WHEN DEDICATION TURNS DEADLY – Rethinking the Glorification of Workaholism in Medicine

In the bustling city of Nagpur, India, where the orange groves meet the pulse of modern life, Dr. Chandrashekhar Pakhmode emerged as a beacon of hope for countless patients battling neurological woes. Born in Nagpur, he embarked on his medical journey at Government Medical College, completing his MBBS in 1994 and MS in General Surgery soon after. 31 He honed his expertise with an MCh in Neurosurgery from Mumbai’s esteemed King Edward Memorial Hospital and Seth Gordhandas Sunderdas Medical College. 31 Over a career spanning more than 25 years, Dr. Pakhmode became synonymous with excellence at Neuron Hospital in Dhantoli, specializing in intricate brain and spinal surgeries that saved lives and restored futures. 39 5 His accolades, including the prestigious Business Icon Award 2020 in the Health Sector, reflected not just his surgical prowess but his unwavering commitment to advancing neurosurgery in central India. 32 40 Yet, beyond the operating theater, he was a fitness enthusiast—running marathons in his mind while navigating the demands of his profession—always emphasizing the importance of health, ironically, to everyone but perhaps himself. 1 6

The sudden demise of this young, brilliant neurosurgeon at just 53 years of age—collapsing outside his Ramdaspeth home in the early hours of December 31, 2025, from a massive heart attack—has shaken the medical fraternity to its core. 0 1 4 Despite a clean ECG just three days prior and his disciplined lifestyle, the end came without warning, leaving colleagues, patients, and family in disbelief. 0 3 He was widely respected—not only for his exceptional professional skills but also for his humility, gentle demeanor, and down-to-earth nature. His commitment to patient care was extraordinary, and his work ethic inspired many. His passing is a personal loss to colleagues and countless patients whose lives he touched.

Picture this: In the dimly lit corridors of Neuron Hospital, a young resident once approached Dr. Pakhmode after a grueling 18-hour shift. “Sir, how do you do it? You’re always here, always ready,” the resident asked, eyes wide with admiration mixed with exhaustion.

Dr. Pakhmode, wiping sweat from his brow after a successful spinal tumor removal, smiled warmly. “It’s simple, beta. Medicine isn’t just a job—it’s a calling. But remember, even the sharpest scalpel needs sharpening. Take a breath, eat a meal, hug your family. We can’t heal others if we’re broken ourselves.” Little did anyone know, these words would echo hauntingly in the wake of his own tragedy.

This reflection is written with the utmost respect for Dr. Pakhmode sir and his legacy—a man who treated thousands, often waiving fees for the underprivileged, earning him the quiet title of “guardian angel” among the poor. 34 40 At the same time, his untimely death compels us to pause—not to judge an individual, but to introspect as a profession.

Medicine has long romanticized sacrifice. From the first day of medical school, doctors are subtly—and sometimes overtly—conditioned to believe that exhaustion is a badge of honor, that missing meals is professionalism, and that sleep deprivation is proof of commitment. The unspoken rule is simple: the more you work, the more respectable you become. Somewhere along the way, workaholism stopped being a warning sign and became a virtue.

We rarely pause to ask what this culture costs us. Doctors are trained to search for validation through productivity—number of hours worked, number of cases handled, number of lives “saved.” Applause is reserved for those who stay longest, take the fewest breaks, and carry on despite personal depletion. Self-care is quietly equated with selfishness. Balance is dismissed as mediocrity. Burnout is worn like a medal.

But biology does not recognize professional glory. No human heart, brain, or endocrine system is designed to withstand chronic sleep deprivation, relentless stress, and emotional overload—no matter how noble the profession. The tragedy is that we approved and applauded a system that made anything less seem inadequate.

Imagine overhearing a conversation in the doctors’ lounge: A colleague teases Dr. Pakhmode, “Sir, you’re superhuman! Operating till midnight again?” He chuckles softly, “What can I say? The patients need me. But you—go home early tonight. Life’s too short for endless shifts.” His humility shone through, but so did the subtle toll of a culture that glorified such endurance.

The irony is painful: a profession devoted to preserving life has normalized lifestyles that quietly erode it. This is not an argument against dedication or excellence. Medicine will always demand responsibility, commitment, and sometimes sacrifice.

But as we go through immeasurable grief today, let us pause and understand the crucial difference between meaningful work and self-erasure. Excellence does not require annihilation of the self. Compassion does not require chronic exhaustion.

As a mark of respect towards Pakhmode sir—a fitness-conscious healer who, despite his own advice, perhaps pushed too far—let us all commit towards building a healthier medical culture—one that values longevity, well-being, work-life balance, and self-care, where workaholism is not worshipped or unduly glorified. Our profession deserves healers who are alive, present, and whole—not martyrs applauded too late.