Who Decides The Treatment?

The Call In The Dark

Living in the mountains of Kumaon, deep into a dark, quiet night, the hospital phone suddenly rang! It was 11:40 p.m. when Sneha di, my roommate, and Sudeep da, who were on night duty, quickly got up and rushed out. I asked what had happened.

Sudeep da replied, “Pata nahi, koi bachhe aaye hain.”

We were staying in the guest house on the upper side of Aarohi’s campus. Curious and concerned, all three of us, with messy hair and sleepy eyes, walked down to the hospital, wondering, was there an accident? Why would children be coming to the hospital at this hour? Aarohi Aarogya Kendra (AAK) is a rural hospital nestled in the picturesque village of Satoli, in the Ramgarh development block of Nainital, Uttarakhand. It was established to meet the urgent health needs of people from Satoli and over 50 surrounding villages in the district.

As we entered the wardroom, four young boys were waiting; two were visible from the door, and two more were seated inside. They looked uncomfortable and anxious. I thought something serious must have happened. Could it be food poisoning?

The Patients From The City

All four boys were neatly dressed in branded T-shirts, hoodies, and jackets. Sneha di immediately started their registration. I joined her to help. As I took their details, I noticed all the boys spoke English with a confident, urban accent. They were around 10–11 years old and from Gurgaon (Delhi NCR). All of them complained of nausea – some had vomited, and others mentioned chest pain.

Just then, an elderly man in his 60s walked in. As soon as he entered, the energy in the room shifted. The doctor had arrived.

Dr. Prakash immediately started examining the children. One boy said, “I have been constantly feeling nauseous and dizzy ever since we got here!”, Another added, “I’m continuously vomitting!”

The children were accompanied by their schoolteacher, another, the resort manager where they were staying, and the third, their tour coordinator. When asked about their food, the coordinator chuckled and said, “They’ve been munching on Lays and snacks all day. They have a whole bag just for junk food.”

Dr. Prakash asked if they had been running or playing too much. Their teacher replied, “They’ve been jumping around since morning. They’re far from home, so they’re acting out.” The tour coordinator added, “They just arrived yesterday and had a long bus ride today too.”

Hysteria Or Something More?

Dr. Prakash turned to Ayansh, a boy who had already visited the hospital earlier that day for vomiting. In a groggy, nasal voice, Ayansh now complained about chest, stomach, and back pain. Dr. Prakash narrowed his eyes and said sharply,

“Your voice alone tells me you’re not sick; you’re pretending.” Then he declared, “This is hysteria.”

He explained hysteria (a dated term, once associated only with women) is a psychological condition where emotional distress turns into physical symptoms. “One boy got sick, so now they all feel sick,” he said. Pointing at Ayansh, the teacher said, “It’s fine, sir; his parents are already on their way to pick him up.”

Dr. Prakash asked, “Where exactly are they now?”

“In Haldwani,” the teacher replied.

The doctor turned to Ayansh: “Why are you troubling your parents like this, and that too in the middle of the night?” He added sarcastically, “Maybe you should go to Haldwani!”

Ayansh, without missing a beat, shot back with an arrogant smirk, “How can I go? Kya chalke jaun Haldwani?” (Am I supposed to walk to Haldwani?)

The boy’s smug little reply had the whole room cracking up.

Resistance And Reality

Unfazed, Dr. Prakash asked Sudeep Bhaiya to bring some tablets and injections. Sudeep Bhaiya walked towards the OPD immediately. “I’ll give you an injection; it will give you relief,” he told Ayansh. “No!! I don’t want an injection. Anyways, your treatment isn’t working,” Ayansh replied with the same cocky tone. Dr. Prakash tried to explain again, but Ayansh refused.

