It was last week when we visited Bir Hospital to interview Dr Namrata Khadka.
Hospitals have always felt heavy and suffocating to me. Especially Bir Hospital — with its own burden of sorrow. Crowds of patients, lines of caretakers, groaning cries, wailing sirens, and doctors rushing past. The atmosphere is overwhelming, as if the entire nation is ill.
Just as we were about to begin the interview, a middle-aged man of Madhesi origin appeared at the door — short in stature, dressed in worn-out clothes and frayed slippers. His face was pale, tired.
He spoke a few words in his native language to senior neurosurgeon Dr Rajiv Jha and placed a bundle of documents in front of him. Dr Jha quickly signed them and turned to us:
“He’s Bhadai Baitha. His son has been admitted here for a year now with a brain tumor. We’re trying to continue his treatment either through the hospital or small staff donations. Still…”
Before he could finish, Baitha’s eyes welled up and tears streamed down his face.
Silence filled the room. None of us had words. His tears told the story: “I am carrying the endless pain of a father who’s helplessly watching his son suffer.”
That day, Baitha had come to seek a recommendation for a discount on a CT scan. “I’m only surviving in the hope that my son survives,” he said, unable to hold back his tears.
Bed Number 322
Neuro Ward, Bed 322. Sunil, Baitha’s son, lies still. His mother sits beside him in stunned silence, clutching his hand and silently shedding tears.
Their lives are shrouded in darkness. Every morning is a new struggle. She breaks down just by looking at her son. All she wants is to hear him say “Aama” one more time. But the reality is cruel. Her son can neither speak nor move.
For them, Kathmandu — a place of treatment — has become a battleground between life and death. After three complex surgeries, numerous CT scans, endless check-ups, and bags full of medicine, the treatment still remains incomplete.
Doctors say the treatment is ongoing, but the duration remains uncertain. The hospital has become their second home.
A shattered dream
It started last Bhadra. Sunil began showing signs of unusual behaviour — frequent headaches, blurred vision, changes in conduct. The family sensed something was wrong and decided to seek treatment.
From Pipara Rajwada in Rautahat, the Baitha couple boarded a night bus to Kathmandu. At dawn, they were dropped off in Kalanki — lost and clueless.
Someone in their village had said treatment at Patan Hospital was affordable. But how to get there? Which bus to take? They had no idea. Sitting by the roadside in confusion, a taxi stopped. The driver said it would cost Rs 700. With great difficulty, they reached the hospital and managed to get an OPD ticket. The doctor recommended an MRI, and the report revealed surgery might be necessary. They were advised to consult a surgeon at Bir Hospital.
Rushing to Bir at 3 pm that same day, Sunil was immediately admitted based on his symptoms. A few days later, a CT scan confirmed a tumor in his brain. “It’s urgent. If it bursts, he could die,” said the doctor.
Baitha had never even imagined such a thing — brain surgery? No one in his family had ever needed even basic medicine before. But he resolved: no matter what, he would save his son.
Three surgeries later
It’s been nearly a year. The Baitha couple waits with hope, but the struggle continues. Despite three major surgeries, each time they believe their son will finally recover — and each time, he deteriorates.
Sunil has lost his speech. “Now he barely utters a sound,” Baitha says, glancing at his son, breaking down into sobs.
Bhadai Baitha used to manage a humble living with labour work — no land, just a small hut by the river. He would work in Punjab, Bihar, wherever he could find daily wages to feed his family.
He hasn’t gone home or worked since. He wants to return, but not without his son’s recovery.
His father, aged 80, is back in the village. His mother passed away years ago. He recently married off his daughter, selling their last piece of land to fund the wedding. Thankfully, she had completed Grade 12 and didn’t require a large dowry.
They had taken Sunil to Rautahat for the wedding, but the next day, he fell unconscious. He had to be rushed back to Kathmandu. Since then, his condition has only worsened. He is now completely bedridden.
Meanwhile, Baitha constantly worries about his elderly father. “Last time I called, my father was crying and said, ‘I’ll die without seeing my grandson’s face.’”
Selling a watch to survive
Every morning, Baitha roams the hospital premises, extending his hand for help. Some give Rs 5, some Rs 10. On a lucky day, he might collect Rs 200 — enough for a bit of medicine.
Some passersby taunt him, “Probably begging for booze.” Others sneer, “You’re strong enough to work!” But in this city, he has no family, no job, no trust.
“I have to save my son. There’s no room for shame,” he says. “Yesterday, I collected Rs 270. I bought medicine. As for myself? Sometimes I survive a whole day just drinking water. I sleep hungry.”
His wife sits quietly beside him, dazed. Even arranging food twice a day is a challenge.
A few days ago, they needed Rs 15,000 for a CT scan. It was a mammoth task. They sold their Rs 30,000 phone and even Baitha’s watch. Some doctors helped with donations, just enough to get by.
They’ve sold their land and jewelry. There’s nothing left.
The doctors at Bir occasionally help with medicine or waive test fees. But they still owe nearly Rs 100,000 to the hospital pharmacy. The staff insists on payment before handing over medication — an amount that feels impossible to settle.
“I’ve suffered more than I ever thought possible. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone,” he says, still waiting for the day his son will stand and smile, call him “Baba,” and walk home — a day that would make all the sleepless nights in hospital beds worth it.
One question remains: Do the poor not deserve treatment?
There are probably few at Bir Hospital who don’t know the Baitha couple. Days come and go, but no one visits them. They are always alone, while others receive fruit baskets and visitors.
Baitha doesn’t know how long they’ll have to live like this. An entire year has passed in hospital. Festivals like Holi, Chhath, Dashain, and Tihar — all came and went in the ward.
Leaders often say, “Hospitals are run by the state.” But for fathers like Baitha, it seems the state never shows up.
In Nepal, healthcare is available for the privileged — those with access and wealth. For the poor, even dreaming of treatment is far-fetched. The state doesn’t see their dreams, doesn’t wipe their tears, doesn’t write policies for them. Their only support comes from kind strangers on hospital grounds.
“The doctors are doing their duty,” Baitha says. “Now, it’s all in God’s hands.” Yet he holds onto one burning question — Do the poor not deserve treatment? Is it a crime to have no money?
Dr Rajiv Jha, Senior Neurosurgeon, Bir Hospital
“When Sunil came to us, he had symptoms of severe headache, vomiting, and vision loss. A CT scan revealed a massive brain tumor — nearly 20% of the brain was affected. The tumor was widespread, covering the front and back of the brain. It was diagnosed as craniopharyngioma — a rare but dangerous non-cancerous tumor.
The tumor was around 10 cm. We operated in three stages. The first removed the hardest part affecting vision. When speech and eyesight improved, we removed more in the second surgery. In the third, we placed a ventriculoperitoneal (VP) shunt to drain excess fluid caused by the tumor.
Though not cancerous, such tumors can be more dangerous than cancer due to their location. Chemotherapy and radiation were also administered. Sunil is improving, but full recovery will take another few months.
We’ve tried to provide concessions wherever possible — through the hospital and personally as well.”
(Contact for support: Bhadai Baitha – 9825224013)
