Dr. Abdelrahman:
“Why did you study medicine?
A profound question whose answer has changed over time. As a person grows older, their thinking matures, their ideas change, and their ambitions expand. From a young age, my mother used to call me “my little doctor,” and I dreamed of studying medicine because my mother wanted me to be a doctor. I grew up and finished high school, but I loved physics more and wanted to study it. I followed my desire and enrolled in university in the physics department. I studied for about a year, then my father was diagnosed with leukemia and began chemotherapy. I took turns with him at the oncology hospital, seeing the patients and their pain and suffering. I felt sadness and pity for them. I started to think and blame myself: why didn’t I study medicine? Why couldn’t I be that angel who alleviates people’s pain and suffering? Not long after, my father passed away from that accursed disease. He needed radiation therapy, which wasn’t available in Gaza, and he had to travel, but like many Gazans, he was prevented from doing so. He died, and at that moment, I felt like the world had stopped. After that, I made the decision: I wanted to change my major; I wanted to study medicine to help these patients and alleviate their suffering and pain. I began studying medicine with great passion. In my second year of medical school, my mother was diagnosed with a rare disease affecting the nervous system called (
Corticobasal degeneration). She was diagnosed with it and needed a chip implanted in her brain to regulate nerve signals, but unfortunately, the necessary resources were unavailable. Inside Gaza, I tried to travel with her for such operations, but unfortunately, she was prevented from traveling due to the occupation.
What is her crime?! Why is she being prevented from traveling?! What danger does a sixty-year-old woman pose?! Is treatment a crime?! Isn’t it a right for every human being?! Aren’t we all human beings?! The illness worsened, and the complications increased day by day. My passion for medicine grew stronger; I wanted to help my mother. I didn’t want to lose her as I lost my father. You are my only remaining hope. I will study and study and study, hoping to find something to alleviate your pain and the complications of your illness. I graduated from university and received my degree, sharing my joy with my mother, who had become bedridden due to the complications of that accursed disease. I told her we would celebrate my graduation together in a week. Her dream was for me to become a doctor, and here I was, the doctor she had dreamed of. But I didn’t know that the specter of death would be swifter and claim her life before she could share my joy. She passed away two days before my graduation. Grief enveloped my heart, and my joy turned to mourning.
I cried a lot and experienced bouts of hallucinations, depression, and denial. But thanks be to God, I gathered my strength and vowed to Him that my knowledge and the medical expertise He had bestowed upon me would be a charitable act on behalf of my father and mother. I want to be that person who gives hope when people feel weak. I love my field of work and I work passionately to alleviate people’s suffering and make my parents proud. I don’t want them to lose their fathers as I did. And here I am, that doctor who dreams of traveling, completing my specialization, and returning to Gaza to help those patients who have been deprived of their most basic right: treatment.”
Dr. Maha:
“My journey toward medicine was never just about achieving a childhood dream — it was a calling, a deep desire to bring healing and hope to others. When I was in high school in Taif, Saudi Arabia, my father would wake up for Fajr prayer and often find me studying for my Tawjihi exams. He would kiss my forehead, smile with pride, and say, “I’m sure you will study medicine and become my doctor.”
Our family was waiting for my graduation so we could return to our beloved Gaza, after 20 years of my father’s life abroad. Alhamdulillah, I graduated with a score of *97.11%*, received a scholarship to study in Egypt, and my family returned to Gaza.
I moved to Egypt and lived with my grandfather in Menoufia — a man exiled from Gaza in 1976 by the Israeli occupation. His story of forced displacement only deepened my connection to my roots.
From the first day I entered medical school, I imagined the smiles of patients. I dreamed of becoming a *plastic surgeon*, someone who could restore the faces and spirits of those burned or disfigured by war or accident.”
