“In My Free Time, I Go to the ER”: Frontline Healthcare Worker Isn’t Going Anywhere
The Israeli military has killed 150 healthcare workers in Lebanon since October 8, 2023, according to Lebanon's Health Ministry. Wadi Jilo, Sur, Lebanon. October 9, 2024. (Image Source: X/Twitter)
Editor's Note: Israeli occupation forces are directly targeting healthcare workers, medical centers, and ambulances, placing people whose job it is to save lives at an increasing risk of losing their own. Israeli bombardment has caused 100 out of 207 healthcare facilities in Lebanon to close, the World Health Organization (WHO) Director-General said on X. Thirteen hospitals have fully or partially halted operations due to damage from airstrikes, according to the Lebanese Health Ministry. The ministry also reported that Israeli airstrikes have killed 150 healthcare professionals and injured 250 since October 8, 2023. The majority were killed after September 23, 2024. It is now life-threatening to practice medicine or provide healthcare services in Lebanon.
The Public Source spoke to Hussein, a healthcare worker in his 20s, who has decided to carry out his duties despite the risk, in the southern Lebanese city of Sur, on October 8, 2024; his name has been changed to protect his identity and his life.
Before the war, my friends and I used to go to these hangouts where we used to watch shows and movies and play video games together. But now we can’t do that anymore, especially since one of our friends lost his eyesight in the pager attacks. There’s no point in watching without him. Now, because of my friend’s injury, we stopped hanging out as a group. And now, because of the war, we haven’t even had the chance to see each other again.
Right now, I live at the hospital with only two sets of clothes: pants, one pair of pyjamas, and two t-shirts. Sur is mostly closed, and we can’t go anywhere. It’s hard to get food and supplies. But I managed to stock up in the beginning, before the war started. If I need something, I go to the el-Buss camp, because their shops are still open.
At work, I handle all the orders for medical supplies and data entry (morning shift, 7 a.m. to 2 p.m.). My mornings are spent working. Then in the afternoon, in my free time, I go to the ER. I help out with whatever is needed, whether it’s gathering supplies or helping transport patients. Most of my time is occupied by these things. Afterward, I have coffee, talk to family and friends, and then sleep nearby. Sometimes I also read.
At times I have to go out to get something for the hospital. And it’s not safe, actually. One time they struck a building next to me. But I kept going. I wasn’t scared, to be honest. I know that whatever is going to happen is going to happen. There have been many situations where I was not safe. It’s limiting — you can’t move much, there’s a high risk of being bombed, and from time to time they strike next to us. But I’ve accepted this duty, and I have to fulfill it.
Israel targets medical aid workers for no reason. In their heads, they claim we’re transporting Hezbollah members. But they would target us even if we were just helping civilians. At the end of the day, we’re helping our society and those in need. People who work in this field, the rescue center workers, believe it’s their duty to help the injured. We’re certainly scared of Israel targeting us, but what can we do?
When the pager attacks happened, I received the news directly — I saw a bunch of them, because I was working in the ER. I was there. I saw many people I knew, family members and friends. But during this war, I often hear the news about my friends, my uncle, over the phone. Someone will say “we’re sorry your friend has died.” Sometimes I see my friends’ names posted on official Hezbollah social media accounts. Or I see pictures.
One day, while I was at work, they pulled me aside and told me my uncle had died. I said I needed a minute. But I knew I had to get back to work and couldn’t afford to break down.
After all the stress I’ve been through during this period — especially after the pager attacks, and knowing so many of the injured personally, and losing my uncle — I’ve come to terms with the fact that everyone I know could die. I’ve lost a lot of people since the beginning of this. I was ready for that. I admit that I still feel sad, a little bit. But I’ve accepted it. I understand that this is war, after all. It’s not a game.
What people don’t know is that these martyrs willingly go into dangerous areas. No one wants to die. But they understand their sacrifice is not in vain, that they are defending themselves. Even the injured — like those who received the pager alerts — accept what’s happening to them, because they know it’s for a higher purpose.
Staying in Sur during the war is just part of the job. I didn’t leave with my parents because I know they need my help at work. After seeing so many injuries, I couldn’t bring myself to leave everything behind and flee. I’m not someone who runs away. Of course, I care about my safety. But it’s nothing compared to what the injured or innocent civilians are going through.
There’s no secret to why I keep going: it’s simply the right thing to do — no more, no less. If everyone runs away, there’s nothing left here. My principles won’t allow me to leave everything behind. That’s what motivates me to keep going. I’m responsible for doing my duty. This is all I can do right now.
I’m confident that everything is going to be alright. Whether I make it or not. I’m pretty confident [here, he takes a deep breath] that this will end in a positive way: Hezbollah will win, and everything is going to be settled.