In My Hands—A Child's Tale Of Pain And Hope Amidst War

Opinion second piece by Dr. Nasim Hameda,Orthopedic Surgeon

From the moment the assault on Gaza began, life inside the hospital transformed into something I could have never imagined. Operating rooms became silent witnesses to horrors no heart should endure—wounded bodies, lifeless souls, children, women, the elderly. Everyone was a victim of merciless, random shelling.

But one story refuses to fade from my memory—a little girl, forever etched in my heart, surrounded by a cloud of grief and agony.

She was only eight years old when she arrived at the hospital, in a condition no human should ever endure. Her right side was completely severed, and her left arm shattered beyond recognition. Her cries were raw, desperate… she couldn’t even comprehend what had just happened to her. And in that moment, my heart broke. How could it not? Just minutes earlier, this child was likely playing in the streets of Gaza—laughing, running—only to find herself now, in my arms, drowning in pain and confusion.

I couldn’t let her go. I held her close, as if she were my own daughter, each step toward the operating room ripping deeper into my soul. Her eyes trembled with a fear that words cannot capture. When she looked up and whispered, “Please don’t leave me, uncle… I’m scared,” it was as if I was holding not just her soul—but mine.

Placing her gently on the operating table, I felt a piece of my humanity leave with her. I performed the surgery while grief tore at me from within. The amputated limb was gone. The remaining arm—I did everything in my power to save it, placing an external fixator to stabilize the bones.

Afterward, I couldn’t bring myself to look at her for days. The sadness was unbearable. But something unexpected happened.

A nurse came to me and said the child refused to look at her amputated side. Instead, she focused only on the arm that was saved. That’s when I realized: her spirit was far stronger than her body. Even as she teetered between agony and fear, she clung to hope. She asked when she’d play again. When life would return to what it once was.

I held her tiny hand and hugged her with all the strength I had left. I began visiting her every day, cleaning her wounds, trying to lift her out of the psychological abyss. Then one day, she looked at me with innocent eyes and asked, “When will my hand grow back?”

I was silent. Speechless. What could I possibly say?

By God’s grace, she eventually traveled abroad for treatment. And though my heart still aches with every memory, I know—somehow, some way—she’ll return stronger. Maybe not in body, but in spirit. A spirit that no war, no wound, could ever break.

This is a story that carries everything: pain, love, helplessness, and the kind of humanity that flickers in the face of overwhelming darkness.

I think often of my own daughter—waiting to wear something new, to go to school, to play. And every time I do, I feel the injustice pressing harder on the hearts of Gaza’s people. The silence of the world is deafening.

This is a story you can’t forget.

The story of an innocent child, fighting to live— in a land torn apart by war.

Dr. Nasim Hameda

Gaza, Palestine

April 21,2025.

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