In the wing of motherhood in Gaza, life and death coexist, but as well as hope Gaza News

At 2 am in the emergency department in the field of obstetrics and gynecology at the Assiaba Medical Complex in Gaza City. Through open windows, I can hear the unmanned aircraft that ends in the sky above, but regardless of that, they are calm. The breeze flows through the empty hall, gives relief from heat, and a soft blue glow from the few lights that are operated. I am six months after training throughout the year and 12 hours in a 16 -hour shift. I am so tired that I can sleep here in the admission office, but in calm, a rare sense of peace is looking for me.

Soon she was shattered by a woman crying. It bleeds and dominates cramps. We study her and tell her that she lost her child who has not yet been born – the child she dreamed of. The woman was newly married, but just one month after her wedding, her husband was killed in an air strike. The child she was carrying-a 10-week old-week-old fetus was the first and would be the last.

Her face is pale, as if her blood was frozen with shock. There is pain, denial, and screaming. Her screaming attracts the attention of others, who gather around her falling on the ground. We move it, just to return it to its suffering. But it is now silent – there are no screams or expression. After she lost her husband, she now endures the pain of losing what she was hoping to be a living memory for him.

Life insists on reaching

It is the sixth night Night in obstetrics and gynecology. I am supposed to turn through other departments – spending two months in each of them – but I have already decided to become a gynecologist during this rotation. He brings to this wing joy in my life – where life begins, and he knows that hope exists regardless of the terrible things we bear.

Birth in a war area – amid bombing, hunger and fear – means life and death. Sometimes, I am still struggling to understand how life insists on reaching this place surrounded by death.

It is amazed that mothers continue to bring children to a world where he feels uncertain. If the bombings do not take us, hunger may be. But what surprises me most is flexibility and patience. They believe that their children will live to carry an important message: regardless of the number of murderers, Gaza responds to its rejection.

Childbirth is far from the easy. It is physically and emotionally exhausting, and mothers in Gaza lead to severe pain without reaching the basic pain. Since March, the hospital has witnessed a severe shortage of basic supplies, including pain and anesthesia. When they scream while attaching their tear wounds without anesthesia, I feel unable, but I am trying to distract their attention by telling them the beauty of their children and assured them that they had obtained the most difficult part.

With the ongoing hunger here, many pregnant women have to be desirable and do not gain adequate weight during pregnancy. When the time comes to deliver, they are exhausted even before they start paying. As a result, their work can be prolonged, which means more pain for the mother. If the child’s heart beats slow, you may need a Caesarean section in emergency situations.

Practicing medicine here is far from idealism. Hospitals are sunk, resources are very limited. We are constantly fighting the shortage of medical supplies. In every night, I work with a gynecologist, three nurses and three midwives. I usually deal with the easiest tasks, such as evaluating conditions, sewing small wounds, and helping in normal delivery operations. A gynecologist takes the most complex cases, and the surgeon performs optional caesarean section and emergency.

The surgeon always reminds us of reducing the consumption of gauze and stitches to the maximum extent possible, and save them to the next patient who may reach an urgent need. I try to ignore the gauze and replace it only after it is completely saturated with blood.

The power outage makes things more difficult. The electricity is cut several times a day, and the birth room is flooded in the dark. At those moments, we have no choice but to run the electric lights for the phone to direct our hands.

During a modern shift, the electricity came out for approximately 10 minutes after the birth of a child. The mother’s placenta has not yet been delivered, so we used our phone lights to help it.

Many of the best medical professionals in Gaza were killed, such as Dr. Basel Mahdi and his brother, Dr. Raid Mahdi, both of whom are gynecologists. They were killed during the service at Mahdi Motherhood Hospital in November 2023. Countless from others escaped from Gaza.

Most of the time, doctors around me too much to provide guidance or teach me the practical skills that I was hoping to learn, although they made their best.

However, it penetrates some moments through exhaustion and reminds me of why I chose this path in the first place. These meetings remain with me for a period longer than any lecture or textbook.

At dawn, a new child

During one of the transformation, a pregnant woman came to conduct a routine examination, accompanied by her five -year -old daughter, who sparked her smile. It came to learn the gender of the child.

When I prepared ultrasound, she turned and asked the little girl, “Do you want to be a boy or girl?”

She said: “A boy” without hesitation, “boy.”

I was surprised by her certainty, kindly asked why. Before she was able to respond, her mother quietly explained. “She does not want a girl. She is afraid to lose her – as she lost her older sister, who was killed in this last attack.”

On another day, a woman came in her tenth week of pregnancy to the obstetrician after the doctor told her that her child’s heart was not beating. While I was performing ultrasound to check the fetus, for my amazement and comfort, I discovered the heartbeat.

The woman cried with joy. On that day, I saw life as it was believed to be lost.

The tragedy touchs every part of our lives in Gaza. It is woven in our most intimate moments, even about the joy of expecting a new life. Safety is a luxury that we never knew.

At 6 am, with the outbreak of Dawn in my morning from Nubati, we welcome a new child born in a mother of jabalia camp in northern Gaza, an area surrounded by Israeli soldiers and tanks. When the first rays of the sunflower penetrate the birth room, the mother cries happy tears, and her face embracing her child.

After she endured a night full of fear, missiles and snipers, the mother and her family managed to safely reach the hospital. At this moment, they celebrate and find a reason for hope again.