WARNING: DISTRESSING CONTENT Mandy Blackman, who is currently running a field hospital in al-Mawasi in the Gaza Strip for the charity UK-Med, has laid bare the horrors of life on the frontline
The war in Gaza erupted when Hamas-led militants invaded southern Israel on October 7, 2023, claiming around 1,200 lives, mostly civilians, and kidnapping 251 others. Forty-eight hostages, with fewer than half believed to be alive, remain in Gaza.
According to the territory’s Hamas-run health ministry, at least 64,964 people have been killed in Israeli attacks in Gaza since then. More than 90 percent of homes are estimated to be damaged or destroyed. Healthcare, water, sanitation and hygiene systems have collapsed; and UN-backed food security experts have declared a famine in Gaza City.
A team of independent experts, commissioned by the United Nations’ Human Rights Council, has concluded that Israel is committing genocide in Gaza. The experts found evidence of four out of five genocidal acts defined under international law.
These include killing members of the group, causing serious bodily or mental harm, deliberately inflicting conditions calculated to bring about destruction, and preventing births.
Although the team was commissioned by the Human Rights Council (HRC), the UN’s top human rights body, it does not speak for the UN as a whole. Israel has vehemently rejected what it calls a “distorted and false” report.
But for the innocent people whose lives have been decimated, this isn’t a matter of politics, religion or revenge. Through no fault of their own, they have been plunged into a desperate fight for survival, witnessing unimaginable brutality and watching their families die in front of them.
Here, Mandy Blackman, 56, who runs a field hospital in al-Mawasi in the Gaza Strip for the charity UK-Med, lays bare the true horrors of life on the frontline for The Mirror…
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“I start my day watching skeletal children try to wake up their dead parents in al-Mawansi in the Gaza Strip.
Frantic parents beg me for food, nappies, and medical treatment for their desperate children. Infants’ ribs are visible, and they arrive with gaunt, drawn faces. I will treat daily gunshot wounds from all ages and genders, with many patients left with life-altering injuries. Relatives turn up searching for the children they’re been separated from in the panic, some patients arrive by donkey and cart.
For some, it is good news – their children are still alive, though terribly injured. For others, they hear the worst news any parent can hear – that their child, or even children, are dead.
This is what life looks like on the frontline in Gaza. Normally I work at Kettering General Hospital in Northamptonshire but I have been deployed to run a field hospital. I try to be strong but have cried at the things I have seen.
One time an innocent teenage boy was shot in the head while trying to sell water to earn some money for his family. He was selling the water in small plastic bags, like the ones they use at their fair for goldfish, when he was shot. He was carried into our hospital by bystanders. His parents arrived and were able to be with him before he died.
Many children arrive malnourished and present late with contaminated wounds. Their depleted physical and mental states, compounded by chronic trauma, uncontrolled diabetes, and blood pressure, make even basic treatment a greater challenge. Children are often mute, and we see signs of deep psychological scars across all ages.
Dozens of children arrive with gunshot wounds to the abdomen. They are rushed to theatre for life-saving surgery, but they often have to return for repeated operations. Many children will end up with stomas, meaning they have a colostomy bag for life.
The horrors are relentless. My shift starts at 7am and immediately it is about triaging the mass casualtiesfrom overnight. Staff from Gaza City may have had to leave their home as it has been damaged or destroyed, sometimes their family members are killed or injured.
The only warning we have of a mass incident is the sound of the explosion or the sound of horns blaring. I am constantly surrounded by noise, danger, and uncertainty. There is an unending flow of patients, often young men with gunshot or blast injuries who have travelled long distances to reach the hospital.
There is no guarantee of sleep, at night I hear the cries of frantic families pleading for assistance as they arrive carrying their wounded relatives.
There is a frustrating lack of equipment – it sits waiting at the border. It needs to be allowed in. We are not seeing pain relief, antibiotics, and anesthetic drugs coming through.
Dressings for burns and complex wounds, which make up the majority of our work, are desperately scarce. Antibiotics and pain relief are extremely limited, and patients are forced to buy their own medication for us to administer. It is almost miraculous that we are still maintaining a service at all, as the southward movement of people is only worsening.
Our equipment is frequently overused, sharpened, and repaired countless times in an attempt to maintain standards of care. Nevertheless, it remains far from what would be possible in the UK.
We are witnessing colleagues we have worked with for more than 18 months becoming thinner, more depleted physically and emotionally, and many are despondent.
The patients we care for are invariably kind and grateful for our support, even though many have been forced to move homes multiple times. They are discharged to tents with little access to food, clean water, electricity, or sanitation.
For us, it is the ability to communicate with our families that helps us get through. We are supported by highly trained national and international staff who remain compassionate, incredibly hardworking, and kind – to the patients and to each other – despite the adversity.
The team is all united by a clear mission, which gives purpose and positivity. It is a privilege to serve here, and that sense of meaning carries us through, even when surrounded by noise, danger, and uncertainty.”