‘If I don’t go, he will die’: Gaza’s first patients leave for treatment

Khan Younis, Gaza – In the dim light of dawn, Sumaya Abu Deqa clutched her infant daughter Jana, trying to memorise every detail of her face. The 39-year-old mother was about to board a bus that would take her and her 13-year-old son, Ahmad, out of Gaza for cancer treatment—a lifeline she had fought for, over months of war.

But the relief was eclipsed by anguish: Jana was not allowed to leave. The Israeli restrictions meant Abu Deqa faced an impossible choice—stay with her baby or save her son.

“Under normal circumstances, he would have been transferred abroad immediately or at least treated in Gaza,” Abu Deqa said. “But with the war, my son is wasting away before my eyes, and I can’t do anything.”

Ahmad’s lung cancer was discovered while he was being treated for injuries sustained in an Israeli air strike in June 2024. Repeated efforts to secure permission for him to leave the war-battered Gaza through the Kerem Shalom Crossing, failed. He was one of thousands of patients and wounded Gazans who were denied treatment abroad since May, when Israel began its military incursion in the city of Rafah, effectively sealing Gaza off from the outside world.

But on Saturday, for the first time in months, 50 patients - all children - were allowed to leave through the Rafah crossing as part of the Hamas-Israel ceasefire that began on January 14. Each patient was permitted only one companion, forcing families into agonising decisions.

For Abu Deqa, that meant leaving behind her husband and children, including nine-year-old Marwa, who sobbed as she begged her mother not to go.

“I’m leaving Gaza, but my heart remains here with my husband, my children, and my entire family,” she told TRT World. “I have no choice. If I don’t go, Ahmad will die.”

She tried to console Marwa, explaining that the journey was their last chance to save Ahmad’s life—one that could have been saved months ago, if Israel hadn’t closed the border crossing.

But uncertainty still loomed. “We haven’t even been told which country will take us. Some say the US, others mention different places. It depends on where they can treat Ahmad,” she said, fearing they may never be allowed to return home.

As she gives her husband, Salem, 43, detailed instructions on caring for their children, the bus arrives. Salem gently pulled Marwa away from Abu Deqa’s arms, as she and Ahmad stepped onto the vehicle that would take them to Rafah Crossing.

Many more need treatment

Dr. Mohamed Zaqout, director of hospitals in Gaza’s Health Ministry, told TRT World that 400 patients had been prioritised for treatment abroad. “The 50 who were allowed to leave were classified as the most urgent cases as per the criteria specified by the medical committee tasked with reviewing those cases,” he said. “We hope that the Egyptian authorities increase the numbers of medical evacuations to 100, to help save as many lives as possible,” he added.

Fifteen months of relentless bombardment have devastated Gaza’s healthcare system in a war that has claimed over 46,000 lives. Already struggling under a 17-year blockade imposed by Israel, Gaza was barely able to meet the needs of the 2.3 million people trapped in the enclave. Before the ceasefire, only six of Gaza’s 36 hospitals remained operational.

On Friday night, the Israeli military withdrew from Rafah Crossing, handing control to European monitors and Palestinian Authority personnel—returning to the same arrangement put in place after Israel’s 2005 disengagement from Gaza.

The patients who left “are in very advanced stages of their illness, and we do ask all those involved to pay extra care and attention to them. They are even more urgent than the patients already in Egypt waiting for treatment. We fear losing them any day,” Dr. Zaqout warned.

‘What if I die alone?’

Ikhlas Abu Jazar faced a heartbreaking goodbye outside Nasser Hospital. Her son, nine-year-old Ibrahim, needed an urgent corneal transplant to prevent total blindness after shrapnel from an Israeli airstrike on May 5 destroyed his left eye and left his right at risk. He was thrilled to finally get treatment, but his 10-year-old sister, Jouri, clung to her mother, sobbing.

“Take me with you! Don’t leave me alone! What if we get bombed and I die by myself?” cried Jouri.

Abu Jazar, tears in her eyes, tried to reassure her. “No, sweetheart, there’s a truce. I’ll be back as soon as your brother’s treatment is finished. You know we’re leaving so Ibrahim can see again and play with you like before. We begged to take you with us, but the Israelis refused.”

According to Dr. Zaqout, Gaza’s Health Ministry was initially told that each patient could bring. That was later reduced to only one. The restriction left parents and guardians of orphaned children forced to leave remaining children behind.

Abu Jazar had been waiting anxiously for this moment since May 5, the day Ibrahim was hit by shrapnel. The trip abroad is his only chance to preserve his sight. Yet, the pain of leaving Jouri behind weighs heavily on her.

Ibrahim, however, bounced with excitement. Covering his blind eye with his hands, he exclaimed, “I don’t want to lose my sight in the other eye. I want a corneal transplant so I can see again—and play football like before!” Then, with a smile, he added, “I hope all the patients get to travel and heal, so we can be like we were before the war.”

A desperate exodus

Nearby, seven-year-old Asil Shakshak was too frail to walk. Her mother carried her, explaining that Asil urgently needed a complex surgery.

“Asil was born with a congenital heart defect,” said her father, Mahmoud Shakshak. “She had surgery at Wolfson Medical Centre in Haifa, but her condition didn’t improve. The doctors said she needed another operation abroad, but the war made that impossible.”

For Mahmoud, the trip comes far too late. “We should have left months ago,” he said. “But it’s our only hope now."

His wife was not allowed to take their youngest daughter, three-year-old Razan. “I can manage with our eldest, Amal, who’s nine,” he said. “But I work 12-hour shifts at a supermarket. How am I supposed to care for a toddler alone?”

Despite the logistical nightmare, he was focused on Asil’s survival. "I just hope my wife and daughter can return soon if the process becomes easier," he said.

As buses filled up with patients and companions to depart for Rafah, a mix of emotions gripped the crowd—hope, fear, and the agony of separation. Those leaving knew they were among the fortunate few to escape Gaza’s collapsing health system. But with their loved ones left behind, none can shake the uncertainty of when, or if, they will return.

This piece was published in collaboration with Egab.