Father’s Story at Children’s Hospital Srinagar

The shift of once-popular GB Pant Hospital from Sonawar, Srinagar, to the newly built 500-bedded Government Children’s Hospital at Bemina in 2023 brought a wave of optimism across the Kashmir Valley and even to some districts of the Pir Panjal region. The relocation was hailed as a long-overdue upgrade in pediatric care, offering a sigh of relief to countless families who previously struggled to reach the old facility at Sonawar. That hospital, despite the dedication of its staff, was often a scene of obstacles—crowded wards, limited infrastructure, and the unfortunate reality that children sometimes did not receive timely care.

The new hospital at Bemina, on the city outskirts along the National Highway, promised modern facilities, spacious wards, and easier access. Its infrastructure was vastly superior, a marked improvement over the shadowy, cramped corners of its former location. For many of us, seeing the gleaming façade of the Children’s Hospital on every drive past the JVC junction instilled a quiet hope—hope that no child would be lost to neglect or inadequate care.

That hope, however, was tested in a way I could never have imagined. On 14 August 2025, I vividly remember, after the birth of my child at SDH Sopore, joy quickly gave way to anxiety. Our newborn was diagnosed with left upper lobe (LUL) consolidation—a serious lung condition. The sweets I had planned to distribute among friends and relatives, suddenly became irrelevant, replaced by the grim reality of medical emergencies.

The rush began immediately. From Sopore hospital, we were taken to the District Hospital in Baramulla. I can’t ever forget how my baby’s condition broke me into tears till we reached GMC, Baramulla. I will never forget the dedication of the female doctors there, who worked, tirelessly, into the night to stabilize our child. Despite their best efforts, by 1:30 a.m., they advised that we transfer our baby to the Children’s Hospital in Srinagar. My heart sank. I called the toll-free ambulance number, 108, only to be told that the vehicle would take at least half an hour to arrive from Chandoosa CHC. Helpless, I paced the hospital corridors, feeling torn between despair and hope.

It was my brother-in-law’s gentle encouragement, reminding me to trust in Allah (SWT), that helped me steady myself. Together, we walked to the ATM to prepare cash, unaware that the ambulance service was free. Ten minutes later, the call came—our ride had arrived. Around 1:45 a.m., we were escorted into a fully equipped ALS JK05K/4016 ambulance, driven by Shafkat Bakshi escorted by ambulance’s emergency technician Sajid Bashir, whose calm words and kindness along the way felt nothing short of angelic. He even stopped the vehicle twice to ensure everything was well before we reached Bemina, where the corridors of the hospital seemed, at first, as daunting as the night itself.

The days that followed blurred into a haze of anxiety and sleepless nights. My tiny baby lay in the NICU on CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) for three long days, each beep of the machine echoing like a drumbeat in my mind. I wandered the sterile corridors endlessly, prayers filling the hours, fearing each moment that the next update could bring heartbreak. The NICU’s beeping monitors, antiseptic smell, and distant announcements became my constant companions. Only the compassion of nurses, the reassurances of doctors, and the unwavering support of family provided the sliver of hope I clung to.

I remember my reluctance to see my child initially, until my mother-in-law insisted I visit. Seeing my baby wired to tubes, so vulnerable, broke me into tears—tears that drew gentle reprimands from a young nurse: “Baher jav aur yeh ronna donna bund karo, kam krne do humain. (Please go out and stop crying here; let us work”). Even amid these difficult moments, I witnessed dedication, patience, and compassion that reminded me why this hospital was such a vital institution.

By the fifth day, relief arrived in the form of a small victory—our baby’s condition had improved enough to be shifted to the adjacent ward. Wearing clothes to the baby was a marvelous sign in an ambience where others’ babies were on the ventilator from long time. Literally, the joy of holding a child, now recovering, after days of fear and uncertainty, was indescribable. Our stay in Ward 8 was brief, and soon we were ready to return home, carrying with us a renewed sense of gratitude and perspective.

Yet, my memorable experience at this hospital also highlighted areas needing improvement. Security personnel, while tasked with maintaining order, sometimes treated patients and attendants harshly. Simple courtesy could go a long way in fostering trust and comfort. The hospital’s backyard also requires attention; stray animals should be kept at bay, and the backyard area must be maintained with the same care as the front. The park in front, must be restored with complete fencing for decorative aesthetics. Besides the concrete floored parking area; a covered steel shed, additionally, with drinking water facilities for attendants would ease the burden on families, maintaining hygiene and providing respite during long waits.

My journey through the Children’s Hospital at Bemina was harrowing, emotional, and ultimately transformative. It taught me resilience, patience, and the irreplaceable value of life. And while the memory of those tense nights will remain, so too will the gratitude for the tireless staff, the kindness of strangers, and the moments of hope and healing that carried us through amidst adversity.

Manzoor Akash is educator, author and regular contributor to GK’s Senior Citizens’ Lounge