Samar’s story: Mother to a gift from God

I am the mother of a baby girl named Hiba (Hiba means gift in Arabic), who is now 9 months old. She has a rare condition called Patau syndrome, a chromosomal abnormality - trisomy 13.

Amidst my anxiety, fear, and exhaustion, God, in His divine wisdom, willed that a fetus be implanted in my womb. 

The months of pregnancy were difficult, marked by displacement from place to place, sleeping on the street, then famine and a shortage of medicine and vitamins. 

Later, I was hospitalised, and on February 20, 2025, the doctors decided that the delivery would be via caesarean section. 

During my prenatal care, the doctors mentioned that there was a developmental abnormality in the fetus, but no one knew what it was or why the fetus' growth had stopped. As soon as the baby was born, I asked the midwife how the girl was, and she told me that she had a cleft lip. 

Samar and Hiba.

I wish it had been just that, but I discovered other problems afterward. It was a shock, a feeling of pain that squeezed my heart. I was in a state of which I can't describe it. 

All the worst thoughts raced through my mind: what would my baby be like? What would I do? How would she live? What would she look like? How would she adapt to life? It's a terrible feeling to be tested with the most precious thing, my child. The pain in my heart was as vast as the universe and even more. 

I left the operating room still in a state of shock and disbelief. 

Then a doctor came to me. 

She introduced herself as being from GINA's team. She was like an angel of mercy, sent from heaven.

She told me a surgical procedure can fix the cleft palate and showed me pictures of children who had been in the same situation as her and how they fared after surgery. She explained that her team would continue to follow up with me after her discharge. 

And indeed, every time a delegation comes to the hospital, they call me so the delegation can assess Hiba's case. 

Their main focus is supporting breastfeeding, and they started teaching me how to express breast milk because Hiba doesn't know how to suckle.

This was the first time I'd ever learned what expressing milk was; I never needed it with my previous children. 

They stood by me like they were my own sisters. They gave me far more than just advice and instruction until I learned how to express milk and handle my baby and breastfeed her. They were like a beehive at the hospital; with every woman who gave birth, I learned how important breast milk is.

Whenever I felt weak, they would contact me, telling me to continue breastfeeding because it's the most important thing and how crucial it is for providing immunity and protection to the baby. 

Baby Hiba.

Before, we thought breastfeeding was just about feeding the baby, but it turned out to be the baby's life...

They are the only place in Gaza that cared about Hiba's case and helped me in every way so I could get back on my feet, be strong, and face people and endure their harsh words.

After that, I left the hospital, but my mental state remained very bad. I couldn't stop crying, day or night. I felt like the world was against me until I received a call from a doctor from the GINA team outside of Gaza. 

She spoke to me, and her words were like a balm to my heart. She touched every detail of me and healed a wound and pain inside me that no one else felt. She was there when everyone around me was gone. 

Her words, without exaggeration, strengthened me, gave me great energy, and gave me hope. 

I will never forget my first trip to the clinic when Hiba got her vaccinations: the doctors' looks, the children's looks, the mothers' looks - everyone looked at her, surprised. 

I went home in a bad state. That same day, I got a call from the GINA doctor, as if she sensed something was wrong with me. Each time, her words strengthen me and increase my hope and optimism. She made me pay attention to my children after I had neglected them because of my bad mental state. She encouraged me and gave me strength.

Now, when Hiba gets sick, I go to the doctor. Everyone, as soon as they find out about the syndrome she has, tells me that her condition is rare and that she won't live, most likely only until she's a year old. But when they say this, I look at them and smile because I feel a sense of peace inside, not worry. 

I feel that she is strong and will fight in this world and continue on. Once, a doctor told me when he saw my smile, "You look content."

I said: "Thank God, I have complete faith and hope in God that everything is for the best for her."

Hiba.

Hiba and I are very lucky that she came into the world when the GINA team was around. 

Now, I worry about her because the situation here in Gaza is very difficult and harsh. Life in the tent and the atmosphere in the tent are very difficult. 

The heat during the day and the cold at night greatly affect her, particularly her breathing. 

She often experiences shortness of breath, requiring me to take her to the hospital. My greatest wish now is that Hiba can have the surgery, whether a delegation comes to Gaza or she leaves Gaza, so she can eat and rebuild her body. I know she won't be like other children and that she has deficiencies in everything, but at the same time, I feel that she will have something special, something different.

And now I say that Hiba is not just a child; she is a gift from God, a compensation for my weary heart and broken spirit. 

She is not an ordinary child, but a mercy from heaven and a promise from God to change my circumstances and guide me to Paradise. 

From the moment she was born, I've asked myself every day what the wisdom is, and with each passing day, I discover God's wisdom in her...He didn't give her to cause me suffering, but to bring me joy and hope.

Samar with Hiba - her gift from God.