Ola Jamal, 36, was breastfeeding her two-month-old son, Zain, when the missile struck al-Nasr hospital in Gaza in November 2023. When the explosion hit the building, the shrapnel went through Jamal’s arm while she held her infant.
“I ran with my family to the hospital and stayed there to hide,” she says at a prosthetic centre in the Egyptian capital, Cairo. “We thought it would be safe because it’s a children’s hospital.”
In the chaos of the strike, help was not an option. “Everyone in the hospital was screaming. The blood from my arms was all over his [Zain’s] face, also my other three children were sitting next to me.”
Jamal says she waited an hour for an ambulance to transport her to al-Shifa hospital, another facility in Gaza, where she had to have her arm amputated. During that time, she was separated from her children, who were placed with another family for care.
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A row of customised prosthetic limbs, labelled with the names of patients, lined up in a clinic wall
After a month, Jamal travelled to Egypt with her mother for further treatment and is now one of thousands of Palestinians living with life-changing injuries. More than 6,000 adults and children have undergone amputations since October 2023, according to the WHO and Palestinian Ministry of Health. At the peak of the conflict, it was reported that every day 10 children were losing one or both legs.
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Shadi Sharif Ayesh al-Sous, a father of two from Gaza, is fitted with an artificial limb in Cairo. He lost his leg after a missile strike on a camp while he was out collecting firewood
For those who have already lost limbs, physical recovery is only the beginning. Shadi Sharif Ayesh al-Sous, a father of two, arrived at a clinic in Cairo in February 2026, to try on his first prosthetic limb. He lost his leg after a missile strike on 3 December 2023.
“We were living in a tent camp in the al-Zahra area [in Gaza]. I went with my relatives to collect firewood when a missile struck us. I lost my leg in the attack.”
When the attack happened, Shadi says he was wounded below the knee. He went to the nearest hospital on a mule and was told that he needed to have his leg amputated. He decided to go to a hospital in Egypt to try to save it but by the time he arrived gangrene had spread and it had to be amputated above the knee. Now he waits to return home. “I want to return to Gaza because my daughters are there. I have put my name on the list. When I am allowed to leave, I will go back to my daughters.”
The struggle of Palestinians with life-changing injuries to get specialised care and support is not just a medical issue. Egypt is the main border crossing and usually the first place amputees are taken when they leave Gaza. But most Palestinians who enter Egypt for treatment are held in a state of legal limbo. They are generally not granted formal residency or refugee status. The UN has not taken responsibility for Palestinians in Egypt.
Without valid residency permits, survivors say they are often restricted to hostels or share a flat with other families, unable to work and living under the constant pressure of temporary status. This lack of documentation makes accessing hi-tech, long-term prosthetic care almost impossible without the support of NGOs.
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Palestinian families attend a programme in Cairo organised by a Turkish NGO, in which they receive medical aid, money and food boxes
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At a clinic in Cairo, Omar Khaled, 24, says his arm was amputated in Gaza in 2013, but has struggled for support since. ‘I started experiencing pains in the amputated area and I don’t know what it is. It requires follow-up and tests … and I need continuous monitoring’
Yousef El Deeb, 25, a certified prosthetist at Orthomedics in Cairo, says his clinic has treated about 300 Palestinian patients since October 2023, mostly through the support of NGOs such as the Turkish group Sadakataşı. “The finance for prosthetics is not possible for them. NGOs are trying to help these people, which is good,” he says.
For survivors such as Jamal, the physical loss is compounded by the psychological toll on her children. Her son Zain, whom she was nursing when the missile hit, is now more than two years old, yet the trauma remains.
“He still wakes up at the same time every night and cries during his sleep. I told this to the doctor and they told me that it was because the body never forgets this kind of trauma,” she says.
For two years, Zain was cared for by seven women while separated from his mother. “He did not recognise me or his father when he was two years old, as he was just two months old when we were separated.” Despite the safety of Cairo, Jamal says her family remains homesick for a place that may no longer exist. “My children tell me every day, Mum, we want to go back to Gaza.”
