Nurses Need Care Too. Especially In Kashmir.

By Sayima Wani

In the second year of my nursing studies in Kashmir, I already know what burnout looks like.

I've seen senior nurses work double shifts without complaint. I've watched them skip meals, hold back tears, and stay calm while managing chaos.

This is not just about professional commitment, it's survival in a broken system.

In hospitals across Kashmir, nurses are doing far more than what their job descriptions ask. They comfort patients whose families can't visit. They monitor oxygen levels, deliver medication, assist in surgeries, and often become the only source of emotional support for the sick.

But despite this critical role, we are undervalued, overworked, and, most of the time, invisible.

The staffing crisis in Jammu and Kashmir is no secret. More than 3,000 nursing posts have been vacant for years, according to the region's health department. The remaining workforce is stretched thin.

Many nurses are managing entire wards alone, sometimes looking after more than 40 patients during a single shift. That kind of load isn't just unsafe. It's inhumane.

India, as a whole, has only 1.9 nurses for every 1,000 people, falling well below the World Health Organization's recommended minimum of three. In Kashmir, the numbers are even worse.

But this isn't just about numbers on a page. It's about exhausted nurses making critical decisions under extreme pressure, and patients who suffer when care becomes rushed or inconsistent.

What's frustrating is how little this conversation shows up in the public discourse. We praise nurses once a year on International Nurses Day, celebrate Florence Nightingale's legacy, and then go back to ignoring the real, everyday struggles of those in uniform.

Even in nursing school, I feel the weight of what's ahead. We are taught technical skills, patient care protocols, and the importance of empathy. But no one prepares us for the mental toll.

No one talks about how common it is for nurses to experience anxiety, depression, or emotional fatigue.

In 2020, a national survey found that nearly 60 percent of Indian nurses reported moderate to severe burnout. In Kashmir, where infrastructure is weaker and strife adds another layer of stress, that number may be even higher.

The profession is also deeply gendered. While more men are now entering nursing, it's still widely seen as“women's work.” That perception means we are often dismissed, poorly paid, and rarely promoted.

Many nurses, mostly women, remain stuck in junior roles for years with no clear path forward. Others face harassment or discrimination but keep quiet because speaking up might cost them their job.

Still, we keep going. We continue because when a patient smiles in relief, or recovers after a long illness, we feel we've done something that matters. We continue because we believe in the value of care.

But that shouldn't mean we accept being neglected.

If Kashmir's healthcare system is to survive, nurses must be treated as the core professionals we are. Not just assistants to doctors, not just helpers, but skilled, essential workers who keep hospitals running.

That means filling vacant posts without further delay. It means paying fair wages and offering mental health support. And it means changing public attitudes that continue to see nursing as less than what it truly is: a foundation of healing.

I want to stay in Kashmir and serve my people as a nurse. But I also want to be respected, protected, and paid fairly for it.

That's not asking too much. It's asking for what should already be in place.

• The writer is a nursing student based in Kashmir. She can be reached at [email protected]

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