SHAMED INTO HOSPITALS: HOW FEAR, STATUS, AND IGNORANCE MADE HEALTH A BUSINESS
- Madhukar Dama
- 10 hours ago
- 10 min read
INTRODUCTION: YOU WERE NEVER REALLY FREE TO CHOOSE
When was the last time you were sick and simply rested?
When was the last time you trusted your body instead of rushing to a hospital?
When was the last time someone said: "Let’s wait, let the body work, nature knows"?
In modern India, that sentence is almost illegal. Because in this society, if you don’t visit a hospital, people don’t ask what you need. They ask: “Why are you being so careless?”
You were never helped. You were shamed into medical obedience.
This is not health. This is fear-driven submission.
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1. HOW INDIANS USE SHAME INSTEAD OF SUPPORT
"Still doing home remedies? You’ll end up dead."
"You think ginger water can fix everything?"
"You want to be a hero and then blame others?"
"Don’t be stupid. Go see a doctor like normal people."
This isn’t love. This isn’t care. This is disguised control.
When a fever strikes, most Indians don’t ask: “What does your body need?” They ask: “Which hospital are you going to?”
That’s not choice. That’s learned helplessness.
> Real Story: Shalini, a 38-year-old teacher, was mocked by her neighbors for not vaccinating her son. She gave in. Within weeks, he developed seizures. Now she avoids everyone. Not because of the mistake — but the silence that followed.
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2. COMMON HEALTH ISSUES YOU’RE SHAMED FOR NOT HOSPITALIZING
Fever:
“Why are you not taking a paracetamol?” Truth: Fever is a healing response. Rest, hydration, fasting help more than suppression.
Cough/Cold:
“Go get an antibiotic! You’ll spread it to everyone.” Truth: Most coughs are viral and self-resolving.
Loose Motion:
“You’ll die of dehydration!” Truth: It’s how your body throws out toxins. ORS and rest usually fix it.
Minor Injuries:
“Tetanus shot? What’s wrong with you?” Truth: Proper cleaning and turmeric or neem have healed wounds for centuries.
Grief or Anxiety:
“Better get antidepressants before you go mad.” Truth: Talking, crying, walking, fasting, and community support are often enough.
Menstrual Pain:
“Take a painkiller. Stop being dramatic.” Truth: Heat, rest, posture correction, and food healing are ignored.
> Real Story: Ravi, a 66-year-old farmer, slipped and sprained his knee. His son forced an MRI and started painkillers. All Ravi wanted was rest and mustard oil massage. Three months later, he’s still in pain — and addicted to the pills.
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3. THE SHAME VOCABULARY: WORDS THAT CONTROL
“You’ll regret this.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
“Don’t act overconfident.”
“You’re playing with life.”
“Everyone goes to the doctor. Why not you?”
“You think you know more than trained experts?”
“What will people say if something goes wrong?”
These phrases are not concern.
They are covert emotional manipulation.
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4. THE PSYCHOLOGY BEHIND MEDICAL SHAME
Why do Indians shame instead of support?
They fear death more than they trust life.
They worship status more than simplicity.
They trust machines more than the body.
They’ve been programmed to panic.
Every parent who panics at a child’s fever is passing on fear—not protection.
Every spouse who demands a test is outsourcing trust to a report—not to the person.
> Historical Contrast: In earlier generations, daadis applied warm castor oil, bathed children in neem, and watched with patience. Illness was not an enemy. It was a messenger.
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5. THE SHAME-TO-HOSPITAL FUNNEL
Symptom → Worry → Advice → Fear → Shame → Test → Pill → Dependency → Lifelong Checkups
This is not healing.
This is a business pipeline.
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6. HOW SHAME BECAME A MEDICAL BUSINESS MODEL
Hospitals know:
Shame creates urgency.
Urgency creates obedience.
Obedience creates profit.
That’s why even mild symptoms are turned into emergencies.
“If you delay, we won’t be responsible.”
“Come for tests. Just to be sure.”
“Start this tablet — what’s the harm?”
They plant shame.
They harvest money.
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7. CULTURAL EXAMPLES OF SHAME IN INDIAN FAMILIES
In-laws: “Don’t act like a villager. Go to a good hospital.”
Husband: “I can afford the best. Why are you resisting?”
Neighbors: “Didn’t go to the hospital? How backward.”
Parents: “You’re making us look like we didn’t raise you properly.”
Spiritual gurus: “Faith is good, but don’t be foolish.”
It’s always the same message: “You’re not wise. You’re irresponsible.”
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8. REAL-LIFE CONSEQUENCES OF HOSPITAL SHAMING
C-sections that were never needed
Tonsil removals for normal childhood fevers
Unnecessary lifelong medications
Vaccine injuries never acknowledged
Anxiety, panic, and body distrust
Huge medical debts
The cost of shame is not just money. It is dignity, autonomy, and instinct.
> Real Story: Aarti, a 25-year-old IT worker, developed thyroid after a stressful C-section. She now spends ₹5000/month on hormone pills. All because she was too ashamed to say “I want to wait” during labor.
