In Gaza, childbirth does not happen in sterile delivery rooms, nor is new life welcomed by just the sound of crying — but by the roar of warplanes, the smell of smoke, and fear embedded in the walls.
My delivery was unlike any normal birth. It was not just the beginning of a life, but a fight to survive. I gave birth at Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis, where the cries of newborns mixed with the moans of the wounded and the deafening hum of drones and bombings.
Beside me lay martyrs and injured people. I saw death with my own eyes while trying to hold onto life amid chaos and destruction.
There was no proper care. No nurse stood beside me, no doctor truly followed up on my case. After birth, the placenta remained stuck in my uterus. The doctors had to perform surgery on me without any anesthesia. I was fully awake, screaming in pain. The bleeding was severe, and I felt my life slipping away — but I held on.
Even basic needs like proper food were missing. I ate whatever was available, often not suitable for a recovering mother.
I survived — not because of the hospital, but because of love and sheer willpower.