No outrage nor tears for those who sweep the floors

Consider Gaza's hospital staff. In hospitals, the blockade is as
seemingly benign as doctors not having paper upon which to write
diagnostic results or prescriptions, and as sinister as those seconds –
between power cut and generator start – when a child on life support
doesn't have the oxygen of a mechanical ventilator. A nurse on a
neo-natal ward rushes between patients, battling the random schedule of
power cuts. A hospital worker tries to keep a few kidney dialysis
machines from breaking down, by farming spare parts from those that
already have. The surgeon operates without a bulb in the surgery lamp,
across from the anaesthetist who can no longer prevent patient pain.
The hospital administrator updates lists of essential drugs and medical
supplies that have run out, which vaccines from medical fridges are now
unusable because they can't be kept cold, and which procedures must be
cancelled altogether. The ambulance driver decides whether to respond
to an emergency call, based on dwindling petrol in the tank.