Doctors posting on social media asking for gauze
A week after twin earthquakes killed more than 2,200 Venezuelans and injured over 11,000, the country's physicians are watching a second catastrophe take shape — one born not from the tremors themselves, but from the decades of institutional decay the tremors have now made impossible to ignore. A healthcare system already hollowed by economic collapse and mass emigration now confronts 38 damaged hospitals, critical supply shortages, and tens of thousands of displaced survivors living in conditions that invite infectious disease. The earthquake did not break Venezuela's medical infrastructure; it revealed how thoroughly it had already been broken.
- Doctors on the ground are warning that the acute trauma phase is giving way to something harder to treat: wound infections spreading in crowded, unsanitary shelters where clean water is absent and public health infrastructure has simply ceased to function.
- With one-third of Venezuela's physicians having emigrated and hospitals reporting shortages of over 70% of operating room supplies, surgeons are performing orthopedic procedures in makeshift rooms and sourcing basic materials through social media appeals.
- Injured survivors are arriving at hospitals in the beds of pickup trucks driven by ordinary citizens, because the ambulance shortage is so severe that formal emergency response has effectively collapsed in the affected zones.
- International aid totaling $300 million — including 900 U.S. military personnel and 50 rescue teams from nations without diplomatic ties to Caracas — covers only 4% of the estimated $6.7 billion in damages, leaving the gap between need and response almost incomprehensible in scale.
- Over 40,600 people remain unaccounted for, families waiting beside rubble for news, while a government already facing accusations of looting by its own security forces struggles to project any credible authority over the disaster response.
- Medical workers now fear a third wave: thousands of newly homeless Venezuelans who have gone days without medications for chronic conditions, whose illnesses were manageable before the earthquake and may become life-threatening in its aftermath.
Seven days after the ground stopped shaking, Venezuelan doctors were already calculating the next crisis. The twin earthquakes of June 24 had killed at least 2,295 people and injured more than 11,000, but the physicians treating survivors understood that the worst was still unfolding. Thousands of displaced people were sleeping in crowded shelters or open air without clean water or sanitation — precisely the conditions in which infectious disease accelerates. Eugenio Cova, who runs the trauma unit at a major Caracas hospital, described the cascade he was watching in real time: acute trauma giving way to infection, infection compounded by contaminated environments and an absence of basic supplies. U.N. officials added the threat of vector-borne illness spreading through debris-filled communities where waste management had collapsed entirely.
But the earthquake had only exposed what was already failing. Venezuela's healthcare system had been hollowing out for years. More than 7.7 million Venezuelans had left the country since 2013, including a third of its 60,000 registered physicians. By WHO standards, the country needed 84,000 doctors; it had roughly half that. A 2025 survey found public hospitals short more than 30% of emergency supplies and more than 70% of operating room materials. Now, with 38 hospitals damaged by the quakes, the system faced a load it was never equipped to carry. Cova was performing surgery in makeshift rooms, lacking the screws and plates for basic orthopedic procedures. Injured Venezuelans were arriving in the backs of pickup trucks, transported by citizens who had taken rescue into their own hands.
The international response arrived but fell far short. The United States deployed 900 military personnel, repaired the Caracas airport runway, and pledged $300 million in aid. Fifty rescue teams came from countries including Ecuador and Israel. Against the odds, a toddler was pulled alive from rubble after six days. But the U.N. estimated material losses at $6.7 billion — meaning international aid covered roughly four percent of what was needed. More than 40,600 people remained unaccounted for, their families waiting beside collapsed buildings in agonizing uncertainty.
The government of acting President Delcy Rodríguez faced mounting criticism, including videos appearing to show security officers looting the rubble. Four police officials were dismissed and detained, but the deeper failure was structural and long-standing. As the director of United Doctors of Venezuela warned, a second wave was coming: thousands of newly homeless patients who had gone days without medications for diabetes, asthma, and hypertension. The earthquake had not created Venezuela's medical crisis. It had simply made it visible to the world.
Seven days after the ground stopped shaking, Venezuelan doctors faced a grim arithmetic: more bodies pulled from the rubble than living people rescued. The twin earthquakes that struck on June 24 had killed at least 2,295 and injured more than 11,000, but the physicians treating survivors knew the worst was still ahead.
Thousands of displaced Venezuelans were sleeping in crowded shelters or in the open air, without clean water or functioning sanitation. The conditions were precisely what infectious disease thrives on. Eugenio Cova, who runs the trauma unit at Hospital del Oeste Dr. José Gregorio Hernández in Caracas, described the cascade he saw coming: first the acute trauma from crushed limbs and collapsed buildings, then the infections that would follow as wounds went untreated and patients remained exposed to contaminated conditions. "We've already gone through a period of complex trauma," he said, "but now it's complicated by infections." The U.N. humanitarian coordinator for Latin America added another concern—vector-borne diseases spreading through the debris, waste management failing across devastated communities, the basic infrastructure of public health simply absent.
