What a photograph shows of a Gaza hospital plunged into chaos | ET REALITY


“Red!” “Yellow!” “Green!”

The air at Nasser Hospital is filled with the screams of medical workers seeing patients arriving from a besieged city for the first time. Red is not good. It is for the most seriously injured, but even the other codes offer little comfort in a hospital bereft of the most basic needs.

It is generally very difficult to learn much about the patients I photograph. In this case, the man carrying the medical forms is said to have been pulled from the rubble. What was his name? Don’t know. Did he survive? I do not know either.

But it seemed to have two things going for it: It was green. And she was given a space, even if it was just on the floor. The hospital cannot afford to waste time on those who clearly won’t make it.

It is difficult to convey the horror that is Nasser Hospital these days.

Everything is blurry. People running, people screaming. Doctors and nurses running from patient to patient. Relatives desperately search for the missing, hoping that someone can stop them and help them.

All senses are assaulted.

The smell is very difficult. It’s like burnt skin, or maybe charred tires mixed with the smell of blood and flesh. It is a very strange and specific smell, and I am afraid it will never leave me.

At the beginning of the war, the hospital was busy, but things seemed manageable. Then came a flood of refugees, as the Israeli army, preparing a ground invasion, warned civilians in the north to evacuate.

The other day I stood next to a doctor who told me that before the war, the hospital limited daily admissions to 700. “Today, on a normal day without bombing, we accept more than 2,000 cases,” the doctor said.

Like many hospitals in Gaza, fuel shortages linked to the Israeli and Egyptian blockade have left Nasser struggling to keep the lights on and equipment running. Urgently needed food and medical supplies are said to be arriving in the territory, but when I ask Nasser’s staff about this, they tell me: “We haven’t received anything.”

And so the children arrive shaking with fever and, without paracetamol, little can be done for them. I often pass by the pediatric unit and it is always full.

This is all I can tell you. This is what I have seen with my own eyes.

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