On June 21, the coastal area of al-Mawasi, located at the southern end of the Gaza Strip, experienced a devastating attack. Hostilities reached a displacement camp near the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) premises, resulting in dozens of deaths and many more injuries. Within minutes, the nearby Red Cross field hospital, where I serve as the senior medical officer, began receiving the wounded.
In the afternoon, a meeting about staffing and rosters in the hospital’s admin area when a particularly loud explosion rocked the facility. The shockwaves shook the tent walls, and we quickly realized that an influx of casualties was imminent. Most staff members, both local Palestinians and foreigners, rushed to the emergency department to prepare, but there was no time. In the chaos of war, you adapt.
As ambulances arrived with screeching tires, paramedics swiftly unloaded stretchers, directing patients to different hospital areas categorized by color: red for critical injuries, yellow for less severe but urgent cases, and black for the deceased.
The red area: A man with severe shrapnel wounds, requiring immediate surgery to save his life.
The yellow area: A toddler with a clear fracture and shallow cuts, needing an X-ray, splint, and stitches.
The black area: A corpse, burned beyond recognition, wrapped in a sheet and sent to our morgue.
On that day, over 50 wounded patients arrived at our field hospital. Despite our best efforts, eight died after arrival, and the bodies of 14 people, already deceased, were also brought in.
Our team is no stranger to mass casualty events, which typically overwhelm our standard resources. That week alone, we faced three such events. In these situations, we focus intensely on the immediate task: treating those in need. Inside the hot tents, we analyze, operate, and stitch wounds while gunshots and explosions continue nearby, adding to the fear and trauma of our patients.
After helping one patient, it’s on to the next. Assess, take readings, set a cast, and move on. Amidst the chaos, family members scream, grieve, and shout, while our staff, despite their own trauma, continue working diligently.
In Gaza, where no civilian feels safe, many people prefer to stay close to the hospital for a sense of security. However, this creates a Catch-22 as our limited space must respond to large-scale emergencies, putting dozens of lives at risk.
Normally, we would have time to prepare for a major influx of patients by gathering staff, assigning roles, and setting up triage beds and mass casualty kits. But that week, due to the proximity of the explosions, patients began arriving within six minutes of the blast.
The injuries were familiar: some would physically recover, while others would live with permanent disabilities. The mental toll, especially on children, is profound and will persist for years. This is a constant concern that stays with me.
Some of the injured from June 21 will need further surgeries, many will require physiotherapy, and nearly all will need mental health support. After attending to the patients, we clean up, restock our supplies, speak to family members, and debrief. Despite their trauma, our staff continue to care for those still in the hospital and try to rest before the next emergency arises.
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