Treating the dead with dignity

Family members of Uphaar Cinema fire victims pay homage during the 18th anniversary of the tragedy in New Delhi.
| Photo Credit: The Hindu

In the pre-privatisation era, public hospitals faced huge challenges in managing patients due to overcrowding, inadequate infrastructure such as beds and equipment, and limited resources. The 1990s were also the time when frequent epidemics of gastroenteritis and cholera hit Delhi, claiming lives across hospitals in the city.

In 1992, I was sent to Safdarjang Hospital to report on the condition of gastroenteritis-affected patients and the status of the government hospital. As is the case even now, the general ward that morning three decades ago was overflowing with patients. Amid that chaos, as I walked across the ward, I noticed that two people had died. I was distressed by the sight but there was something that would disturb me even more: the insensitivity of the staff.

For the paramedics, nurses, and medicos on duty, caregiving and declaring death are both routine business. There were at least 30 beds in that room and a majority made space for more than one patient. The over-burdened doctors showed no urgency in coming to the bed where the bodies lay still.

However, after they completed the mandatory paper work, there was a flurry of activity. “Bed No.2 waale ko borey me pack kar do jaldi (pack the man in bed No. 2 in the sack quickly)”, shouted a technician across the room.

I watched the body being swiftly shoved into a jute bag. I had no connection with the patient, but I was upset. Why was a body being treated in such an inhumane, undignified manner? The next set of patients was immediately brought in to occupy the bed.

I encountered more such situations inside government hospitals in later years of reporting. I particularly remember visiting the mortuary at the All India Institute of Medical Sciences after the Uphaar cinema fire tragedy in 1997 — bodies were flung across the ward and wails rendered the air.

To exit emotionally from such situations is not easy for reporters. I would often argue with my doctor friends about this callousness. They would acknowledge that empathy is crucial in healthcare, but would also cite the many barriers they faced — time constraints, a heavy workload, stress, burnout, and emotional exhaustion — that made it impossible for them to demonstrate it.

In a country such as ours, numbers are a bane. Following a death, bills are brought out quickly and beds vacated, leaving the affected families helpless. Why can’t hospitals be grounded in comfort and dignity? I was once told there is unnecessary suffering because a dying patient is often viewed as a failure.

I wondered, could a department established just to handle bodies address the gap? End-of-life care is not yet fully realised in our hospitals. It is important to talk to those in mourning and treat a body with dignity. This helps the family deal with grief at that moment, which is necessary yet ignored.

Recently, my father died at AIIMS. Seeing how the hospital handled his body showed me how we can reconfigure entire care systems. One may argue that the perspective changes when a body is being donated for medical purposes (as was the case with my father’s body) and that such care may not be possible in every case. But I believe that the respectful environment created by the anatomy department is not difficult to replicate.

The AIIMS anatomy department has devised simple ways to honour the departed. One person simply told me, “Your father is under our care.” Those few words impacted me. After my father’s passing, his body was given to us the next day, washed and wrapped in a clean white sheet. We were provided space within the department to perform a few basic rites. We were also told that once the medical purpose was served, AIIMS would perform the cremation on behalf of the family and give us his ashes later for immersion. I couldn’t have asked for a more dignified closure.

soma.basu@thehindu.co.in