My Story With Displacement: A Tale From The Heart Of The Hospital And The War

By Dr Nasim

The days I spent working in the hospital were unlike any other days in my life. I worked around the clock, moving between the wounded and the injured, between operating rooms and the echoes of cries for help, while my heart chased after my children whom I hadn’t seen for six months. They had been displaced to stay with relatives, and the situation was beyond human endurance—relentless bombing, destruction on every street, and the scent of fear filling the air.

We worked without sleep, treating the wounded and performing endless surgeries, while our minds remained with our families… Are they safe? Did they survive? Has the bombing reached them?

Then, in a defining moment, while I was inside the operating room, a nurse rushed in and said: “Doctor… your daughter is at the door asking for you.”

I froze. Shock, confusion, and fear struck my chest all at once. What happened? Why had she come?

Had something happened to them? Had she lost someone?

I quickly excused myself from my colleague and went out. I couldn’t see anything ahead of me except one question: What happened?

I found her standing there, crying. I asked her, barely holding myself together: “Are you all okay? Tell me what happened.”

She replied in a faint voice: “We’re okay… but we don’t know where to go, Dad. Everyone has fled to Rafah… and we’re lost.”

I took a deep breath, thanked God they were safe, and told her: “It’s okay… stay here at the hospital. If we have to evacuate, we’ll evacuate in its courtyard.”

My family arrived, but only a few days passed before we received an evacuation warning for the hospital. We left like everyone else, terrified, just before sunset, not knowing where to go. I walked with my fellow doctor and his family searching for a safe place far from the hospital. I refused to go to Rafah, and we kept walking until we found a camp where those in charge sympathized with us because we were doctors and gave us a small space to set up a tent.

It was late after dinner. We went out searching for wood, nylon sheets, and nails to build the tent, while our children slept beneath the olive trees. We worked late into the night just to protect them from the cold and rain.

And we lived harsh days inside that tent:

Little food, scarce water, cold nights, fear, and the silent questions in the eyes of the children: Why?

Yet still… we endured. We bore the pain and hardship because, simply, we had no other choice.

Does this satisfy anyone?

Why are we forced out of our homes while we are doctors serving our people? What crime have civilians committed?

It is injustice… the injustice of occupation and its brutality, and the injustice of those who remain silent.

This is not just a story…

It is the truth of genocide and forced displacement, the truth of a people who cling to their land despite their wounds.

And we will remain here.

We will live here.

Because this is Gaza… this is Palestine… our land and our dignity.

And Palestinians do not surrender; Palestinians always stand tall.

Where are you, human rights?

Where are you, humanity of the world?

These are my memories from the war on Gaza… and the memory still bleeds.

Dr. Nassim
Gaza – Palestine

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