Health Secretary Anne Kari Aasheim drives home from work at Ringerike Hospital. It’s July 22, 2011, and the holiday has just begun.
On the way home, she hears on the radio that a bomb has gone off in the Government Quarter.
She gets home, and a little later the shooting starts on Utøya.
In line with the first reports of shootings on Utøya, tactical leadership will be put in place at Ringerike Hospital.
Anne Kari Aasheim must return to work. Here she is set to do a task she has not done before: She is given the responsibility for the relatives’ phone at the hospital.
– As the alarm went off, none of us knew why, or what it would entail, says Aasheim.
Eventually, relatives started calling the newly established relatives line at the local hospital, says Aasheim.
– It started to boil quickly. Hundreds rang the phone. It glowed from Friday night to Sunday.
Aasheim says that in the beginning they did not know much about what was going on. Therefore, the only thing she could say to those who called was that someone would get in touch if one of their family members was admitted to the hospital.
The reports of the number of dead eventually came over Friday night.
– As the reports about the number of killed were updated in the media, the conversations changed character. The conversations were marked by despair, people were scared. One can only imagine what it must have been like not to get hold of one’s own kids.
She says that many relatives had hope when they called.
– But when I said that “no, we have no one admitted here with that name,” it changed the character of the conversation to despair, says Aasheim, and adds:
– The news media first reported that there were eight killed on Utøya, but we who worked at the hospital knew that there were more. I received calls from relatives who said “do not say that my child is among the eight killed,” while I knew that the number of dead had multiplied. It was tough, says Aasheim.
–
– Last straw
– What was the most difficult thing about being a telephone attendant?
– On Sunday, I received calls from relatives who had called several times and not been able to get in touch with theirs. When I explained to them that unfortunately we did not have anyone admitted by that name, it was very tough. They had tried every other option, we were the last straw, she says.
From Friday to Sunday, Aasheim and his colleagues sat almost continuously and answered the many calls. Aasheim does not know how many did not make it through due to lack of capacity. But she knows she received hundreds of phone calls.
– I was home for a little walk on Saturday to relax a bit and take a shower on Saturday morning. But I did not calm down. It was simply better to go back to the hospital than to stay at home.
Ten years later, she remembers well some of the conversations she received. The despair from the other end of the pipe has left its mark.
– We were all in a kind of vacuum. We did the job we were set to do, because we knew it was absolutely necessary. The effort was made from all sides. It was a collaboration without equal, and a work ethic on the part of the hospital that felt exceptional. It was very professional, says Aasheim, and adds:
– Everyone knew what to do, even though we had been given tasks we usually did not have. You took the task you were assigned, no matter what it was. Whether it was me on the phone, doctors, cleaning, kitchen or other health personnel in general who were set to do other tasks. Everyone wanted to contribute.
Aasheim says that all those involved received good follow-up at the workplace.
– Monday morning, everyone involved had to meet for a debriefing. Psychologists from the neighboring building were present, and everyone who needed to could talk to them. The door was open to everyone.
Furthermore, Aasheim says that in the time after 22 July, she appreciates those she has around her more.
– In addition to that, I am proud to work at Ringerike hospital. What happened has left its mark, I think more and I reflect more, at the same time as I appreciate more what I have.