Eventually, he prescribed tablets for all the boys and asked Sneha Di to fetch them from the OPD. While she and Sudeep Da were out, Dr. Prakash, while reviewing the prescriptions, called out a medicine name and asked, “Do we have this?” I looked at him blankly. He glanced at the room and realized. He then smiled and commented, “Arey haan, saare kaam ke log to OPD mein gaye hai na!”

Once the medicines arrived, Dr. Prakash gave them to the children, explaining, “This is altitude sickness — that’s why you’re dizzy and nauseous.” He looked at the teacher and manager: “Whenever you bring kids to high altitudes, give their bodies time to acclimatize. Don’t let them jump around on day one. Even I take it slow when I come here from Delhi. Even though 2,000 ft may not sound like much, it’s still a big shift for their bodies.”

The Familiar Rant: The Protected Generation

Then, almost inevitably, the conversation turned into a familiar uncle-style conversation that began about how kids today are growing up differently.

Dr. Prakash said, “Of course, these kids live in AC environments 24/7. When they step out of the house, it’s from an AC car into an AC school. How can they adapt to this atmosphere?”

He added, “Their bodies are so used to comfort and protection. Therefore, even the slightest change triggers a reaction.”

The adults around—the teacher, the resort manager, and the tour coordinator—nodded in agreement. The manager and coordinator eagerly chimed in, adding their examples and echoing every word the doctor said. The teacher, however, kept a noticeable distance from the conversation. Perhaps aware that it wasn’t the right moment to openly agree or add to this critique, not in front of his students. The rant went on with how overprotectiveness and a lack of outdoor exposure had created a generation that reacted strongly to discomfort.

Meanwhile, the children sat silently, and the teacher, with subtle glances, began nudging them toward the exit. The treatment had been given. Their role here was done. It was time to go — and time to leave this little rant behind.

A Final Attempt And The Walk Of Fatigue

As they were leaving, one of the boys suddenly clutched his stomach and said to the teacher, “I’m going to vomit; where should I go?” I quickly directed him to the washroom. Dr. Sudeep quipped, “Haan haan, jao. Let’s see how much vomit you have. Main bhi dekhta hoon!”

The boy stopped at the washing basin outside. Sneha Di was already nearby, and she gently rubbed his back as he bent forward. Harsh, choking sounds echoed but only a trail of spit and a splash of the children walked back with slow, dragging steps, each one weighed down by fatigue — and perhaps, disappointment. The teacher and resort manager paused to thank Dr. Prakash before heading out with the boys. The rest were already waiting outside. Their smug little city-boy charm was gone. What lingered instead was silence, exhaustion, and a quiet sense of defeat.

More Than Just Medicine

I stood still with a strange heaviness in my heart. Of course, I felt bad for them. I imagined myself at that age — excited, far from home, suddenly unwell in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, and being told I was “pretending.” How confusing, how humiliating, and how helpless that must feel. It made me question:

Dr. Prakash did his job and perhaps did it well. He was calm, rational, and grounded in experience, probably a bit tired. I mean, a senior doctor in a rural hospital, where people walk hours just to access basic care, where resources are scarce, and every minute of rest matters. Where he has to save his energy for real emergencies. He had every reason to be annoyed. And perhaps he was right. Perhaps it wasn’t an emergency, just a wave of panic amplified by altitude and a day of bad choices.

But still … the kids? They weren’t pretending. It was a reaction – to a body they didn’t understand, to a place they couldn’t adjust to, to a freedom that came without warning labels. They weren’t weak. They were just unprepared. Not just for the mountains, but for the sharp clash between their cocooned world and this unfamiliar terrain.

So whose fault is it? Is it the parents’ who wrapped them in comfort, not realizing how brittle it made them? Or the cities, where every sneeze is diagnosed, and every discomfort is soothed with attention? Maybe it’s the schools that throw children into ‘adventures’ without preparing them for the unfamiliar. Or it is none of them. Maybe this is just what it looks like when one world meets another — not in conflict, but in confusion.

Note: Inspired by true events. Names changed for privacy.