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9. WHAT SHAME HIDES: THE POWER OF NATURAL HEALING
Fasting = Restarts digestion and immunity
Sunlight = Restores circadian rhythm
Sleep = Natural detox and cell repair
Touch = Nervous system healing
Grief and silence = Hormonal regulation
Movement and walking = Lymphatic drainage
None of these are advertised.
Because they are free.
And shame teaches you to reject anything free.
> What You Could Have Done Instead:
Fever: Rest, sunlight, coriander tea
Loose motion: Fasting, buttermilk, sabja water
UTI: Coriander seed water, pomegranate juice, early sleep
Skin rashes: Neem bath, no soap, food detox
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10. HOW EDUCATION MAKES SHAME WORSE
Most educated Indians are more hospital-dependent than rural folk.
Why?
They equate health with reports.
They believe obedience = intelligence.
They fear being seen as superstitious.
A degree doesn’t teach you about your own body.
It teaches you to outsource your trust.
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11. HOW TO BREAK THE SHAME CYCLE
Ask: Whose fear is this? Whose voice is this?
Pause: Give the body 48 hours before rushing to intervention (unless truly critical).
Learn: What your body actually does in sickness.
Observe: Who mocks you for resting, and why?
Speak up: Tell loved ones: “I’m trying something different this time.”
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12. THE NEW REVOLUTION: HEAL WITHOUT HOSPITAL ADDICTION
Millions of Indians are returning to:
Clay pots
Herbal teas
Squatting toilets
Slow eating
Fasting
Body literacy
They are still mocked.
But they are also healing.
They are not patients.
They are people reclaiming their nature.
> Ritual to Reclaim Health:
Observe your next fever without medicine.
Ask an elder for 3 healing practices they used.
Spend 1 year avoiding tests unless truly needed.
Write down every time someone shames you for trusting your body.
Burn that paper. And walk free.
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CONCLUSION: SHAME IS NOT CARE. IT’S CONTROL.
When hospitals become temples,
and doctors become gods,
your body becomes a sin.
You no longer ask: “What do I feel?”
You only ask: “What will people say if I don’t go?”
That’s not health.
That’s imprisonment.
Let’s walk out of the shame.
Let’s walk back to trust.
—
HEALING DIALOGUE: SHAMED INTO HOSPITALS
(Three generations meet Madhukar to unlearn fear, guilt, and medical obedience passed down as 'care')
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CHARACTERS
Kanta (78): Grandmother. A retired teacher. Went through decades of hospital dependency. Proud of being 'modern.'
Rekha (52): Kanta's daughter. Forced into dozens of tests, surgeries, and medication due to her mother's fears. Regretful now.
Diya (26): Rekha’s daughter. Curious and confused. She wants to understand health differently. Is hesitant about routine hospital visits.
Madhukar: A former scientist turned hermit. Listens more than he speaks. He lives simply in a mud hut near a river.
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SCENE
The family sits in Madhukar’s shaded courtyard. Birds call in the background. A pot of neem water bubbles gently. The women sit cross-legged on a cow-dung-coated floor, surrounded by silence.
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Diya: Madhukar... I feel like something is wrong with the way we deal with illness. We fear it too fast. We rush too fast. And somehow we’re still never well.
Kanta (briskly): That’s because we don’t go early enough! In our time, we took no chances. The minute you had fever, we went to the hospital.
Rekha (softly): And I was the experiment.
Kanta (startled): What do you mean?
Rekha: Every time I had stomach pain — you took me.
Ultrasound. Then CT scan. Then thyroid test. Then calcium test. Then supplements.
By 30, I had a drawer full of tablets.
By 40, I had a uterus removal.
Now at 52, I have no energy, no gut strength, no periods, no peace.
Kanta (defensive): But I thought I was saving you! I did what everyone said. What the doctor said.
Madhukar (quietly): Sometimes love is not healing.
Sometimes love is just fear with a prettier name.
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Diya: That’s what I want to understand.
Why is everyone so scared of being sick? Even a sneeze, people run to a doctor. Even a cough gets a blood test.
Rekha: Because we were told — “If something happens, it’ll be your fault.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
“Don't be careless.”
Kanta (breaking down): Yes! I was so scared.
When you were 8 and had fever, and I waited a day...
People blamed me.
So after that, I never waited again.
Even when I knew it was nothing, I panicked.
Madhukar: So shame entered your blood.
And you passed it as medicine.
---
Diya: Ajji, when I told you I wanted to try natural ways for my period pain, you scolded me.
Kanta: Because I was afraid.
Because when people suffer, they look for something to blame. If I didn’t tell you to go to the doctor, I’d be blamed too.
Rekha: But now we see what that blame has cost us. The hospital didn’t fix me.
It made me dependent.
Madhukar: The hospital treats the body like a broken machine.
But the body is a conversation — not a car.
You cannot scream at it to be well.
You must listen. And listening requires silence — not shame.
---
[A SILENCE DESCENDS. KANTA LOOKS DOWN.]
Kanta: I was always so proud of being modern.
My own mother never went to a hospital.
She healed with neem, fasting, silence, and prayers.
I mocked her. I thought she was ignorant.
