Sana'a: Every time the walls of their home shake with the sound of shelling, the Abu Awida family doesn't just run for safety; they search first for an answer to a more agonizing question: Can Kinan and Kenz's hearts withstand the fear?
According to Yemen News Agency, in a house only about 300 meters from what is known as the "Yellow Line," east of the Maghazi refugee camp in the central Gaza Strip, two young children live waiting for something they don't understand why it's delayed: surgery that could give them a chance at life like other children.
Nine-year-old Kinan and his three-year-old sister Kenz don't experience childhood as their peers do. They don't run after a ball, race through the camp's alleys, or jump for joy at the sound of explosions or even at the sight of a new toy. Every extra effort could strain their hearts, every cold could lower their blood oxygen levels to dangerously low levels, and every moment of fear could turn into a real threat. Their treatment journey was halted by the war, leaving their hearts trapped between the need for surgery and the impossibility of accessing it.
From birth, Kinan suffered from a complex congenital heart defect. Tests and CT scans revealed serious abnormalities, including a malfunctioning left ventricle, transposition of the great arteries, and an irregular position of the right atrium and ventricle.
After years of tests and transfers between hospitals, Kinan arrived at Al-Makassed Hospital in occupied Jerusalem, where he underwent two complex surgeries. However, his condition required a third intervention, so his case was transferred to a hospital within the occupied territories to complete his treatment and undergo the next operation.
Then the Zionist war came, closing the door. The family's tragedy didn't end with Kinan, as his sister, Kenz, was born with similar heart defects. The child underwent three visits to a hospital in occupied Jerusalem for tests and to schedule surgery, but the appointment never materialized into an operating room.
And so the family now has two children, two hearts in need of surgery, two postponed appointments, and a war that doesn't afford them the time patients need.
Their father, Sami Abu Awida, told the newspaper Falastin that the family never imagined their first two children would be afflicted with this rare disease, but the war has compounded their suffering, depriving each of them of the treatment that could save their lives.
The father added, "Every day that passes without surgery increases the danger to them. We don't live normal lives; we live in constant surveillance of every breath and every heartbeat."
They suffer from chronic oxygen deficiency, and their condition worsens when they catch the flu or a cold. Movement exhausts them, swelling appears in their limbs, and their rapid fatigue deprives their small bodies of the most basic rights of childhood.
The father said, "What pains us most is that they see other children running and playing, while they can only watch. Running isn't a game for them; it's a danger that could strain their hearts."
Living near the front lines, the sounds of shelling and explosions are a daily reality for the two children. With each explosion, their parents fear not only the falling shells but also that the fear itself will worsen their condition.
"We fear the fear itself more than the shells," says Sami, "because any sudden shock could severely strain their hearts, and they can't run or take cover like other children."
Even toothaches are a struggle for Kinan. When the pain became unbearable, the dentist refused to administer local anesthesia after learning of his heart condition, demanding a medical report from his attending physician specifying the appropriate type of anesthetic and safe dosage.
Amidst all this, the family isn't asking for a miracle; they simply ask for access to treatment, for Kinan to receive the surgery he has long awaited, for Kenz to get her chance before her illness worsens, for the oxygen monitor to become a distant memory, and for running to become a normal part of life for two children who have only ever known it from behind their windows.
In Gaza, the war didn't stop at destroying homes; it reached the dreams of two young children. Kinan and Kenz are waiting for surgery that could give them a chance at a more stable life, but the path to treatment has been blocked. From behind closed doors and windows, they watch children their age running and playing, while for them, running remains a risk, movement an effort, and childhood a deferred dream.
As for their father, he no longer dreams of much. He says, "My wish is simple: to see Kinan and Kenz running one day without fear, and to know that their hearts beat safely."
Perhaps this wish sums up the whole story: two children who want nothing more than the chance to run, but in Gaza, they first need their hearts to be allowed to reach the point of survival.
Will they reach the operating room before the disease reaches them first?