ALKHOBAR, 2 April 2007 — Muna A. Abu Baker wakes up every morning and makes her way to Saad Specialist Hospital in Alkhobar. By nine o’clock she is standing at the bedside of her oldest son, Moataz. It is unclear if he knows she is there, but that does not dissuade her. For the next 12 or 13 hours she will talk to him and help with his physical care. When her voice fails her, she will turn on the television so the room is filled with the verses of the Holy Qur’an. At about 10 p.m. every night Moataz’s mother will kiss her son goodnight and return to the hotel room where she has been staying for the past six months. In the nation that is the cradle of Islam, this Egyptian mother has been bearing the burden of her family’s pain and grief all alone.
Moataz Mohammed Abdul Mohnsif Ahmed Ibrahim was a 29-year-old telecom engineer working in the Kingdom as part of an international team for the company now known as Alcatel-Lucent. After training and working for Alcatel Middle East in Egypt and Ghana, in March 2006 Moataz came to Saudi Arabia on a short assignment. In August 2006, just 13 days from completing the project, Moataz was horribly injured in a road accident on the highway near Jubail, while on the way to one of the project sites.
Much about that accident is unclear. What is known is that Moataz suffered a brain injury in the crash. A helicopter was not made available to transport him to a major trauma center. Hours after the accident, an ambulance brought Moataz to a local hospital that was not qualified to treat such a severe injury. Finally, more than six hours after the accident, Moataz was transferred to Saad Specialist Hospital. Even though surgery was undertaken at that time, irreversible brain damage had already occurred.
“I don’t actually know any of these facts first hand,” said Moataz’s mother, a lady who the hospital staff affectionately call Aunt Muna. “The accident happened on Aug. 28 and due to the difficulties in issuing me a visa and making my travel arrangements, I couldn’t be at my son’s bedside until Sept. 30.”
Aunt Muna said that Moataz recognized her at first. Then, complications from a second surgery left him in an even weaker condition. Doctors at Saad Specialist Hospital have said that on the Glasgow Coma Scale, Moataz scores less than 8 out of 15 and the outlook for his future is poor.
After seven months in the hospital, the insurance company Apri has spent more than SR2 million on Moataz’s care. For this his family is grateful. However, once he is well enough to be moved back to Egypt, his home country, medical insurance coverage for Moataz will drop to about 100,000 Egyptian pounds. While the cost of living in Egypt is not extremely high, a rehabilitation facility will still be much more than 100,000 Egyptian pounds.
“I do not know what to do,” said Aunt Muna. “My husband is in a wheelchair so he cannot help much. I have a daughter who works to help support us and I have a son at university. We do not have the medical skills to care for Moataz properly at home. If someone will teach me, I would be happy to learn. But we don’t have any specialized equipment at home. And in Egypt the medicine, tube feedings and all the items he needs for his care are very expensive. I try to only think of getting Moataz through each day because every time I think about the future, I am wracked with despair.”
Anyone facing such a future would be overwhelmed with grief. But to make everything worse for this mother, she has spent the last six months in the Kingdom nearly alone. Alcatel-Lucent have kindly paid all her hotel expenses and she speaks highly of the company’s efforts. But it is depressing to find that the Egyptian community in the Kingdom has not come forward to stand by this family in any way. This week the Egyptian Embassy telephoned Aunt Muna for the first time and basically told her that they can do nothing.
“My son was a very social, loving young man, with a wonderful sense of humor,” said Aunt Muna. “A few times some of the engineers on his team came to see him but most of them are gone now. I know no one here, except the hospital staff. I wish I had friends to come and sit with me and help me to think of what to do. The days are very long and I spend most of the nights worrying.”
Arab News learned of this family’s plight from the family of an Indian patient at Saad Specialist Hospital. Even though the Indian family could hardly communicate with Aunt Muna in Arabic, they have done their best to comfort her.
If Aunt Muna were your mother, what would you hope that people who learned of her misery would do? Contact [email protected].
