When my three young children and I arrived in Gaza in August, we were looking forward to a two-month vacation to visit my family after 10 years spent building our lives abroad and in the UK. I am a radiologist, but since having my younger children I’ve been a full-time mum, preparing for fellowship exams while my husband works as a surgeon in London. The plan was to make happy memories for the children, who are nine, four and 18 months old – have them meet their relatives and see the place I grew up in for the first time. My husband was staying behind to work.
And so, what feels like an eternity ago, we packed our bags and said goodbye to him. He wished us a safe trip, none of us suspecting that we would be trapped in a horrifying war, unsure if we would ever see each other again. We ended up fleeing from one place to another in Gaza for 77 days, living through a nightmare of survival, death and fear that we still cannot wake up from, even after being among the lucky ones who were evacuated.
