By: Arshid Qalmi
At least a month ago, I became not just a caregiver but a helpless witness inside what is considered the epitome of emergency care in Kashmir—SKIMS Srinagar. What I experienced has left me deeply shaken, not only because I lost a beloved family member, but because that loss now feels avoidable.
My relative was a patient of chronic liver cirrhosis, recently diagnosed with Hepatocellular Carcinoma (HCC). For nearly a decade, he had managed his illness with incredible strength and dignity, under the care of highly qualified specialists at ILBS, Delhi. A TACE procedure done last year at ILBS was smooth and without complications. However, following a recurrence of HCC, we returned to Kashmir and consulted top departments at SKIMS—Gastroenterology, Surgery, and Radio Oncology.
After detailed discussions, doctors confidently suggested a procedure called Microwave Ablation (MWA). While we had initial concerns about the skill level of local interventionists, the composure and assurance shown by the SKIMS team encouraged us to proceed. After all, trust is the cornerstone of any medical journey.
Our patient was fully functional, physically stable, and mentally prepared on the day of admission. He walked into the hospital independently. But what followed was nothing short of a medical and human tragedy.
The MWA procedure began as scheduled. Roughly two hours later, the medical team rushed out, asking for platelets and blood units—without any explanation. We were asked to sign papers without understanding the severity of the complication that had occurred. It was clear something had gone wrong, yet there was no transparency.
My relative was brought out unconscious, extremely pale, and was directly shifted to the ICU Neuro. From that moment, his condition began to deteriorate.
The ICU at SKIMS, despite its technical reputation, is a chaotic space—overburdened, undercoordinated, and ethically hollow. We waited hours for basic CBC test results, even while the patient lay fighting for life. Despite multiple transfusions—over seven units of blood and many platelet infusions—his health declined with each passing hour.
Through our own desperate investigation, we learned that during the MWA procedure, a critical vein—possibly the portal vein—had been injured. Internal bleeding ensued, affecting multiple organ systems. His body weakened, not just from the illness, but from what appears to be iatrogenic trauma—injury caused during the medical procedure.
As his condition worsened, the medical staff appeared resigned. It seemed as if they were waiting for death, not fighting to prevent it. He was eventually put on a ventilator and succumbed after three agonizing days.
What haunts me more than the loss is the lack of accountability and dignity in care. We repeated tests outside the hospital, and the results contradicted those of SKIMS. If diagnostic labs inside Kashmir’s most reputed hospital can’t be trusted, where does the common man turn?
Coordination among departments was nearly non-existent, and the culture within was robotic at best, apathetic at worst. Not once did we receive a clear explanation, an apology, or even a proper disclosure of what went wrong during the procedure.
Why was a high-risk MWA procedure conducted without full preparation for possible complications?
Why is there no protocol for timely and transparent communication with attendants?
Why does basic diagnostic delay continue even in critical care units?
Why is pseudoconfidence replacing competence in some medical practices?
This story is not just mine. It echoes in the halls of every tertiary care hospital in Kashmir where overconfidence, undertraining, and systemic indifference often intersect—with patients paying the price.
Kashmir doesn’t lack talent. It lacks institutional accountability. Our hospitals need:
– Transparent reporting systems for procedures gone wrong
– Ethical and communication training for resident doctors
– Functional lab and diagnostic services with real-time delivery
– Independent medical grievance redressal cells
– And above all, a culture of humility and care.
Until then, faith in public health institutions will continue to erode.
I lost someone I loved to a system that failed to care. Let this article be not just a cry of pain—but a call for reform.
