The Underfunded Excellence of Malaysian Government Hospitals and their overworked, dedicated Medical Staff

Let me recount a story – one that unfolded in the early days of March, 2025. It all happened at a Malaysian government hospital. To say I was moved would be an under-statement.

by GK Ganesan April 23, 2025 11359 Views

A member of the family had fallen gravely ill. Hers was not a family of means. Upon receiving the news, kin from across the Klang Valley converged at a state general hospital.

As the relative lingered between life and death for days, the family kept vigil in the corridors, taking turns at prayer.

The waiting area was crowded and cramped, the plastic chairs brittle with age. The corridors bore the fatigue of decades, their walls dulled by time. The toilets, though kept clean by diligent hands, were poorly-equipped.

The hospital itself clung to the hillside, a relic I remembered watching rise in 1968 from the thatched roof of my childhood home below. Over the years, it had sprouted new wings—haphazard and ungainly. And yet it was a patchwork of necessity.

The roads were a labyrinth, parking a daily ordeal. The canteen, noisy and uninviting, was a place we dared not eat.¹

In this way, ten long and dreary days passed. Hope gradually dissipated.

A day before the final day, we were summoned into the ICU, one by one. The doctors moved ceaselessly, their urgency palpable. As I waited, I observed the ward: about forty beds in a crowded area.

Each patient was attended to by a nurse. They watched their patient with unwavering attention.

They were recording every detail, ready to summon help at the slightest change. Around each bed stood a U-shaped structure, layered like a bookshelf, from which wires, tubes, and catheters extended to machines and patients alike.

Medications—some temperature-controlled—were replenished constantly, pharmacy staff arriving every few minutes, (sometimes sprinting up the stairs) hand-carrying refrigerated supplies.

For a moment I thought I had been ushered into the set of a science-fiction movie…

When the doctors finally came to us, I noticed that they were young, exhausted specialists, each from a different discipline. They explained, with patience and clarity, what had transpired and what choices lay before us. Diagrams were drawn, explanations were given in both English and Bahasa.

Our consent was sought and formally recorded. Once the decision for the surgery was confirmed, the lady surgeon sprinted out of the ward. She ran down the stairs of the eight-storied building, into the operations theatre. She wished to arrange for the surgery immediately.

I was a quiet witness to this orchestrated chaos. The ICU was managed by an elderly Malay lady doctor, whose sternness belied the quiet efficiency she commanded. Most of the staff were Malays—gentle, humble, and, as I learned later, handpicked and specially trained during the COVID-19 pandemic and the Movement Control Order.

They addressed patients with familial warmth—‘Uncle,’ ‘Pakcik,’ or ‘Auntie.’ Some patients were restless, some soiled themselves. Two nurses per patient tended to them, cleaning and comforting their wards with gentle words.

I could not help but recall another time, when a relative had been admitted to the ICU of a renowned private hospital in the Klang Valley. That private facility, for all its reputation and cost, could not compare to the care and vigilance I witnessed at the Government ICU.

In my professional life, I am often called upon to defend hospitals and doctors at the appellate courts. I know the legal standards. Here, I saw those standards met—by men and women who may know little of the law, but everything of medicine and emergency care.

In the end, our loved one succumbed. Yet, the medical staff had fought for her, inch by inch, never relenting.

I am, above all, a proud Malaysian. Credit must be given where it is due—to our young Malaysians, who are often unheralded. They save lives in the most unremarkable of settings. Later, I learned that the entire ICU system had been designed by a Malaysian. After the funeral, as I returned home, I thought about all this, and felt quietly elated.

So, when illness next strikes, go to the general hospital. Do not be deterred by the chaos, the noise, or the worn-out walls.

There, in the heart of imperfection, you may find the truest excellence.

Despite chronic underfunding, overcrowding, and the immense pressures faced by staff, Malaysia’s public hospitals remain a testament to resilience and dedication.

The government has increased allocations for healthcare, but challenges persist: infrastructure strains, staff shortages, and rising demands.²

Yet, within these constraints,³ the spirit and skill of the medical staff shine—often surpassing what money alone can buy.⁴

Thank you, dearly beloved doctors, medical staff and helpers, of the Seremban General Hospital, Rasah.

Gratitude:

The author thanks all the doctors, medical staff, and helpers at Seremban General Hospital, Rasah, Negeri Sembilan.

The author expresses his gratitude to the editor Miss Lydia Jaynthi.

Acknowledgements: the image is from Getty Images, licensed by Unsplash

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The Underfunded Excellence of Malaysian Government Hospitals and their overworked, dedicated Medical Staff

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