Emergency: Save Salma’s Life

Dear friends and supporters!

This is Ehab, Salma's father. I'm reaching out to you to help save the life of my beloved daughter, Salma. We need to evacuate her from Gaza for surgery.

Salma was shot directly, with a bullet lodged in her abdomen during our 3rd evacuation from UNRWA in Khan Younis to Rafah.

All doctors concur that performing surgery in Gaza is highly risky due to the bullet's close proximity to vital organs and the backbone, potentially causing paralysis. This risk is further heightened by the inadequate medical capabilities. Please examine the X-ray images provided below.

The Detailed Story from Salma

My name is Salma. I'm a 13-year-old from Gaza. I carry a heavy heart filled with pain and a story that began its dreadful unfolding last October.

We evacuated to the south, observing the devastation of destroyed homes and roads filled with cars belonging to displaced people and civil defense. With heavy hearts, we arrived at the UNRWA shelter center in Khan Younis, an area that the occupation claimed as a safe zone. We shared a room with strangers and adapted to unfamiliar customs and traditions. The shelter had problems, including a lack of clean drinking water, scarce resources, overcrowding, and disrupted telecommunication services.

On the first night, I sat quietly, pondering my reality. How did I end up here? Why? How long would I stay? I questioned if this was real or just a figment of my imagination. I continued this mental struggle until the next day dawned.

My life continued on this path until January 25, when I was abruptly awakened by the sound of artillery fire. I searched for my mother, who was out kneading bread. I washed my face to shake off the fright and returned to the room to hear whispers of a bullet penetrating the wall of the room next to ours and another shot, followed by screams. Fear overcame me, and I fell to the floor.

I crawled to the room's door, feeling a burning sensation in my back and a sudden weakness. I touched my back to find my hand covered in blood. My mind froze, and the only thought that echoed in my head was, is this the end? I was carried away, my senses numbed, my lips only uttering prayers. My mother, who had fainted at the sight of me, regained consciousness when she heard me call out to her. She held my hand, looked into my eyes, and repeated that I was strong.

I reached a medical point where first aid was administered, and preparations were made to transport me to a hospital. Due to safety concerns, the only way to get there was via an ambulance after securing Israeli coordination. The waiting lasted for more than five hours, during which my bleeding did not stop, and my blood pressure started to drop. My parents watched helplessly as I grew weaker. Around this time, the army ordered an evacuation of the shelter. Thus, my mother and I were on our way to the hospital, while my father and the rest of my family headed towards an unknown destination.

We were able to inform my father that we were at the field hospital in Rafah. Upon his arrival, the doctors examined me. They removed a piece of shrapnel from my back, inserted a tube to drain the bleeding from my left lung, and discovered a bullet lodged in my abdomen. Given the circumstances, they decided not to extract it, a decision I had to accept. They agreed that performing the surgery in Gaza could put my life at risk due to its proximity to vital organs and the spine. Another concern was the potential for paralysis, coupled with the lack of medical capabilities.

I spent ten days in the hospital, plagued by pain, fear, and nightmares. I was then discharged to continue my treatment at home. Despite being back in the arms of my parents, the memories of those difficult moments refuse to fade.

Like any girl my age, I yearn for happy moments to share with my future children. But the reality imposed on us by the occupation is quite different. I carry in my body a memory I will never forget, and in my mind, moments that are hard to erase.

My mental well-being continues to decline each day. The notion of a bullet lodged within me feels like an incessant anabasis, haunting my thoughts daily, with the hope that one day I can be free of its grip.

I am reaching out today with an urgent and heartfelt request. I am in desperate need of your help for a mission that involves:

Your support can make a real difference in our lives. Each contribution, no matter how small, is a step towards a better future. We sincerely appreciate your help in making this possible.

Salma and her family!