On the afternoon of June 4, 2015, a horrific missile strike devastated a town center in Idlib Governorate, Syria. The wounded arrived in wave after wave at a nearby small makeshift hospital that is supported by Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF). MSF immediately began organizing a major resupply of essentials for the hospital. Here, the hospital's director, who requested to remain anonymous for security reasons, describes the situation.
The planes circled above us in the late afternoon and we waited. Would we become casualties? Would we become numbers?
At around 3:00 p.m. we heard a deafening sound as a result of three rockets exploding in a town nearby—a town overwhelmed, desperate locals living alongside many displaced people from other areas in Syria.
Apartment buildings and shops, demolished in a few minutes, all turned to rubble.
Bodies ripped apart, flesh everywhere. This is a massacre. This is carnage.
Total destruction that is hard to describe; a state of hysteria took over, first among the families looking for their loved ones, neighbors searching for their neighbors, and then it spread to us medical staff.
Only a few minutes after the first strike we received the first five wounded patients in our modest 12-bed makeshift hospital with just one operating theater.
Instead of calls to prayer coming from the mosques, there were loud pleas for help, imploring people to find the wounded and the dead beneath the rubble.
The flow of wounded never stopped. The hospital was quickly overwhelmed; bodies were everywhere—on the tables, in the hallways, on the floor.
The floor was full of blood. Medical staff and volunteers picked their way between the bodies of the wounded, doing what they could.
We received more than 100 injured people in the first few hours after the strikes, too many of them children. We could only treat around 80 patients, and we had to turn away 50; we didn’t have the capacity to treat their wounds.
We were only able to provide treatment for those injured by shrapnel, orthopedic cases, and amputations. Unfortunately, we had to turn away those with neurological or vascular complications simply because we don’t have the resources or specialized medical staff like neurosurgeons, who are the only ones capable of responding to those needs.
Turning away patients only put our stretched medical team under even more pressure.
One mother came searching for her son. We were able to identify him from her description, but we knew he had lost his life. She collapsed into tears and refused to identify the body. I only had one choice; I brought her his shirt.
This tragic moment took place in a few seconds. I was helping my colleagues move and triage the patients in order for us to be able to give care first to those most critically wounded.
There was blood everywhere, but we were running out of blood bags. Men and women donated their own blood to strangers.
With the descent of night it became impossible to find people alive under the rubble. We will continue to find dead bodies in the next few days.
As a medical team, the only choice we have is to replenish our supplies, gather our hopes, and prepare for the next tragedy.