The small clinic in Attawapiskat First Nation was never designed to handle climate emergencies. Last summer, when record-breaking heat waves swept across Northern Ontario, nurse practitioner Claudia Thompson found herself treating dozens of elders for heat exhaustion in a building with unreliable air conditioning.
“We had elders coming in dehydrated, disoriented. Some homes here don’t have proper ventilation, let alone cooling systems,” Thompson told me as we sat in the clinic’s cramped break room. “This isn’t what our healthcare system was built for.”
Thompson’s experience reflects a growing reality across Canada: climate change isn’t just an environmental crisis—it’s a health emergency that’s already stretching our medical systems beyond capacity.
As Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders) addresses world leaders at COP30, their message is unambiguous: climate change is a health crisis requiring immediate, concrete action. MSF’s recent appeal draws from frontline experience in over 70 countries, where their medical teams increasingly respond to climate-related health emergencies.
“We’re seeing diseases move into regions where they’ve never been before,” explains Dr. Christos Christou, International President of MSF. “Dengue fever is appearing further north than ever recorded. Cholera outbreaks follow floods with devastating precision. These aren’t theoretical concerns—they’re clinical realities we face daily.”
The connection between climate change and health crises isn’t new information, but the acceleration of impacts has surprised even veteran health professionals. The World Health Organization now estimates climate change will cause approximately 250,000 additional deaths annually between 2030 and 2050, with causes ranging from heat stress and malnutrition to vector-borne diseases like malaria.
For Indigenous communities across Canada, these statistics have human faces. In Northern British Columbia, Wet’suwet’en Elder Mabel Dickie has documented changes to traditional medicine gathering that span generations.
“The berries come at different times now. Some medicine plants aren’t growing where they used to,” she explained during a knowledge-sharing workshop I attended last month. “When the land changes, our health changes too.”
This traditional knowledge aligns with scientific research. A comprehensive study in the Canadian Medical Association Journal documented how shifting ecological patterns are affecting Indigenous food security and medicine access across the country. As gathering patterns change, so too do nutritional outcomes and cultural practices tied to health maintenance.
In urban centers, climate health impacts manifest differently but with equal severity. During Vancouver’s 2021 heat dome, paramedic Sofia Reyes worked four consecutive 12-hour shifts as temperatures soared above 40°C.
“We couldn’t keep up with the calls,” she recalled. “People living in apartment buildings without proper cooling, elderly people alone, homeless individuals with nowhere cool to go—the system simply collapsed under pressure.”
Indeed, that heat event resulted in 619 heat-related deaths in British Columbia alone, according to provincial health officials. Research from the BC Centre for Disease Control found that many victims were elderly individuals living alone in buildings without adequate cooling systems.
MSF’s appeal at COP30 focuses on four critical areas requiring immediate action. First, countries must dramatically increase climate adaptation funding for health systems, particularly in vulnerable regions. Second, pharmaceutical research must prioritize climate-resistant medications that remain stable in extreme temperatures. Third, healthcare infrastructure must be redesigned for climate resilience. Finally, MSF calls for protection of healthcare workers, who increasingly face dangerous conditions during climate emergencies.
“We need to transform how we think about health services,” says Dr. Maria Santos, MSF’s Climate Health Specialist. “It’s not enough to respond to crises—we need systems designed to withstand the new climate reality.”
For Canada, this means reconsidering everything from hospital locations to emergency response protocols. The Canadian Institute for Climate Choices estimates that without significant adaptation investments, climate-related healthcare costs could reach $93 billion by 2050.
Back in Attawapiskat, nurse Thompson has started developing her own climate health protocols without waiting for official guidance. She organized cooling stations during heat waves and created emergency response plans for extreme weather events.
“We can’t wait for perfect policies,” she says. “People are suffering now.”
Thompson’s grassroots innovation mirrors actions happening in communities worldwide. In Bangladesh, floating hospitals now bring healthcare to flood-prone regions. In Mexico, heat-resistant vaccine storage ensures continued immunization during extreme temperatures.
These solutions offer hope, but MSF experts emphasize that individual innovations cannot replace coordinated global action. Without dramatic emissions reductions, even the most creative adaptations will eventually be overwhelmed.
The health implications extend beyond physical disease. Emerging research from the International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health documents rising rates of eco-anxiety, particularly among young people. Climate grief—the psychological response to environmental loss—is increasingly recognized as a legitimate mental health concern requiring specialized support.
When I visited the Resilient Communities Project in East Vancouver last week, counselor Derek Manning described seeing climate anxiety in clients of all ages.
“People bring their climate fears into therapy sessions now,” Manning noted. “It’s not separate from other health concerns—it intensifies everything from depression to substance use.”
As COP30 proceeds, health advocates stress that climate action isn’t just about saving ecosystems—it’s about saving lives today. The evidence from emergency rooms, remote clinics, and psychological services tells a consistent story: climate change is already a health emergency requiring urgent response.
For healthcare providers like Thompson, the future depends on whether global leaders heed these warnings with concrete action or continue treating climate health impacts as tomorrow’s problem.
“I don’t have the luxury of debating whether climate change affects health,” she told me as we walked through her clinic. “I see it in my patients every day. The question isn’t if climate change hurts people—it’s whether we’ll finally do something about it.”
