As mass shootings become more and more common around the country, communities are having to face the aftermath of these horrific events at an ever-increasing rate. Hospital-based health care workers are often faced with treating patients in what is known as a mass casualty event, which we train for, but hope to never see. In the last eight years, I have worked in two separate communities and witnessed mass shooting events in both. This is my personal experience from the perspective of a health care worker and a member of the communities that have experienced this violence.
The Tree of Life shooting happened in Pittsburgh on October 27, 2018 (eleven killed, seven injured) and remains the deadliest antisemitic attack in the United States. A text went out to the employees of the UPMC system alerting employees to stand by due to a mass casualty event initiated by an active shooter in the community. After receiving the text, I turned on the local news station immediately and listened as the terrible story unfolded. Many employees who were told to stand by went and waited outside of UPMC’s trauma hospital in case their skills were needed, although most victims never made it to the hospital.
One of the anesthesiologists with whom I worked closely lived in the Squirrel Hill community. He was on lockdown, and it took a few harrowing hours before I found out that he and his family were safe. The entire community grieved, and the city of Pittsburgh grieved along with them.
Unfortunately, my experience does not end with that one event. I was working in Lewiston, Maine, and while in my apartment on the evening of October 25, 2023, I heard a profound police response. I didn’t know at the time they were responding to the largest mass shooting in the state and in the country (eighteen killed, thirteen injured). Once again, a mass casualty event text went out alerting staff to shelter in place. They would contact us if we were needed. I was alone and 700 miles away from home. The largest mass shooting in Maine history was followed by the largest manhunt in Maine history. The next morning, I walked into the hospital in the pre-dawn darkness for my scheduled shift. The hospital was surrounded by policemen armed with long guns. It was surreal. When I arrived in the operating room, I listened to the stories of my co-workers about the night before, all of them insisting they were fine. I could not figure out how they were fine, because I was definitely not. After I listened to their stories, I started to fall apart, and was unable to safely do my job. I left early, planning on abandoning my assignment in Lewiston with one week left on my contract.
My family all offered to travel up to be with me. No. They still hadn’t found the shooter, and I wasn’t going to put my family in danger. My daughter lived in Jersey City, so she offered to drive up. No. She offered to meet me in Portland. No. She finally told me that she could get a direct flight to Boston. Would I meet her there? Yes. That was far enough away. I will always be thankful for her persistence and for convincing me to leave Lewiston. I planned to return my rental car to Logan Airport and take a direct flight home to Pittsburgh. I locked the door, left the keys to the place I was staying in the mailbox, and brought my bags out to the car while looking over my shoulder the entire time. All of the local businesses were closed and the streets were deserted. It was eerie, and I sped out of town so as not to be caught in the crosshairs of the shooter who, as far as I knew, was still on the loose.
I drove to Boston to meet my daughter on the five-year anniversary of the Tree of Life shooting. The anesthesiologist whose community was so affected five years earlier learned of the shooting and knew I was working in Lewiston. He called and spoke to me for an hour. I think I was in shock, because I remember very little about the conversation, but I do remember he was kind and supportive, and I am grateful to him for reaching out. It was so important to hear from someone who understood.
I checked into a hotel with a view of Boston Harbor. My daughter’s flight landed later that evening, and after the shuttle dropped her off at the hotel, we headed to the bar so she could get something to eat. At that moment, the news station playing on the television announced that they had found the shooter deceased a few miles away from where the shootings took place. Relief washed over me, and I decided that I could go back to finish my assignment. I almost felt safe again.
In the immediate aftermath, I struggled with guilt. Should I have gone to the hospital anyway despite the shelter-in-place order? Did I let my co-workers or the victims down? We had a debriefing a few days later. The chief of surgery spoke to a full conference room and told us that everyone who came to the hospital received the care they needed. Hearing this helped bring me some peace.
The long-term effects of having witnessed two mass shootings are subtle. I avoid large crowds. I am hypervigilant when I do find myself in a crowded space and always have an escape plan. I am sure this is another reason why I left health care. The effects of this horrific violence ripple through the community and across the country to the point where we don’t pay attention anymore. This is my experience, and does not touch the devastation that the victims and their families face. I can’t help but wonder, why, as a society, are we accepting this as our reality?
Christine King is a certified registered nurse anesthetist (CRNA) with 20 years of experience in a field that demands precision, empathy, and a deep understanding of health care. Her clinical background informs a holistic perspective she brings to life’s challenges, whether in the operating room or in everyday life.
Now focused on writing, she draws on two decades of practice to explore the human side of medicine. Her work has appeared on KevinMD, and she writes at The Best Third and on Medium. She shares updates on LinkedIn.
