My name is Khaled. I’m a nurse working in the reception and surgery department of a hospital in northern Gaza.
I returned less than seven months ago, never imagining I would end up working in a place that feels more like a graveyard than a hospital.
The walls are cracked. The windows shattered. Smoke seeps through the broken frames. Explosions shake the ground every hour. Tanks are getting closer.
The emergency room has become a silent battlefield.
Wounded people arrive straight from the rubble, laid directly on the cold floor tiles. No beds. No stretchers. Often, not even names.
We perform surgeries right there on the floor. We use what’s left of our gauze and thread. We stitch wounds without proper tools — and often without anesthesia.
There’s no water. No electricity. No safety.
The surgical team works to the point of collapse. We reuse gloves, sterilize equipment as best we can, and rely on flashlights to operate in the dark. Our hands shake — not from fear, but from helplessness.
I’m not writing this for sympathy. I’m writing because we’re watching life slip through our hands, and we need the world to care.
Every donation is a life saved.
Every act of support is a chance for someone to survive.
Every response means we can keep going.
Help us keep the hospital alive.
Help Gaza breathe.
– Khaled
Nurse, Emergency & Surgery Department
Northern Gaza
https://t.co/EWsi16E75V
Our GoFundMe has been moving so slowly, and every day that passes puts us in a more difficult situation. Please don’t scroll past your share or donation can make all the difference. 🙏
https://t.co/XU8aO83veJ
My posts today are passing without any attention, as if we don’t exist. No one is donating to my campaign.
If you’re passing by here, drop a dot.
https://t.co/0xbkOlCsy8