Covid‑19 India: 26‑Year‑Old Doctor Makes Life‑or‑Death Choices That Shocked the Nation

Meet the “Young Samaritan” Behind New Delhi’s Overburdened Emergency Room

Dr. Rohan Aggarwal is only 26, still on the cusp of finishing his medical training next year—yet he’s already the frontline warrior deciding who gets oxygen and who doesn’t in a hospital that’s basically on the verge of a full‑blown collapse.

Pretty Much a Wonder Doctor

Picture this: a 27‑hour shift that starts with a midnight emergency duty and wraps up only when the sunrise finally brightens the rooftop. Every patient’s story is a ticket to a moral battlefield—gas‑pulsing breaths, frantic relatives begging the miracle of mercy, and the government’s emergency response in “full‑crack.”

Holy Family Hospital, New Delhi: A Kitchen on a One‑Ingredient Plan

Not enough beds for all the patients squabbing at the front gate
Oxygen and ventilators glaring at the tables like poor sparkling wine in a high‑roller casino
ICU rooms under a ceiling of “no‑spaces available” with less than 20 out of 5,000 beds open at any time

And what does Dr. Aggarwal do? He gets to wield the big life‑or‑death pen—“if it had to be decided by God, it would, but we are just humans,” he says. “At this moment, we’re forced to be the Grimsby of the era.”

When The Coronavirus Decides To Why?

India’s second wave was brutal—a peak where the country had the world’s highest daily cases, more than 300,000 for a 2‑week stretch. The reality? Patients were flinging themselves from one hospital to the next, dying on the highway or sickle camps, while 24‑hour emergency prep was a race between oxygen trucks and armed guards.

And as a side note, the crematoriums ran 24/7 with a double “smoke” move—messy, but the necessary thing, in a world balancing between death and the will to survive.

Doc Aggarwal’s Rooted Skepticism

He’s the guy who still didn’t get the vaccine, hailing from a misinformed pandemic memory. “We all believed the virus was gone back in February when vaccination rollouts were still in the early stages,” he says. In his words, “a misconception that the threat was all but over.”

Why would he risk his own health? Because his entire medical team might not have a bed even if he gets sick—he’s on the front edge, day and night, and a huge township of people needs the hope he must give. We reckon the 27‑hour shift he does won’t be “supinely” performing the medical duties once the hospital, in his world, has no objective. He must keep hope. In short: the guardian of that breathing life.

Morning rounds

Holy Family Hospital: Overcrowded Chaos at 9 AM

When Dr Aggarwal starts his shift at nine‑ish, the scene that greets him is straight out of a disaster movie: four bodies sprawled in an area that was meant to be a clean, PPE‑free zone.

The ER: A Tight‑Packed Playground

Patients, relatives, and any stray speaker are jammed into every pocket of the ER.
Most of them are sporting only a flimsy cloth mask.
Doctors and nurses have decided that full gear is a nightmare and are ditching it.
Trolleys are so close that a patient can touch a neighbour’s leg with the arm of his own.
One unlucky soul is lying in a storage alcove surrounded by “waste” bins, while a relative is desperately bringing in a fresh oxygen cylinder because the last one ran out.

Holy Family Hospital: Prestige Meets Panic

In “normal” times, Holy Family is a top‑tier medical hub that draws patients from all corners of the globe. The current chaos isn’t just a local hiccup—it’s a national crisis. Under government hospitals, you often find patients sharing a bed or lying on trolleys in the scorching sun. For comparison, Holy Family is still a beacon of hope but the sheer scale of the crisis has turned it into a desperate situation.

Capacity Crunching

The facility usually holds 275 adults, but right now it’s serving 385 people. Here’s what the sign outside says:

No Free General or Intensive‑Care Covid‑19 Beds: Zero (for weeks).

From the ER to ICU: A System in Freefall

The department that once handled broken bones, coughs and colds—basically everything under a red cross—now requires all the focus. The junior doctor in the ER is suddenly the most critical figure in the entire hospital.

Dr Aggarwal: The Daily Grand Balancing Act

Before stepping into the ER, Dr Aggarwal makes a quick tour through the general Covid‑19 wards. With a senior colleague by his side, he manages the care of 65 patients. That leaves him only 3–4 minutes per patient before the next emergency pops up. Talk about a hectic schedule!

