Pain And Palliative Care Unit At DH Pulwama. Where Pain Is Heard And Hope Is Held

Pain And Palliative Care Unit At DH Pulwama 

Where Pain Is Heard And Hope Is Held

 

Dr Basharat Khan

In the heart of District Hospital Pulwama, past the noise of rushing trolleys and the chatter of crowded wards, there is a room where time moves differently. No one here is waiting for a diagnosis. There are no emergencies, no surgical miracles. Instead, there is something gentler—an atmosphere steeped in listening, patience, and a particular kind of tenderness rarely found in public hospitals.

This is the Pain and Palliative Care Unit. It is not a place for cure. It is a place for comfort. A place where the pain that outlasts medicine is neither ignored nor hidden, but met with quiet resolve and humane attention.

The clinic opens twice a week, on Mondays and Fridays. On those days, a slow stream of patients, many in advanced stages of illness, arrive seeking relief. Some have cancer that has spread too far. Others live with neuralgias, spinal injuries, diabetic neuropathies, or chronic post-operative pain. For many, this is the only space where their suffering is believed—where a groan is not a nuisance, but a symptom that deserves its own kind of science.

This unit began its journey in 2010, quietly and without fanfare. Over time, it slipped in and out of activity. But in recent years, particularly under the guidance of Dr. Tak, it has become something more enduring: a sanctuary for the weary, and a stronghold of compassionate medicine. In the last financial year alone, over 1,250 patients were treated here. That is not a small number for a service that does not advertise itself. That number speaks to something else: trust.

This unit is led by Dr M.D. Yousuf Tak (MBBS, MD, FIPM), Senior Consultant in Anaesthesiology and Interventional Pain Medicine, whose expertise and quiet leadership have shaped it into a trusted centre for pain relief and end-of-life care. He is supported by Dr Syed Wajahat Hussain, along with Dr Parvati Mohan and Dr Shaiq A. Wani, both DNB scholars, who bring clinical commitment and continuity to patient care.

Rafia Jan, the OT technician, plays a vital role in preparing and assisting with procedures, while Mushtaq Ahmad Mir and Khursheed Ahmad, the unit’s nursing support staff, ensure patients are cared for with gentleness, dignity, and patience. Together, this small, close-knit team sustains a service built not on spotlight or surplus, but on empathy, precision, and presence.

The procedures conducted here require skill and delicacy. Patients receive nerve blocks, trigger point injections,  epidural catheter placements, and morphine-based regimens, all within the modest space of a government hospital. Fluids are drained from lungs to help someone breathe again. Feeding tubes are inserted with care for those too weak to swallow. Cancer patients are spared the slow torture of unmanaged pain. Nothing here is done hastily, and nothing is done indifferently.

Even earlier this year, when the unit’s lead consultant was temporarily deputed elsewhere, the clinic remained open. The team continued. Over 180 patients were seen, 34 interventions carried out this year . No press note marked this persistence. But it happened, day after day, quietly and without break; because pain, after all, doesn’t wait for official instructions.

The challenges remain stark. There is no dedicated nursing staff, no surplus budget. Equipment wears out. Awareness in the community is still low, and the very word “palliative” is often misunderstood. Many families seek help only when it is too late, believing that pain is either to be endured or concealed.

But what this unit proves against the odds is that relief is not a luxury. It is a right. That suffering can be seen, and more importantly, it can be softened. And that in a place where lives are often measured by survival alone, there can still be space for grace.

Not every hero wears a stethoscope in the ER. Some sit quietly in a small room in Pulwama, holding the hands of those in pain, not rushing them, not abandoning them. And in that stillness, something extraordinary happens.

Because there are rooms where pain is silenced. But this is a room where it is heard. And that, perhaps is the beginning of real healing.

Dr Basharat Khan is writer, columnist/critic and author of the Book Literary Beats۰ He can be reached at chogalwriter76@gmail/ Devenalwhispers۰in