January 20, 2025
Between Cancer and Enforced Displacement: My Struggle Amid the Lack of Treatment and the Closure of Border Crossing
Between Cancer and Enforced Displacement: My Struggle Amid the Lack of Treatment and the Closure of Border Crossing

Tahrir Ziad Mohamed Helles, 29, married, resident of Gaza, currently displaced in Nuseirat, Mamdooh Saidem School.

Date of Testimony: December 16, 2024

I have been married for 15 years and am a mother to three daughters and a son. We used to live in the Souq al-Jumaa area in Shuja’iyya, and our life was peaceful and stable. However, illness gradually began to intrude on our lives. I started suffering from shortness of breath and chest pains. After undergoing tests ordered by my gynecologist, we discovered that I had swelling (tumor) in my neck due to thyroid problems.

My treatment journey lasted for two years, and after several tests, doctors confirmed that the tumor was benign. My condition gradually improved, and I adhered to my treatment regimen to prevent the problem from worsening. I continued my treatment, receiving high doses at the Turkish Friendship Hospital, while relying on UNRWA clinics or purchasing medication at my own expense when it was unavailable. Despite all these challenges, we managed to get by with difficulty before the war. However, with the onset of the conflict, I felt that my life had been turned upside down once again. Everything became more difficult, and every moment was filled with fear and suffering.

On the morning of October 7, 2023, I was getting my daughters ready for school. However, from the very first hours of the day, I sensed that something was wrong. The atmosphere wasn’t calm as usual; it was filled with anxiety and fear. I couldn’t send my children to school; I kept them close to me, in my arms, until I felt reassured. But the anxiety didn’t subside; it only grew stronger. As time passed, we learned that the aggression had begun on the Gaza Strip. Bombing started in the eastern areas of Shuja’iyya, and my family came to our house to escape the shelling in their area. As the situation escalated, my husband and I decided to flee. I considered my health situation and the need to be close to any place that could provide medical care in case of an emergency, while also trying to avoid the difficulties of leaving under constant bombardment. We left our home and headed to the Samer area, where we spent only one night, but it was a harrowing night filled with indiscriminate, chaotic shelling. We decided to look for a safer place, so we headed to the Orthodox Cultural Center in Tal al-Hawa, believing it would be a safer refuge. 

On October 10, 2023, we arrived at the Orthodox Center in Tal al-Hawa. We spent our first night there, but the shelling continued intensively, with fire belts surrounding us from all sides. We were forced to go down to the basement, where the ground trembled from the intensity of the bombardment. It was extremely cold, and we had no food or blankets. The night was unbearably cold, in addition to the fear that drained us all. Everyone around me tried to raise my spirits, while I took my medication and tried to stay composed. But fear controlled us all. Even the men were crying for their children, as if we were living our final moments. I couldn’t sleep that night.

The next day, as my health worsened due to the tumor in my neck, I began to lose consciousness. Fortunately, there was a doctor among the displaced people who examined me and told me that my pulse was weak. We tried to call for an ambulance, but it took two hours to arrive and wasn’t able to provide sufficient help. The doctor continued to monitor me and administered first aid. That night, my condition deteriorated further. My face became swollen, and I couldn’t breathe. The doctor requested that the center provide a fan, and with its help, I was able to breathe slowly and gradually regained consciousness.

We stayed at the center for three days, enduring an unforgettable suffering. Last night, we received a warning about a possible airstrike on the location, but we didn’t believe it. We thought it was a safe place because it was affiliated with the church, and it seemed impossible that it would be targeted, especially with displaced people there. Unfortunately, that night, the gate was bombed, and three young men were martyred. The following morning, the Israeli occupation army dropped leaflets ordering the residents to head south. Initially, we thought it was a psychological tactic, but as time passed, people started to flee. We too decided to leave and head south in search of safety.

On October 13, 2023, we gathered as a family and rented a small bus to transport us, along with about 60 people. We reached the Nuseirat Refugee Camp after enduring severe hardship on the road due to the overcrowding. We spent a short time at a relative’s friend’s house before heading on foot to the Mamdooh Siedem School. The school was overcrowded with displaced people, but we managed to prepare an empty classroom to sleep in. We had no mattresses or blankets, and sleeping on the hard tile floor was especially difficult for the children. In the classroom, there were 8 families, and we divided the space between men and women. Each family had at least 3 children, and the first night was extremely cold, especially for the children. The next morning, my husband went back to Gaza City and brought two mattresses and a blanket. However, it was still not enough for our family of five. The priority was to cover the children while they slept.

I went to Al-Awda Hospital to check on my health. A doctor advised me to go immediately to Al-Aqsa Hospital. There, they performed an ultrasound on my neck and the doctor informed me that my condition required urgent surgery, but it was unavailable due to the shortage of medical supplies caused by the Israeli siege and the prevention of medical equipment from entering.

My condition continued to deteriorate over time, and I had no option but to rely on “Ciroxine” as a painkiller, though it was not effective. My condition kept worsening, and I needed medical attention almost every week. They would provide first aid, such as oxygen and pulse regulation, but nothing more.

We stayed at Mamdooh Saidam School for 40 days, and then, on December 27, 2023, we were forcibly displaced once again after the Israeli forces designated the Nusairat area as a “red zone” that needed to be evacuated. We were forced to flee, this time to Rafah. We stayed in a makeshift (barracks) shelter, which was unsuitable for living or even staying overnight. After a few days, we moved to Khirbat al-Adas, where tents were set up. During this period, the cold was unbearable, and I had to rely on canned food as my main source of nourishment, which significantly impacted my health and worsened my condition.

As my health deteriorated further, I went to Rafah Hospital, where the doctor reviewed my previous medical images of the tumor. Upon comparing the images, the doctor noticed that the mass had grown considerably—it had been 8 mm previously and had now reached 3.5 cm. The doctor contacted my former physician and informed him that the mass had not been this large before, and that it had grown due to the difficult conditions caused by the war and the lack of medications and surgeries. The doctor prepared a report on my condition and referred me to the medical committee, which reviewed the report and approved a referral for treatment abroad.

A week later, rumors began circulating about the possibility of the Israeli occupation forces entering Rafah, which heightened the sense of anxiety and fear. We decided to return to Nusairat, where it seemed safer. We went back to Mamdooh Saidam School and started preparing the place again for shelter, which proved to be another hardship.

I was waiting to travel for surgery, but the Rafah Crossing was closed shortly before my scheduled departure. During this period, my health deteriorated further. It became increasingly difficult to secure the necessary bottled water, and my medication ran out for a while. We were only able to get one strip of medication, but it wasn’t effective as a painkiller because I needed higher doses.

I continue to live in constant suffering, filled with fear and anxiety about my health, waiting for the crossing to open and hoping for the chance to travel for treatment. My feeling of helplessness is growing, and as my condition worsens, my hope for recovery fades in the face of the ongoing suffering in Gaza. With every moment of delay in opening the crossings or providing treatment, the feeling that life could be taken from me suddenly becomes stronger, and I am left unable to access the treatment I need to stay alive.

As a mother, I hope to travel first for my surgery, then return to my children in good health, free from any illness. I long to embrace them and raise them in a safe, stable environment, and for the war and its suffering to come to an end.