Oxygen Crisis, Hospital Chaos: A Rambling Tale of Dr Aggarwal’s Shaky Days

Morning Rush, Deadly Urgency

Picture this: Dr Aggarwal is blasting through his first batch of patients when the phone rings—one of his patients is in trouble. He darts down the stairs, shoulders shoulder‑deep in sweat, stops at Room 323, and spawns a miracle—an elderly man barely clinging to consciousness.

“He’s on the way down,” he tells the crying son, who fumbles with his head in his hands while the ICU opens up like a sliding door.

Miracle Luck or Luck in Crisis?

Some patients are already admitted to a Covid‑19 ward, and that makes a huge difference. If you’re lucky enough to be already inside, you get an ICU spot. If not, you’re moth‑balled at the door.

“They don’t have beds, but they will manage,” Dr Aggarwal says, grinning like a dog who found a treat.

Guarding the Gates

A security guard, Mr Mahendar Baisoyar, benches outside the emergency room and keeps relatives from trying to “force” a bed. Last month, staff at another hospital in the capital were stabbed on the job—an incident that sent the city’s top court into a frenzy.

When shortages keep steaming up, the police are warned that law‑and‑order problems at hospitals could balloon. The panic isn’t just about beds; it’s about food, feeds, and terrifying lung‑support shortages.

Social Media Mayhem

Holy Family Hospital isn’t a quiet place. It’s a digital battlefield on Twitter, with medical staff rioting for urgent help. Angry fans post frantic pleas for oxygen and small relief medications, riding on the hashtag #DoctorsNeedOxygen.

The People, Told In a Heap of Suffering

One patient who was turned away here is 62‑year‑old Vijay Gupta. He is slumped in the back of a taxi, surrounded by bewildered family who are trying to decide whether to keep banging door‑bell or drive on to another hospital.

His friend Rajkumar Khandelwal narrates the endless screaming: “We’ve been roaming around since 6 am looking for a bed.”

Meanwhile, other patients are so desperate that they literally need a ventilator or otherwise they will die.

Dr Aggarwal a Six‑Year‑Old Dreamer

Despite these cases, Dr Aggarwal is a veteran. He had a childhood dream of becoming a doctor (which in India is a huge prestige), and after nailing his first exam at 19, he arose from the medical college’s government hospital in eastern Delhi.

But Holy Family Hospital was totally different, a missionary‑founded haven with big Christ statues that gaze from the stair‑case to the ICU. Even the gift shop has silly plaster idols wrapped in plastic.

One of the posters says literally: “I am vaccinated by the precious blood of Jesus, no virus can touch me.”

Head of ICU: “It’s a Feeling of Powerlessness”

Dr Sumit Ray, the medical superintendent, says:

“The doctors and nurses are demoralised. They know they can do better, but they just don’t have the time.”

Dr Aggarwal’s View On Sounds Attuned with Cracks

On every shift, Dr Aggarwal scours for a decent sedate. He always hears the buzz of monitors at the night shift. He’s like ”screeching out of clever‑brain prompts.”

Taking Hospital Lunch Despite the Fatigue

Usually, he has lunch at the hospital — but that day, the ICU buzz was too intense. He wastes on rest. Even when he goes home, he hears “the ICU noise,” making it impossible to forget about the deaths, where resource scarcity is the culprit.

Life on the Front Lines: Dr. Aggarwal’s Real‑World Dilemmas

Picture this: a cold, lonely hospital hallway, a buzzing ER, and a doctor who can’t escape the feel‑good vibes of a 24‑hour convenience store just down the block. He pops over for a quick bite—yes, biryani from a take‑away carton—while Selena Gomez’s mellifluous hooks drift from the in‑store stereo. The air‑conditioned refuge is a small oasis in the concrete jungle of the medical crisis.

Day‑to‑Day Grind

Hourly Breaks – “I need a breather,” he tells a colleague. “One hour outside the hospital won’t hurt. I’ve got another 24‑hour duty tomorrow.”
Family Worries – Like many young Indians, Dr. Aggarwal still lives with parents and frets about their safety. “I always hid in my first‑floor apartment when things went bad, but my mom insists on visits and meals.”
Shift Time – By 3 p.m., he’s back at the ER desk, surrounded by families pleading for their loved ones’ admissions.

The Toughest Decisions

When a patient comes in with a fever but no oxygen requirement, Dr. Aggarwal’s rule is simple: no admission. “People die on the streets without oxygen. If a patient isn’t needing it, we must move on.”

