Asaf Acker, head of the unit for orthopedic trauma in the orthopedics department, shares:
After weeks of events, it's now quiet and I have time to think and process.
I woke up on Saturday morning, hoping for a peaceful day with my family. However, our plans were abruptly interrupted by the blaring of bomb sirens at 6am.
I woke up suddenly, quickly grabbing my glasses and phone. My wife was lying next to me, and our daughters were already in the sheltered room. We brought our dog inside and closed the door. Though we were surprised and confused, we had practiced this routine before and knew what to do.
Several sirens blare in quick succession, each one adding to an already unsettling feeling. As I glance at my phone, a video of terrorists traveling in a van in Ofakim appears. I exchange a worried glance with my wife, struggling to comprehend the situation.
I message the hospital's deputy director and ask him to let me know if there are any casualties. He answers within a minute: "Come quickly." A second later, the phone rings, and he says: "Get here now, we're at war".
I arrived at the entrance to the trauma room at the hospital seven minutes later. The clock had already struck 7:30. On reaching there, I met with the on-call teams who had just finished the night shift. We prepared and divided the work amongst ourselves. Shortly after, we received notice that four incoming patients were set to arrive soon. Within two minutes, the door opened, and the casualties started coming in. We began working on autopilot, using protocols and well-known algorithms, trying to make sense of the chaos in front of us. From that moment on, the doors stayed open. Endless casualties stream in at a dizzying pace.
The first casualties are wearing exercise clothes, probably injured during a morning workout. Countless civilians and soldiers follow them. We are told there are injured children. I ask the secretary if the pediatric ICU team is on its way, and at the same time Dr. Eitan Neeman, with his never-fading, childish grin, walked in. Several short hours later, he would be killed in battle. If only I had known that was the last time I would see him…
I send a message to the department group chat asking everyone to come in as quickly as they could, that this was a mass-casualty event. Several minutes later, I ask Dr. Alex Geftler to take charge of the incoming patients and head up to the OR with the first patients. My mind works automatically, not thinking about the bigger picture or the ongoing attack outside, and focusing only on treating the patient in front of me.
The first casualty had a complicated gunshot injury to his leg, and needed a life-saving amputation. The next casualty, who had multiple gunshot-induced leg fractures, was already waiting to be operated on. The team worked together like a well-oiled machine. Everyone lent their hand and worked in an organized, professional manner with outstanding dedication.
Additional teams come in from home, and we are operating in multiple ORs simultaneously. Alex is overseeing the staffing and directing patients to the ORs, where we maintain an almost constant pace of surgeries. The hours pass by. Everyone has been working tirelessly for hours, yet no one complains or wants to take a break. From the managers to the cleaning crew, everyone is giving their all.
Morning comes. We could hardly feel the time passing. In between operations, we glance at our phones, trying to stay updated about the war waging outside, trying to understand what was happening. I have a couple hours to see my wife and daughters at home, to rest a bit, and then it's time to head back to the OR.
We all matured several years over the last few weeks. It will take time until we process what exactly happened and what is expected in the weeks to come, but one thing I know for certain: Together, we are strong!