But I see now — she lived 96 years with strong teeth, strong legs, and a clean gut.
And I — with my scans and tablets — can’t sleep without two pills.
Rekha: Ma, I forgive you.
But I also need you to walk this healing with me now.
Let’s try differently with Diya.
---
Diya: I want to know — what are the first steps to stop this shame? It’s so automatic.
I sneeze — and I feel guilty for not taking anything.
Madhukar: That is the scar of generations.
But it can be healed.
1. First — Wait.
Give the body a day. Let it speak.
2. Second — Learn.
Study what fever, cough, pain really are.
3. Third — Track the voice.
Whenever you feel panic — ask: “Whose voice is this?” Your own? Or someone else's?
4. Fourth — Rest. Fully. Not on the phone. Not with distractions. But real, horizontal silence.
5. Fifth — Touch the earth.
Walk barefoot. Sun. Clay. Neem. Turmeric. Buttermilk.
Return to where healing begins.
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Kanta (smiling faintly): Can we start today? Can we go back home and clean the medicine shelf? And make tulsi tea instead of searching for pills?
Rekha: Can we promise to stop saying: “Better safe than sorry”? And start saying: “Let’s listen first.”
Diya: And when I get sick — will you both let me try natural first? Even if neighbors mock us?
Kanta: Yes. Let them mock.
Because this time, we’re not being modern.
We’re being whole.
Madhukar: The shame that once made you sick — can now become the reason you heal.
Let the wound become wisdom. Let the fear become fire. Let the family become a forest — not a prescription pad.
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FINAL SCENE
The three women walk away from Madhukar’s hut.
Barefoot. Laughing. Holding hands.
They stop under a neem tree.
And sit together, for the first time in decades — without guilt, without fear — just listening.
To the breeze. To the belly. To the silence.
And it is enough.
---
The healing dialogue is complete. It captures three generations confronting the legacy of medical shame — with the elder generations finally ready to unlearn their fear and walk beside the youngest in a new direction of trust.
“THEY CALLED IT CARE, BUT IT WAS JUST FEAR”
(three women, one wound, and the gods of the waiting room)
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they never gave her a chance.
not one.
not even a second.
the minute she sneezed,
they dragged her to the temple
with clean floors, masked gods,
and a reception desk that smelled like Dettol and dread.
“better safe than sorry,”
they said,
shoving her into fluorescent-lit forgiveness.
---
they called it care.
but it was just fear
with a stethoscope and a billing counter.
---
her mother wore shame like a coat
stitched by neighbors, teachers, her own trembling mother.
she thought love meant
holding hands in the queue
at the diagnostic lab.
“don’t be stupid.”
“take the pills.”
“only quacks do home remedies.”
“you want to die young?”
that’s what her love sounded like.
---
the daughter obeyed.
oh, how she obeyed.
paracetamol at 99.2
iron pills for tiredness
thyroid test for mood swings
ultrasound for gas
anxiety meds for being human
a uterus removal for peace of mind
she emptied herself into a medical file
and never came back.
---
her spine curved from sitting in waiting rooms
not from age.
her gut died from prescription food
not from disease.
her sex died from hormone pills
not from menopause.
but the shame said,
“you’re doing the right thing.”
and the right thing
felt like dying
on an EMI plan.
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and then came the granddaughter.
wide-eyed, spine straight,
voice trembling with clarity.
“what if I don’t go?” she asked.
“what if I wait?”
“what if I listen to my body?”
“what if I just trust?”
the silence exploded like a test result.
---
the mother wept.
the grandmother flinched.
the shame didn’t know what to do
with a woman
who asked questions
instead of swallowing prescriptions.
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“you’ll regret it.”
“don’t be reckless.”
“be practical.”
“you’ll make us look bad.”
they said these things
not because they cared
but because they had been trained
to worship illness
as the only god that answers.
---
but the granddaughter
did not kneel.
she squatted in the garden,
massaged her belly with mustard oil,
drank tulsi tea,
and placed her palm on her chest
like a prayer
to a god that lived inside her
and not in the blood report.
---
her healing looked like rebellion.
but it was just memory
wrapped in new skin.
she remembered something
her ancestors knew
before shame made them afraid to sweat.
---
now three women
sit barefoot
under a neem tree,
drinking warm buttermilk
and peeling shame from their bones
like old bandages.
they don’t talk much anymore.
there’s nothing left to prove.
only the breeze speaks.
and the belly.
and the quiet.
---
they say illness is punishment.
but the real punishment
was believing that hospitals
were the only door to health.
they say you need doctors.
but the first doctor
was silence.
the second was breath.
the third was food.
the fourth was the sun.
---
they say you need shame
to stay alive.
but shame
is just a noose
with soft hands
and good intentions.
---
they say
it’s better to be safe than sorry.
but maybe
it’s better to be whole than obedient.
maybe
it’s better to be present than panicked.
maybe
it’s better to die trusting your breath
than live bowing to a machine
that never knew your name.
---
they called it care.
but it was just fear
with clean shoes
and a god complex.
---
and now
three women
walk away
from that altar.
barefoot.
unashamed.
alive.
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