"Another operation resulted in a continuous stream of casualties arriving one after the other throughout the day, night and early morning, causing a loss of sense of time".
Soroka's heroes and heroines share their stories.
Dr. Zaki E. Assi, chief of pediatric surgery at the Cheryl and Haim Saban Children's hospital at Soroka:
"My family and I started this soon to be a terrible weekend with a trip to Nahal Amud. My children were happy, wading in the stream's water. We all had dinner together at their Grandma's house in Haifa on Friday.
I woke up at 6:30 on Saturday morning to the sound of alerts from the Home Front Command warning about a missile barrage in the south. Having lived in the south for four years, I had become accustomed to this reality. So, I thought to myself, "It's probably just another missile or two that the Iron Dome will take care of."
I was being bombarded with notifications and couldn't focus on anything, so I decided to turn on the TV to distract myself. Suddenly, a white van caught my attention on the screen. It was similar to the ones I had seen in photos from Iraq and Syria. Initially, I thought it was a mistake in the broadcast, but then the reporter announced that they were showing pictures and I realized that something terrible was happening.
I woke up my wife and informed her that I had a feeling something was happening in the south and that I needed to go to Soroka.
Within minutes, I got myself organized, kissed and hugged my wife and children, got into the car, and drove south at a high speed. I admit that I was driving over the speed limit, so if the police had stopped me, they would have revoked my driver's license immediately. During the trip, the alerts didn't stop, and explosions were heard from all sides on Route 6. Police and rescue vehicles were rushing south.
After passing through road interchange number 1, I came across a terrifying sight. Plumes of smoke were rising up towards the sky from the south. The Iron Dome was working constantly to protect the area. Despite the instructions of the Home Front Command, my foot refused to get off the gas pedal, I couldn't resist the urge to keep driving towards the south without slowing down.
From the road, I called the on-call doctor and an operating room nurse answered, informing me that they were operating on a few hours old baby girl.
The mother, a citizen of one of the settlements near the Gaza strip, was shot in the abdomen. The OBGYN performed a cesarean section and rescued the baby. I sent a message on our department's WhatsApp group chat, calling for everyone to come to the hospital. However, some staff near the Gaza Strip were barricaded in their homes.
After an hour, I arrived at Soroka and went straight to the operating room to join the team. Fight together for the baby's life. At the end of the surgery, I run to the trauma room and join the teams. We are receiving an overwhelming number of casualties and are tirelessly working to help them. Our efforts are continuous, almost resembling that of a machine: one for surgery, one for imaging, some, unfortunately, arrive lifeless, but we have to keep going...
The neonatologists announce that the hours-old baby is in critical condition, her young body systems are collapsing and unable to withstand the severe injury. She died of her injuries after several hours.
I am constantly moving between the operating room and trauma room, treating patients of all ages and backgrounds. This includes civilians, children, soldiers, and members of the security forces. During one of my of these times, I ran into Dr. Eitan Neeman from the pediatric intensive care unit. We exchanged a few words, and he informed me that he was being deployed to the battle field. I wished him luck and reminded him to keep safe. Unfortunately, it turned out to be the last time I spoke with Eitan.
An 8-year-old Bedouin boy arrives in severe condition, he was shot in the chest and abdomen. We rush with him to the operating room, stabilize his condition, and save his life. A smile of happiness and satisfaction spreads among all those involved in the process.
The magnitude of the event is still not fully understood, but we are persisting in our efforts. Another operation is underway and another person has been injured. Time seems to have lost its meaning. In the evening, I was asked by the director of the mass-casualties incidents to take charge of the site where the severely injured were being treated. I agreed, and through the night and into the early morning, more and more casualties arrived.
As a general surgery specialist at Rambam hospital, I have participated in the treatment of numerous casualties throughout my professional career, including those wounded during the Second Lebanon War. However, the current reality is unlike any other event I have experienced, with an unprecedented number of casualties.
The morning after, I found myself walking around the hospital, trying to process what had happened and what was happening. The chaotic thoughts in my head fail to recreate the events. As I arrive at my house in the early evening, I lie down and attempt to sleep. However, thoughts about the past and future continue to flood my mind, and my brain seems unable to process them".
