You keep going, because you must

Last night, we faced a severe shortage of doctors. After 18 hours into my shift, I had to deal with many patients alone, all at the same moment. Most of these patients had critical issues, and delaying care for even minutes could have cost them their lives. Their families asked for reassurance and next steps again and again, and it was almost impossible to answer everyone at the same time when I myself was fatigued and stressed, perhapS more than anyone around me. But I stood there acting strong, moving from one patient to another, fighting my own battle and theirs, trying to decide who needed the most urgent attention.

You feel the overwhelming responsibility to give each one of your patients every bit of attention you can, to make every patient and every relative feel safe. But you simply cannot. You might manage it for some, but eventually that ability slips away, and you feel your mind collapsing in front of your patients' beds, unable to recall or do the things you would normally know and do with clarity.

You keep going, because you must, but you cannot focus on every detail when you're handling so much at once. You try your best, but you cannot grasp everything, and in the end you're reminded that you are just human, not a machine. You become tired, unable to think clearly or focus enough to make the best decisions for everyone. This leaves you feeling defeated, overwhelmed, and trapped in a dilemma.

Experiencing this is not just overwhelming. It is heartbreaking, and it is dehumanizing, for both me and my patients.

To deal with human lives while having so little, almost nothing, to save them or ease their suffering, is one of the most dehumanizing weapons ever used against us.

A young boy was brought by his mother after repeatedly vomiting, hours aftera head trauma. He needed a scan, and it took ages. It reminded me of all the people who died slowly in front of their families from head injuries while waiting for simple imaging. It reminded me of my neighbour Ahmad, who suffered a severe head injury while simply working at the market when it was targeted in broad daylight. He died hours later because there were too many other patients with injuries that were more immediately treatable.

Three elderly women arrived at the same moment, all with shortness of breath because fluid had built up in their lungs, drowning them. Their inability to afford their medications for such a long time had made everything worse. It reminded me of the day, two days before the ceasefire, when four elderly women came in at the same moment with the same condition, their Oxygen levels critically low, and I stood helpless, unable to find a bed or evena single oxygen source, It reminded me, too, of my uncle, who died that same night in that same room from a head injury.

A young woman with kidney failure came in with fluid filling her chest and abdomen. Her father begged me to withdraw the fluid and send her for urgent dialysis. What has he lived through with her to know all that? It reminded me of the kidney failure patients who died waiting for their turn on a dialysis machine. It reminded me of my colleague's mother, who grew sicker and died months after being deprived of her proper dialysis sessions.

Another elderly woman arrived with sudden eye pain and loss of vision, and the only thing I could offer her was painkillers. She reminded me of all the patients whose faces were blown apart, and how we never even had the chance to look at their eyes as a priority. And she reminded me of my dear colleague, Mohanned, an anesthesia doctor who suffered a head injury from shrapnel and is now unable to see these words, because his vision could not be treated early enough.

A cancer patient sat on the ground, leaning his back against the wall, crying out in pain. When I asked what was wrong, he said he had cancer and begged me for painkillers. He reminded me of the thousands of cancer patients left to survive unimaginable pain in a genocide without even the simplest of painkillers. And he reminded me of my cousin, wh0 suffers severe pain, and how finding painkillers for him has become a rare luxury.

Another elderly cancer patient came in with low OXygen levels and shortness of breath because his lung was filled with fluid after his Condition had gone untreated for too long, His son told me this happens often, and the patient himself does not even know he has cancer. He reminded me of the countless people who endured horrific complications for months, only to die in the most painful ways. He reminded me of my oWn relatives, whom I stood in front of helpless, unable to offer any kind of relief.

Another elderly woman came in with severe shoulder and arm pain that had lasted for months. She knew she had a spinal problem but could not find even basic painkillers. She reminded me of my own constant neuropathic pain, and how pain becomes a slow form of torture, stripping away even the simplest abilities to function.

Another mother, exhausted and broken, struggled to describe her symptoms after weeks of suffering without diagnosis or treatment. And the man with chronic pain, frustrated that no one could tell him what was wrong. They reminded me of all the under diagnosed and undertreated patients and their silent suffering. They reminded me of my mother, struggling with disturbing joint pains, and my little brother's headaches, and the many days we could not find them any painkillers.

Earlier that day, I saw every kind of infection imaginable, made more common by the terrible environment we are forced to live in. I saw patients emotionally shattered, with physical symptoms so frightening that their families feared something far more dangerous was happening.

And through all of this, I was anxious myself, after reading in the local channel that several drones and warplanes were hovering overhead, and that tents in the south had been struck, with the injured being transferred to another hospital. You keep working, waiting for the next random airstrike that could arrive at any moment.

And through all of this, I was anxious myself, after reading in the local channel that several drones and warplanes were hovering overhead, and that tents in the south had been struck, with the injured being transferred to another hospital. You keep working, waiting for the next random airstrike that could arrive at any moment.