Last week, a previously healthy 50-year-old man died in our hospital following a massive stroke. A CT scan revealed a deep intracerebral hemorrhage.

Sudden death evokes a torrent of emotions—shock, denial, frustration, anger, and grief—not necessarily in that order. Shortly after the patient’s death in our ICU, a furious mob of nearly 50 people bypassed hospital security, stormed into the stroke unit, and began shouting and abusing the residents and nurses. The crowd refused to accept that brain hemorrhages are often fatal, with limited medical interventions available to alter outcomes. Tempers flared, and verbal spats threatened to escalate into physical violence. It took the persuasive counseling of a young faculty member to defuse the situation and disperse the mob.

We later learned that the patient had visited the hospital a day earlier, complaining of giddiness. An emergency resident examined him, checked his vital signs, performed an ECG, and found no abnormalities. She advised him to see an ENT specialist the next day and prescribed medication for vertigo. However, within 24 hours, the patient’s condition deteriorated—his face sagged, his arm became limp, and his leg lost power. He rapidly became drowsy, his breathing grew labored, and he required emergency hospitalization. Despite ventilatory support and medications to reduce brain swelling, he succumbed within hours.

The mob returned the following night. Though the doctors had ordered a post-mortem, the crowd continued shouting, disrupting hospital operations and drawing the attention of outpatients, whose curiosity made it even harder for doctors to function. Thankfully, calmer voices prevailed, and the crowd eventually dispersed.

Over the past few years, doctors have observed a troubling trend—patients and their relatives are becoming increasingly impatient, distrustful, and aggressive. The traditional doctor-patient relationship, once grounded in mutual trust and respect, is being eroded and replaced by a transactional provider-client dynamic.

There is nothing wrong with patients being aware of their rights or developing a healthy skepticism toward medical science. Doctors should welcome informed discussions, patient questions, and scrutiny of clinical decisions. They must also recognize that grieving relatives, faced with sudden loss, may react irrationally.

But what happens when this frustration turns into outright violence? What should doctors do when they are abused, physically threatened, or when hospital property is vandalized? While attacking medical personnel is now a non-bailable offense, punishable by up to three years in prison and a fine of Rs. 50,000, legal deterrents alone seem ineffective. Public hospitals often lack adequate security, leaving doctors vulnerable. In response, young doctors, their patience frayed, sometimes escalate conflicts by raising their voices—a dangerous strategy when dealing with volatile crowds. Such incidents occur with alarming regularity in emergency departments, ICUs, and even general wards, where unchecked hordes of relatives and well-wishers flood sensitive hospital areas.

Ethicists argue that while doctors deserve protection to perform their duties effectively, hospitals must also be more accountable to the public. Administrators believe that open communication, transparent care, and keeping families informed can help de-escalate tensions. However, young doctors counter that, despite their best efforts, they frequently encounter hostility, confrontation, and even physical violence.

Unrealistic patient expectations play a significant role in these altercations. Many incidents stem from dissatisfaction with medical services or the failure to meet explicit and implicit demands. Public hospitals, strained by limited resources, struggle to meet patient needs. A handful of overworked residents manage overcrowded wards, long queues frustrate patients, and doctors navigate a chaotic, inefficient system. In such an environment, it is hardly surprising that tempers flare, sometimes with tragic consequences.

All healthcare professionals have the right to work in an environment free from harassment and violence. Yet, hospitals are no longer just places of healing—they have also become sites of abuse, intimidation, and, in extreme cases, physical assault. Hospitals are no longer “Great Place to Work, Great Place to Receive Care and a Great Place to Practice Medicine”. They are also places to be abused, insulted, kicked, bitten, punched, knifed, hit, stabbed or spat at.

It is time to ask: How can we restore the sanctity of healthcare spaces and ensure that doctors can practice medicine without fear?