Indeed, We Have Recovered.

Al-Akhbar Newspaper - Zainab Hammoud

A year after the horrific crime of detonating the pagers, it can be said that a large number of the wounded who lost their sight have managed to come to terms with what happened, overcome the shock, and embark on a new phase of living with their injuries.

Some have returned to their previous jobs or found new work suited to their condition. Others have continued their education, with some excelling in official examinations. A number of them have married, had children, or found life partners. Naturally, many remain focused on their medical treatment, but they have learned independence and adaptation to their new reality. The majority are also working to remove the scars from their faces, seeking to erase the traces of injury and move forward with their lives.

These findings were reached by the Wounded Foundation through surveys distributed among the injured. The Foundation chose for its campaign the slogan: “We Have Recovered”—a direct response to the “Israeli” enemy’s claim that “the wounded from the pager attack have not and will not recover.” According to foundation sources, “Recovery is not measured by health alone, as most of the wounded are still undergoing surgeries, but they are neither broken nor confined to their homes.” Rather, recovery is tied to independence, social integration, and carrying on with life.

The Foundation has helped achieve this by “providing an environment suited to their needs—especially at home, where modifications such as bathroom renovations were made—and by creating empowerment programs, such as training on electronic devices and integrating the wounded into a society unfamiliar with how to deal with the blind.”

Foundation sources add that “a number of the wounded were trained by specialized instructors, enabling them in turn to train their fellow injured. Several of the veteran wounded also contributed programs and proposed new projects that were added to the Foundation’s initiatives, playing a major role in supporting the path of recovery.”

The greatest challenge faced by the Foundation, they explain, was “the unexpectedly rapid recovery of the wounded, which required developing new programs quickly to keep pace with their progress.”

What follows are stories of some of the wounded—living testaments to the slogan: “We Have Recovered.”

Rida, the one I saw in a dream.

Less than a year after their marriage, Farah Ghosn was in her ninth month of pregnancy, waiting with her husband Ali Al-Azir for the birth of their “first blossom,” when a pager device exploded in their faces, turning their lives upside down. Farah suffered minor wounds and scars on the upper part of her body, while Ali bore the brunt of the damage: he lost his sight completely, his fingers were amputated, and a fragment lodged in his brain.

Rida was born, but Ali never fulfilled his dream of seeing him. His son’s image remained a blur in his mind. He tried to connect with him through holding him, smelling his scent, and listening carefully to his cries and laughter. Over time, a powerful bond grew between father and son—without sight—while Farah strove to describe Rida’s appearance to her husband: the size of his fingers, his hair, his eyes, and how quickly he was growing.

In the end, Ali’s dream came true: he saw his son in a dream, exactly as Farah had described him.

It was not easy for Farah to give birth during wartime—away from her husband, who was undergoing treatment in Iran—and to flee from Shmustar to Beirut on her own. Nor was it easy for Ali, who was “searching for a glimmer of hope to regain his sight in Iran, while leaving his family under fire.”

Today, that ordeal has become nothing more than a painful memory in the family’s diary, while the present is far brighter. Farah says: “We overcame the ordeal as a family, and it even strengthened our relationship. Although we had married for love, after the injury our bond only deepened.”

After adapting to their new reality and reorganizing responsibilities, Farah affirms: “Nothing in our life has changed, except for one thing—I have become the family driver instead of Ali.”

As for the future, Farah and Ali envision it full of hope, and they are already planning “to bless the family with a brother or sister for Rida.”

A Love Story in Tehran

Before his injury, Mohammad Qutaish “wouldn’t even entertain the idea of marriage,” as his mother Jumana recalls. After the incident, he traveled to Iran in search of the slightest chance to partially restore his sight, but without success. He returned to Lebanon with his eyes extinguished—yet carrying plans for the future—after becoming engaged to Jana Majed, a medical student who had volunteered to assist the wounded from the page attack as a nurse and translator.

Mohammad met Jana at Mustafa Khomeini Hospital in Tehran and fell in love with her. Five months after his injury, he married her.

At the start of their relationship, Mohammad was quiet: “He spoke only rarely and never complained of pain. He would simply nod in response to any question.”

After the wounded were moved to the hotel, Jana’s role in dressing wounds and administering eye drops ended—except for Mohammad. She remained like his shadow: “I paid attention to the smallest details. When he lit his cigarette, I would automatically hand him the ashtray.” Over time, people came to see her as his constant companion, replacing even his brother who had accompanied him to Iran.

Without dwelling on how they would build their life together or the responsibilities that would fall on a 23-year-old woman, she accepted his proposal. Jana says: “I never considered that Mohammad could not see. To me, he was always fully able.” His independence, evident from the very first moments after his injury, gave her the feeling that “he was no different from anyone else and fully capable of taking responsibility for himself, for me, and for the family we would build together.”

Are we really injured?

“The ‘Israelis’ could only manage to delay my wedding by six months,” says Shadi Al-Ghoul, jokingly. During the wedding preparations, a pager device exploded, costing him his sight. He adds, “My life partner and wife has been and still is the eyes through which I see.”

While setting up their marital home, “she would explain to me what I could not see in furniture and household stores, describing every detail from choices to types and colors.”

Shadi was not rebellious against his injury solely for the sake of marriage, but for managing all aspects of his life. In the first months after the incident, he achieved complete independence, saying: “I worked hard to dress myself, eat, and move around without anyone’s help—and I finally succeeded.”

Just two days after leaving the hospital, he mastered the use of his mobile phone and computer, and “I trained other wounded on how to use these devices.” His injury did not stop him from continuing his academic studies; he is currently pursuing a master’s degree.

“Everywhere we went, no one looked at us with pity or sympathy, but with love. The professors and classmates at the university welcomed me and accepted me as I am.”

While many of the injured become more withdrawn after joining the ranks of the disabled, the effect of the injury on Shadi was the opposite. He transformed “from a quiet person into a social one.”

A year after the injury, he evaluates his situation as “ten out of ten. We have lived with our wounds to the point that sometimes we forget we are injured. This coexistence is part of recovery. We have truly recovered.”

A passing health problem!

On his left hand—the one that bore the brunt of the pager explosion—Bilal Shaito had tattooed, among the scars and above his amputated fingers, the phrase: “I would lay down my soul for you, O dearest of my heart.” He looks at the tattoo and smiles with satisfaction: “A year has passed since the incident,” he says coolly, “It’s behind us now.”

Bilal underwent more than 11 surgeries on his eyes, ultimately regaining about 70% vision in his left eye, while his right eye became completely unusable. Three months after the injury, he returned to the hospital where he had worked as a nurse for over fifteen years, continuing his treatment. He says: “It wasn’t the surgeries, my new medical condition, or the pain I felt that occupied my mind—it was the race against time to regain my strength and return to life capable, empowered, and fully recovered.”

Work was both Bilal’s goal and his means of recovery. “On my first day back, I felt a spiritual energy driving me to an unprecedented level of productivity.” He never felt hindered by any challenge, completing all tasks independently. Moreover, he was keen to assist his fellow wounded colleagues through health consultations over the phone, drawing on his professional experience.

From the very beginning, Bilal and his family treated the injury as a temporary health setback: “Some might think we exaggerate when we talk about our psychological state, but anyone who sees us with the heart knows we are sincere.”