Lojain’s Type 1 Diabetes Reality in Gaza

TL;DR

This page shares Lojain Nashwan’s story in her own words. It is not published to elicit pity, but to document what type 1 diabetes looks like when reliable insulin, devices, and routine monitoring are not guaranteed — and what it takes to keep going anyway.

You can reach Lojain directly via Instagram @lojain_nash or at Lojainnash942@gmail.com.

Why we’re sharing this

Anj (GNL Creative Director and great human) first came across Lojain’s story through Valentina (@dietitian.on.themove) — a registered dietitian who is deeply committed to inclusion, human rights, and diversity. She lives her values rather than just talking about them, currently supporting community health projects in Guatemala with Nusef Guatemala.

Anj reached out so Lojain could tell more of her story. Lojain responded swiftly — and we published it without even a quick polish. The point is to let lived experience land as evidence, and to keep the reader alongside her, not above her.

Lojain’s story (in her exact words)

My name is Lujain Nashwan. I am 19 years old. I live in Gaza City. And I have type 1 diabetes.

I was diagnosed with this disease in 2015, 11 years ago, after I went into a coma that became a major turning point in my life. At that time, I was a child and did not understand what it meant to live with a chronic illness. All I knew was that my life would never be the same.

The beginning was very difficult. Suddenly, everything became calculated: food, time, insulin doses, and the constant fear of high or low blood sugar.

I had to learn how to inject insulin and how to deal with a body that changed without my choice. It was psychologically exhausting before it was physically exhausting, especially for a child trying to live a normal life like others.

Living with diabetes in Gaza is not easy at all. We do not face the disease alone; we face medication shortages, lack of insulin, absence of medical devices, famine, and constant fear.

Sometimes the biggest challenge is not controlling blood sugar, but simply finding the treatment itself. On many days, worrying about tomorrow is harder than the disease.

The struggle does not stop at treatment alone; it extends to essential medical tests. There is a severe shortage of the materials needed to conduct annual diabetes tests, such as the HbA1c test.

Because of this shortage, two full years passed without my ability to do this test, and after a long wait, I was able to do it only once, with a result of 11%. This number reflects the extent of the pressure and suffering we live under — not neglect or lack of care.

During this conflict, I went through very harsh experiences on a personal level. My insulin was cut off several times, and despite the danger, I was forced to use spoiled insulin of the Actrapid type multiple times, simply because the alternative was nothing.

As a result, I was hospitalised many times due to diabetic ketoacidosis, knowing each time that the situation could spiral out of control.

As for hospitals in Gaza, they are suffering just as we are. There is a severe lack of resources, overwhelming pressure, and no real priority for chronic patients.

Sometimes you feel that being ill here is not enough to be a reason to survive, and that life is managed only by emergency logic. Medical staff do everything they can, but reality is harsher than their capacity.

Despite all of this, I continue to try to survive. I resist not only for myself, but for my right to life, to treatment, and to feel safe.

I shared my story with you to seek support in all its forms: psychological, humanitarian, and moral. I need my voice to be heard, and I need the world to know that diabetes patients in Gaza are not only fighting the disease, but also conditions that threaten their lives every day.

My story is not a request for pity, but a true testimony of silent suffering and of strength we try to hold onto despite everything.

Anj and John’s reflections

• Diabetes management is infrastructure-dependent. This isn’t about “willpower” or “compliance”. Type 1 diabetes requires dependable insulin, monitoring, and the ability to course-correct.
• Metrics without context can become moralised. An HbA1c value is often treated as a personal scorecard. Here, it is also a reflection of disrupted access to testing and treatment.
• Chronic illness becomes acute when the basics are unstable. DKA admissions are not just medical events; they are a signal that normal continuity of care has broken down.
• Endurance is not passive. “Continuing” under these conditions is an active, repeated choice — a form of resistance to both disease and scarcity.

Thank you for taking the time to read Lojain’s story.

If anyone knows of a way to help, you can reach Lojain via @lojain_nash on Instagram or at Lojainnash942@gmail.com, or contact Anj at anj@theglucoseneverlies.com.

Please consider sharing — after reading this.