When Hospitals Hurt: A Daughter’s Heartbreaking Journey Through SKIMS Soura

This article is a personal account of 25 days of chaos, neglect, and systemic failure which reveals a hidden crisis of patient care behind the white coats at SKIMS Soura. It also underscores the urgent need for reform in Kashmir’s healthcare system, before more families suffer in silence.

To pull back the curtain on the troubling state of patient care at SKIMS Soura—and by extension, the healthcare system across Srinagar—I want to share the harrowing 25-day ordeal I faced while caring for my father. Behind the white coats and towering hospital walls lies a reality of chaos, indifference, and administrative collapse that no family should ever have to endure. What I witnessed was not an isolated incident, but a deeply rooted culture of neglect where survival often depends not on medicine, but on privilege, persistence, and prayers.

1. The Golden Card Scheme: A Plastic Promise, Nothing More

The government-introduced Golden Card scheme was meant to revolutionise access to healthcare by offering financial relief and cashless treatment. In theory, it’s a blessing for underprivileged families. In reality, it’s a bureaucratic maze that drains more energy than it saves. Attendants like me, already grappling with emotional distress, were made to stand in multiple queues, submit documents over and over, and plead at different counters to get basic medicines. Even after successfully registering and following every protocol, we were told that crucial drugs were not covered or simply not available. Most medicines listed under the Golden Card were low-quality, inexpensive generics. Anything remotely effective had to be bought from private pharmacies at high costs. The card offered the illusion of care while leaving families like mine to suffer the same financial burden it promised to ease.

2. Infrastructure Or Injustice?

One expects at least the basics from a “premier” hospital: clean beds, functioning fans, fresh air, and hygienic surroundings. But SKIMS Soura resembled more of a crumbling warehouse than a healing institution. In my father’s ward, housing 36 patients, there was just one tiny exhaust fan working against suffocating heat and foul smells: no air conditioning, no cross-ventilation. Imagine elderly patients, post-surgery patients, and asthma patients, all trapped in a stifling room for hours and days. The risk of infection due to poor ventilation alone is alarming. Add to this the frequent sight of cockroaches crawling near medicine trays, and even rats scuttling beneath beds at night—this paints a terrifying image. Cleanliness, which should be non-negotiable in a hospital, is a showpiece act performed only during doctor rounds.

3. Doctor Rounds: Theatre Over Therapy

Every morning, doctors came for rounds—a routine that should’ve brought updates, guidance, and a sense of security. But at SKIMS Soura, it felt more like a ceremonial procession. A group of doctors walked briskly through the ward, huddled together in internal discussion, rarely acknowledging patients or families. More often than not, the rounds turned into teaching sessions among doctors—speaking in medical jargon, analysing case histories among themselves—while patients and attendants were completely excluded from the conversation. I once asked politely, “What’s the next step for my father’s treatment?” The reply? A cold, dismissive “We know what to do.” That’s it. No empathy, no context, no information. The rounds were more about status and hierarchy than genuine care. For caregivers watching their loved ones in pain, such detachment is devastating. A simple sentence of reassurance can mean the world—but even that seems to be in short supply.

4. A Misdiagnosis That Cost Me My Health

The neglect at SKIMS didn’t end with my father. I too fell ill—drained physically and mentally from the ordeal. I visited a doctor within the same hospital who hastily prescribed strong antibiotics without conducting even the most basic diagnostic test. Trusting him, I took the medicine for 18 days, growing weaker each day. Only after visiting a private clinic did I learn that a culture test should have been conducted, and the bacteria causing my infection were resistant to the prescribed drugs. I had wasted precious time, worsened my condition, and spent over Rs 5000 on ineffective medication. The worst part? This wasn’t an isolated error—it’s a pattern where prescriptions seem more influenced by pharmaceutical lobbies than patient needs. It felt as if I wasn’t a person, just another ‘case’ pushed through a conveyor belt of careless treatment.

5. Do-It-Yourself Care In A Government Hospital

I was stunned when I first heard a ward staff member say, “If you want clean sheets, change them yourself.” In a government hospital? Patients are supposed to clean their beds? Yes. If a patient is unable or unwilling, they are expected to sleep on the same stained bedsheet for days, even weeks. Bathrooms were unkempt, with no soap, no tissue, and barely any cleaning. Sanitisers were missing. Most of the hygiene tasks were done by the attendants. And we did them—out of love and necessity. But it wasn’t just physically exhausting. It was degrading. We came to a hospital for care, and ended up being janitors, nurses, runners, and pharmacists—all rolled into one.

6. A Hospital Divided: Classism In Medical Corridors

One of the most jarring experiences was the cafeteria—where I discovered that doctors had a clean, well-lit, private dining space while patients and attendants were left to eat in a dingy, neglected corner. The inequality was stark. Even the lifts operated differently. Doctors had unrestricted access while patients, including the elderly and disabled, waited endlessly for a ride. The hospital was not just divided by roles, but by invisible class barriers. It felt less like a public hospital and more like a government institution where rank dictated dignity.

7. The Silent Suffering Of Families

Caregivers are the invisible victims of hospital negligence. We don’t appear on medical records, but we bear the weight of illness just as heavily. For 25 days, I barely slept. I lived off tea and leftovers, slept on a plastic chair, cried in silence, and prayed harder than I ever have. The hospital provided no place to rest, no counselling, and no emotional support. We were expected to be strong, present, and available—without anyone recognising the trauma we were enduring. The emotional toll was devastating. Hospitals must begin to see caregivers as part of the healing process—and treat them with equal care.

9. One Doctor Who Reminded Me What Care Means

Amid the exhaustion and despair, we met a rare exception—Dr Vivek, a pulmonologist, who reminded us of what healthcare is truly meant to be. He was compassionate, approachable, and deeply human in his approach. He didn’t just treat my father’s condition—he treated his anxiety, his fear, and his loneliness. It was his kind words, his gentle tone, and his patient explanations that made my father feel better—sometimes more than any medicine could. Doctors like him are a rare blessing, and yes, there are others like him who are doing their best in a system that hardly supports or recognises their dedication. But how much can they take on alone? They are few in number, and stretched thin across a crumbling system. Their sincerity, though powerful, cannot cover up the institutional indifference that surrounds them. It is unfair to rely on a handful of good doctors to carry the burden of an entire failing system.

Final Reflections: What Desperately Needs To Change

What happened to me is not rare—it’s routine. If you ask around, you’ll hear similar stories from countless families. Our healthcare system in Kashmir is collapsing under its own weight. What we need is not token reforms, but a complete cultural shift. Hospitals must not be bureaucratic factories—they must become healing sanctuaries again. The road to recovery must include:

– Full transparency in administration and treatment

– Mandatory hygiene audits and accountability mechanisms

– Focused investment in patient-friendly infrastructure

– Mandatory communication training for doctors

– Scrutiny and restructuring of the Golden Card implementation

– Mental health support units for caregivers and staff

– Real consequences for unethical medical-commercial practices

Conclusion: When Hospitals Become Battlefields

Hospitals are meant to cure the body, soothe the mind, and protect the vulnerable. But today, they resemble battlegrounds where patients fight not just illness, but systems that ignore, exploit, and exhaust them. Until the day comes when hospitals value people over process, and care over convenience, families like mine will keep walking out not with hope—but with trauma. And that, too, will be untreated.

Nazia Qureshi