But the earthquake had only exposed what was already broken. Venezuela's healthcare system had been collapsing for years, hollowed out by economic mismanagement, corruption, and the flight of its medical workforce. Since 2013, when the economy began its long unraveling, more than 7.7 million Venezuelans had left the country. Among them were doctors and nurses. The medical association estimated that roughly one-third of the nation's 60,000 registered physicians had emigrated. By World Health Organization standards, Venezuela needed 84,000 doctors; it had perhaps 42,000. A 2025 survey of public hospitals revealed shortages of more than 30 percent of emergency supplies and more than 70 percent of operating room supplies. Laboratories were closed or functioning at minimal capacity.
Now, with 38 hospitals damaged or compromised by the earthquakes, the system faced an impossible load. Cova was performing orthopedic surgery in makeshift operating rooms because parts of his hospital were inaccessible. His facility lacked the screws and plates needed for basic procedures, lacked medicated gauze to prevent infections. Doctors had begun posting their needs on social media, asking for donations. The shortage of ambulances was so severe that injured Venezuelans were arriving at hospitals in the backs of pickup trucks, transported by ordinary citizens who felt abandoned by their government and had taken rescue efforts into their own hands.
The United States deployed 900 military personnel to support relief operations and repaired the runway at Caracas's main airport to allow humanitarian supplies to arrive. An additional 100 State Department staff were sent. The Trump administration offered $300 million in assistance—a figure that sounded substantial until set against the actual need. The U.N. Development Program, analyzing satellite imagery of the damage, estimated the material losses at over $6.7 billion. The aid covered roughly four percent of what was required.
Fifty international rescue teams had arrived from countries including Ecuador and Israel, nations without diplomatic relations with Venezuela. Against the odds—survival under rubble typically extends only 48 to 72 hours—rescuers continued finding survivors. On Tuesday, a toddler was pulled from the debris alive after six days trapped. But thousands remained missing. A digital database where families could register loved ones showed over 40,600 people unaccounted for as of Wednesday, leaving families in an agonizing limbo, waiting by collapsed buildings for bodies to surface.
The government of acting President Delcy Rodríguez faced mounting criticism over its response. Videos circulating on social media appeared to show security officers looting the rubble—taking U.S. dollars, appliances, personal belongings from the dead and displaced. The Interior Ministry dismissed and detained four police officials in response, citing dereliction of duty. But the larger failure was structural and long-standing. As one pediatrician and board member of Venezuela's pediatrics association put it, the earthquakes "once again highlight the Venezuelan government's inability to provide an adequate health care system."
When the immediate rescue phase ended, Jaime Lorenzo, director of United Doctors of Venezuela, feared a second wave would hit the hospitals: thousands of newly homeless Venezuelans who had gone days without their medications for chronic diseases—asthma, diabetes, high blood pressure. The earthquake had not created the crisis. It had simply made visible what had been breaking for years.
Citações Notáveis
We've already gone through a period of complex trauma, but now it's complicated by infections.— Eugenio Cova, head of trauma unit at Hospital del Oeste Dr. José Gregorio Hernández
The earthquakes once again highlight the Venezuelan government's inability to provide an adequate health care system that meets the needs of the Venezuelan people.— Dr. Huníades Urbina, member of the board of the pediatrics association of Venezuela
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does a week matter so much in this story? Why not focus on the immediate aftermath?
Because the immediate aftermath is trauma—it's dramatic, it's rescue. But a week in, the doctors are seeing what comes next. The wounds that will get infected. The diseases that will spread through crowded shelters. The system is about to break in a different way.
You mention that one-third of Venezuela's doctors have left. That's a staggering number. How does a country function at that level of loss?
It doesn't, really. It limps along until something like this happens. Then you see it clearly—the operating rooms without supplies, the makeshift surgeries, doctors posting on social media asking for gauze. The earthquake didn't cause the shortage. It just made it impossible to hide.
The U.S. is sending $300 million. That sounds like a lot of money.
It does. But the actual damage is $6.7 billion. So it's about four percent of what's needed. It's meaningful, but it's also a measure of how deep the hole is.
What strikes you most about the 40,600 missing people?
The waiting. Families standing by collapsed buildings, day after day, not knowing if their loved ones are dead or alive. That's not a statistic. That's thousands of people in limbo.
Is there any indication this will get better?
Not quickly. The immediate rescue phase will end. Then the infections come. Then the chronic disease patients who've missed their medications. The crisis is shifting shape, not ending.