I am being treated under a roof, with medicine, with care

I am being treated under a roof, with medicine, with care.
And I cannot stop thinking about my patients in Gaza, patients who died with the same conditions simply because the occupation destroyed every hospital, blocked every medication, and turned every breath into a battle for survival.

It’s been more than a week since the so-called “end of the war.”
Yet Gaza’s hospitals are still in ruins.
No medications, no medical supplies, no aid, nothing.
The sick are left to die, and the doctors are left to watch them go.

People are still being shot in the head by the IOF.
The health system has collapsed entirely.
The borders remain closed.
The drones and warplanes still haunt the sky.
The occupation has taken over more than 53% of the Strip and destroyed the rest, making it unlivable.

Thousands of martyrs remain buried beneath the rubble.
Thousands of the kidnapped are still being tortured to death.
The people of Gaza haven’t rested, and they haven’t even been allowed to grieve.

Across Gaza and the West Bank, the killing never stopped.
Hundreds of thousands remain severely injured, untreated, and in pain.
Tens of thousands of patients, including children and cancer patients, are still waiting for critical surgeries and medical evacuation that could save their lives.
They are dying not from their conditions, but from the deliberate denial of medicine and care.

This is not a war,
it is the slow, systematic suffocation of life itself.

And as I sit here receiving treatment, I carry the unbearable truth,
that my recovery is a privilege my patients in Gaza were never allowed to have.