Respected Madam,
Recently, a serious health problem forced me into the hospital. I was suffering from acute urinary retention - a condition so painful it felt as though my organs would burst from within. But before any treatment could begin, I learned something that stunned me: the sub-district hospital in Sopore has no working USG facility after dark.
I could not believe it. This is the 21st century. And here I was, with death sitting heavily on my chest, in a hospital that could not even scan me. I felt anger. It wasn’t just for myself, but for every resident of Sopore who might one day arrive at those doors in the late hours of the day.
My most pressing need in those moments was that I needed answers for my condition. Was it a stone blocking the passage? An inflammation setting my bladder on fire? An infection sending chills through my body. Something worse? Nobody could tell me. And I refused to accept the extremely invasive procedure of catheterization without first knowing what was wrong with me.
So I left, in despair, for GMC Baramulla.
The half-hour journey between Sopore and Baramulla seemed endless. My body shivered. My swollen abdomen felt like an inflated moon. I genuinely feared I would not survive. My kidneys felt as though they would burst. I held on to myself, squeezed my hands, shifted constantly in my seat, moved my legs, and writhed in pain.
Time wore on, and eventually I reached the hospital. I heaved a sigh of relief and rushed to the emergency wing of the hospital. I underwent the necessary USG examination, received injections and finally went to the washroom to relieve myself. This is where the second ordeal began, barely 50 meters from the washroom.
The hospital felt like a dumping ground – waste accumulating and circulating instead of being disposed of. Waste littered the floors. A stench besieged the emergency block and the staircase leading to the wards. An unbearable odour greeted anyone approaching the washroom. No functional locks. No properly maintained washrooms. Broken taps. Missing jugs. And, on the first floor, only two washrooms designated for males appeared to serve emergency patients. Just imagine!
Because of my condition, I had to visit that washroom again and again to check whether I could urinate normally. Each visit made the heart heavier. I began to pity myself. At one point, I wished I had died. I wished I had gone to a landfill instead. It could not have smelled worse.
The stench made me throw up nearly ten times. Believe me, I had to throw up into an unusually dirty dustbin because there was not even a washbasin to use on the first floor. Just imagine!
But let me be fair: the treatment itself went well. The doctors were helpful. The nurses were kind. What I suffered from my illness, I suffered. But I also endured the relentless smell of urine, faeces, and human waste, not only inside the washroom but several meters beyond it. And I was there for one night. Hundreds of patients endure this every single day.
I survived the stench. I survived the absence of night-time USG services at sub-district hospital Sopore. I survived hours of acute urinary retention. I survived the agonising journey between two hospitals.
But I am left with questions:
Why can the USG facility at sub-district hospital Sopore not operate at night? Illness does not keep office hours.
Why can GMC Baramulla not provide more washrooms for emergency patients and their attendants on the first floor designated for emergency block?
Yes, many people lack civic sense and add to the filth. But when sanitation facilities are this scarce, is the system itself not part of the problem?
Surely, there must be a solution. Surely, someone is responsible for finding it.
I hope you are listening.
With all due respect, humility and concern, I write this not merely for myself, but for the countless patients who deserve dignity, timely diagnosis, and basic sanitation while seeking medical care.
Yours sincerely,
Faizaan Bashir.
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