BEIRUT (AP) 鈥� Carol Zeghayer gripped her IV as she hurried down the brightly lit hallway of Beirut鈥檚 children鈥檚 cancer center. The 9-year-old's face brightened when she spotted her playmates from the oncology ward.
Diagnosed with cancer just months before the in October 2023, Carol relies on weekly trips to the center in the Lebanese capital for treatment.
But what used to be a 90-minute drive, now takes up to three hours on a mountainous road to skirt the in south Lebanon, but still not without danger from Israeli airstrikes. The family is just one among many across Lebanon now grappling with the hardships of both illness and war.
鈥淪he鈥檚 just a child. When they strike, she asks me, 鈥楳ama, was that far?鈥欌�� said her mother, Sindus Hamra.
The family lives in Hasbaya, a province in southeastern Lebanon where the rumble of Israeli airstrikes has become . Just 15 minutes away from their home, in the front-line town of Khiam, Israeli troops and Hezbollah fighters clash amidst relentless bombardments.
On the morning of a recent trip to Beirut for her treatment, the family heard a rocket roar and its deafening impact as they left their home. Israeli airstrikes have also hit vehicles along the Damascus-Beirut highway, which Carol and her mother have to cross.
The bombardment hasn鈥檛 let up even as hopes grew in recent days that a .
More than war, Hamra fears that Carol will miss chemotherapy.
鈥淗er situation is very tricky 鈥� her cancer can spread to her head,鈥� Hamra said, her eyes filling with tears. Her daughter, diagnosed first with cancer of the lymph nodes and later leukemia, has completed a third of her treatment, with many months still ahead.
While Carol's family remains in their home, many in Lebanon have been displaced by an intensified Israeli bombardment that began in late September. Tens of thousands fled their homes in southern and eastern Lebanon, as well as Beirut鈥檚 southern suburbs 鈥� among them were families with children battling cancer.
The Children鈥檚 Cancer Center of Lebanon quickly identified each patient鈥檚 location to ensure treatments remained uninterrupted, sometimes facilitating them at hospitals closer to the families' new locations, said Zeina El Chami, the center鈥檚 fundraising and events executive.
During the first days of the escalation, the center admitted some patients for emergency care and kept them there as it was unsafe to send them home, said Dolly Noun, a pediatric hematologist and oncologist.
鈥淭hey had no place to go,鈥� she added. "We鈥檝e had patients getting admitted for panic attacks. It has not been easy.鈥�
The war has not only deepened the struggles of young patients.
鈥淢any physicians have had to relocate,鈥� Noun said. 鈥淚 know physicians, who work here, who haven鈥檛 seen their parents in like six weeks because the roads are very dangerous.鈥�
Since 2019, Lebanon has been battered by 鈥� economic collapse, the devastating Beirut port explosion in 2020, and now a relentless war 鈥� leaving institutions like the cancer center struggling to secure the funds needed to save lives.
鈥淐ancer waits for no one,鈥� Chami said. The crises have affected the center鈥檚 ability to hold fundraising events in recent years, leaving it in urgent need of donations, she added.
The facility is currently treating more than 400 patients aged from few days to 18 years old, Chami said. It treats around 60% of children with cancer in Lebanon.
For Carol, the war is sometimes a topic of conversation with her friends at the cancer center. Her mother hears her recount hearing the booms and how the house shook.
For others, the moments with their friends in the center's playroom provide a brief escape from the grim reality outside.
Eight-year-old Mohammad Mousawi darts around the playroom, giggling as he hides objects and books for his playmate to find. Too absorbed by the game, he barely answers questions, before the nurse calls him for his weekly chemotherapy treatment.
His family lived in Ghobeiry, a neighborhood in Beirut鈥檚 southern suburbs. Their house was marked for destruction in an Israeli evacuation warning weeks ago, his mother said.
鈥淏ut till now, they haven鈥檛 struck it,鈥� said his mother, Suzan Mousawi. 鈥淭hey have hit (buildings) around it 鈥� two behind it and two in front of it.鈥�
The family has relocated three times. They first moved to the mountains, but the bitter cold weakened Mohammad鈥檚 already fragile immune system.
Now they鈥檝e settled in Ain el-Rummaneh, not far from their home in the southern Beirut suburbs known as Dahiyeh, which has come under significant bombardment. As the Israeli military widened the radius of its bombardment, some buildings hit were less than 500 meters (yards) from their current home.
The Mousawis have lived their entire lives in Dahiyeh, Suzan Mousawi said, until the war uprooted them. Her parents鈥� home was bombed. 鈥淎ll our memories are gone,鈥� she said.
Mohammad has 15 weeks of treatment left, and his family is praying it will be successful. But the war has stolen some of their dreams.
鈥淲hen Mohammad fell ill, we bought a house,鈥� she said. 鈥淚t wasn鈥檛 big, but it was something. I bought him an electric scooter and set up a pool, telling myself we鈥檇 take him there once he finishes treatment.鈥�
She fears the house, bought with every penny she had saved, could be lost at any moment.
For some families, this kind of conflict is not new. Asinat Al Lahham, a 9-year-old patient of the cancer center, is a refugee whose family .
鈥淲e escaped one war to another,鈥� Asinat鈥檚 mother, Fatima, added.
As her father, Aouni, drove home from her chemotherapy treatment weeks ago, an airstrike happened. He cranked up the music in the car, trying to drown out the deafening sound of the attack.
Asinat sat in the back seat, clutching her favorite toy. 鈥淚 wanted to distract her, to make her hear less of it,鈥� he said.
In the medical ward on a recent day, Asinat sat in a chair hooked to an IV drip, negotiating with her doctor. 鈥淛ust two or three small pinches,鈥� she pleaded, asking for flavoring for her instant noodles that she is not supposed to have.
鈥淚 don鈥檛 feel safe 鈥� nowhere is safe 鈥� not Lebanon, not Syria, not Palestine,鈥� Asinat said. 鈥淭he sonic booms are scary, but the noodles make it better,鈥� she added with a mischievous grin.
The family has no choice but to stay in Lebanon. Returning to Syria, where their home is gone, would mean giving up Asinat鈥檚 treatment.
鈥淲e can鈥檛 leave here,鈥� her mother said. 鈥淭his war, her illness 鈥� it鈥檚 like there鈥檚 no escape.鈥�
Sally Abou Al Joud, The Associated Press
