In a tent in al-Mawasi, Khan Younis, her third place of refuge since the war began, 21-year-old Shahd Jarboa lies motionless on a bed of cushions, her body slowly giving way under the strain of illness, displacement, and war. Born with muscular atrophy, Shahd had long defied the odds. Her wheelchair, once a symbol of her resilience, now stands unused, she can no longer sit.

Before the war, Shahd was a model of perseverance. She graduated from high school with distinction, scoring 94.5%, powered by ambition and the quiet strength of a family that supported her through every obstacle. “Her illness never defined her,” her mother said. “It was the war that changed everything.”

Since the Israeli bombardment began, Shahd’s condition has worsened dramatically. She has developed a spinal deformity and sudden heart weakness. The noise of shelling and the fear of attack take a heavy toll on her fragile body. “Each explosion feels like it could stop her heart,” her mother whispered, helpless.

Cut off from physical therapy, medication, and nutrition, Shahd’s condition is deteriorating. Gaza’s medical system has collapsed, and markets are either empty or unaffordable. Her father, like so many, is out of work. The family survives on scraps of vegetables, trying to nourish a body that needs far more.

In April 2024, Shahd was granted a medical referral abroad, but she remains stranded under a tent. Her mother now calls on international organisations to act: “She has so much to live for. Please, help us evacuate her before it’s too late.”

In Gaza, stories like Shahd’s are no longer rare. They are the quiet tragedies of a war that continues to rob people not just of life, but of dignity, potential, and hope.