Sometimes, the stakes get bone‑deep. On a single ICU bed, he faces an old man and a young man, both needing high‑flow oxygen. “I can’t let emotional ties sway me. The young one, who may have a family—yes, a beautiful real estate agent at home—needs the salvation that bed provides.”

Patients overcome to restlessly stare at their X‑rays in the hallway.
A relative asks, “Will he recover?” He simply admits he can try but offers no guarantees.
Ms. Pratibha Rohilla sobs at her oxygen mask while her son, Aditya, grumbles as another patient gains a bed.
She pleads, “I understand, but there’s no space left.”

Humor in the Calling

Every day, Dr. Aggarwal’s world feels a bit like a low‑budget sitcom: “What’s the drama today?” And the answer—oxygen shortages, family drama, and the sweet relief of a moment’s respite at a convenience store.

Yet underneath the comedic vibes stands a real and emotional journey—each decision weighing like a scale, each patient’s fate resting in the hands of a doctor who chooses with both heart and logic.

Bedless Crisis in Delhi’s Hospitals

“No beds,” the son sums up the frantic tour of emergency departments in the city. It’s the sort of refrain that echoes through crowded corridors minutes after an encounter with anyone who’s been waiting for a slot that’s simply not there.

The Battle to Find a Spot

He lists hospitals—fifteen, twenty, names lost in the rush—only to realize he’s forgotten where he’s already looked. The desperation is palpable.

Case in Point: 74‑Year‑Old Karuna Vadhera

River of waiting rooms.
Crucial drop in oxygen levels.
One close to collapse.

Karuna, 74, is teetering on the edge of critical care. Dr. Aggarwal, wearing his usual calm apron, taps her shoulder, then gently slides a thumb into her eye socket to check for resistance. The answer: none. Her head tilts forward, the oxygen gauges read dangerously low.

“She could die any minute,” he tells her nephew, Pulkit, urging him to relocate her to any hospital that still has an ICU bed free.

Family Efforts Across the City

“We’ve got five family members spread across Delhi, all trying,” Mr. Pulkit replies, voice muffled by the phone. “No one has found a bed.”

Dr. Aggarwal’s Hectic Night

Continuous stream of emergencies.
Three patients, including a young woman, tragically pass away.
Skeptical hope that someone, somewhere, will open a door.

In this maze of beds and books, the story isn’t just about numbers—it’s about human lives, family struggles, and the relentless grind of the medical team fighting for every second with no shortage of exhaustion.

When the Clock Struck Five

Dr. Aggarwal was knee‑deep in the ICU shuffle, fighting the usual chaos of a night shift when he bumped into a senior colleague who had the same near‑fatal heart alarm on his dad.

Shared joke, shared relief: They cracked a private pun that finally made Aggarwal chuckle – something he hadn’t done in weeks.
Sleep in the break room: By 5 am, the ER’s break room became his temporary bedroom. The only bed he had was a stack of coffee mugs and a hopefully, brief dash of sleep.
The tragic fade‑out: A few hours later, Ms. Vadhera, who had been fighting for an ICU bed but ultimately wasn’t admitted, passed away. An ambulance pulled her white‑shrouded body for cremation, and her nephew, Pulkit, stood as the silent witness.
Barriers and hope: Ms. Rohilla, whose son hopped through 15–20 hospitals before arriving at Holy Family, found herself in a slightly more spacious corner of the ER. She was, however, still poised for the ICU – a reminder that even a “less crowded” spot can feel packed.

All in all, the day was a testament to resilience, humor in the face of tragedy, and the sometimes wobbly rhythm of emergency medicine.

A Doctor’s Long, Exhausting Shift

Finally, after a marathon 27‑hour shift, the day is done. He’s so wiped out that the only thing on his mind is sleep—for the rest of that day and the next one, too.

But one call still hangs on: a friend’s dad is sick, and he’s asked Dr. Aggarwal for help. It’s just another of the dozens of calls he gets every day, most of which end in a polite “sorry, I can’t help.

Even when the odds are stacked against him—nine times out of ten he can’t do much—he still gives it a shot. He puts on another mask, lifts his shoulders, and heads back inside to help.

Covid‑19 India: 26‑Year‑Old Doctor Makes Life‑or‑Death Choices That Shocked the Nation