It is hard to convey the horror that is Nasser Hospital these days.
Everything is a blur. People running, people screaming. Doctors and nurses rushing from patient to patient. Family members desperately looking for the missing, hoping someone can stop and help them.
Every sense is assaulted.
The smell is very difficult. It is like burned skin, or perhaps charred tyres mixed with the odor of blood and flesh. It’s a very strange and specific smell — and I fear it may never leave me.
Earlier in the war, the hospital was busy, but things appeared manageable. Then came a flood of refugees, as the Israel military, preparing a ground invasion, warned civilians in the north to evacuate.
The other day I found myself next to a doctor who was saying that before the war, the hospital used to cap daily admissions at 700. “Today, on a regular day without shelling, we accept more than 2000 cases,” the doctor said.
Like many hospitals in the Gaza Strip, fuel shortages tied to the Israeli and Egyptian blockade have left Nasser struggling to keep the lights on and the equipment running. Critically needed food and medical supplies are said to be trickling into the territory, but when I ask the staff at Nasser about it, they tell me: “We haven’t received anything.”
And so children come in shivering with fever, and with no acetaminophen, little can be done for them. I often pass by the pediatric unit, and it is always full.
This is all I can tell you. This is what I have seen with my own eyes.
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.
Samar Abu Elouf is a freelance photographer based in Gaza City
Written by: Samar Abu Elouf
Photograph by: Samar Abu Elouf
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