally at the hospital, they checked her vital signs, conducted tests, and took a blood sample. But all her tests came out clear. After a full physical exam, the doctor on duty told me he suspected a rare post-viral condition — Guillain-Barré Syndrome (GBS) — which affects the immune system and attacks the nervous system.

The doctor explained GBS affects one in 250,000 people, causing paralysis to spread throughout the body. Without rapid medical intervention and the condition doesn’t stop, it can attack the respiratory system.

“It can be life threatening,” he said.

My little girl!

I collapsed, crying. What was happening?

As people around me helped me up and consoled me, there was a buzz among the doctors, whispering, “There’s a GBS case in the hospital, there is a GBS case.”

God knows how I got through that dark, dark day.

The hospital administration transferred Tala to Nasser Medical Hospital, sending her by ambulance to Khan Younis. In the emergency room, they listened as I explained what was wrong with her and what the doctors at Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital suspected. They requested imaging and ran tests, but everything, again, came back normal.

Enter Dr. Ayad Hussein, head of neurology at Nasser Medical Hospital. He reviewed her file, reviewed her tests, reviewed her vital signs, reviewed her images. Everything was normal, but Tala clearly was not well.

He conducted a sensation test on Tala then called a full team of doctors to diagnose her. They suspected two things: either GBS or acute inflammation of the brain and spinal cord. However, without an MRI scan, there was no way to determine exactly what was wrong with Tala.

This is Gaza. There is no MRI machine left intact in Gaza.

Worried about the condition attacking Tala’s respiratory system, Dr. Ayad Hussein put her under observation in intensive care. She stayed there for 12 days, carefully monitored, but every day her condition worsened. Unable to sit by her bed, I sat, stood, and slept in the corridor outside intensive care. She was always in my sight; I could not leave her.

Nasser Hospital was all but out of commission since the invasion, but the staff continued doing everything they could to treat patients. The medical team was so attentive, caring for her as best they could with no painkillers, no medication, no suitable equipment, even no diapers. The only thing they had was treatment to stop the paralysis from spreading to the rest of her body.

For 12 days, this was our life.

After those 12 exhausting days, Tala left intensive care and moved to internal medicine and neurology, where Dr. Ayad Hussein and his team met us with news that Tala’s condition is serious. They said there is treatment for her, but it is only available outside Gaza. Together, they wrote an urgent referral to the World Health Organization, classifying her as Case A: a child rescue case. Since then, we have waited and waited, but still she has not been called for treatment. Her condition has progressed, and the symptoms have reached her eyes.

For months, Tala has waited. May God not show you how tired she is, and how she still suffers. She cannot sleep, day or night, except with a sleeping pill or painkillers. In the middle of the night, the sound of her pain echoes around her, rising into the sky.

Every time I ask, they tell us we are still waiting for Israeli security approval, but many cases less serious than Tala’s have traveled and are now receiving treatment abroad.

In light of Tala’s deteriorating condition and her critical health issues, it is imperative she receives the specialized treatment she desperately needs. Time is of the essence, and every moment counts. My little girl’s life and future depend on her leaving Gaza for treatment abroad. I remain hopeful that Tala can have a healthier, brighter tomorrow.