The SEEDS Story: Starting Palliative Care from Nothing

Last month I almost lost hope in continuing SEEDS operations. I need to write this down while it's still raw, because I think the truth of how things actually begin — not the polished version we tell later — matters.

When Everything Said Stop

SEEDS — Supportive and Empathetic Engagement in Delivering Sustenance — is a palliative care trust I founded. The name carries weight for me. It's connected to the Percy Jebamalar Legacy Foundation, named after my wife Percy, who I lost to cancer in October 2022. Watching her suffer taught me things about pain management and end-of-life care that no textbook could. It also taught me that in our part of the world, too many people die in unnecessary agony because the systems aren't there.

So I started SEEDS. And almost immediately, everything went wrong.

No one was willing to let out a place for the trust. Landlord after landlord turned us down. We had no permanent base. We couldn't store supplies properly. And worst of all — Mrs. Kannammal was suffering in total pain, and we couldn't give her opioids because we didn't have the access or the prescribing authority.

That's the moment that nearly broke me. Not the logistics. Not the rejection from landlords. The sound of a woman in pain that I couldn't relieve.

The Phone Call That Changed Everything

I was fasting. I don't say that to sound spiritual — I say it because it's the context. I was fasting because I had run out of options and needed clarity. I called Dr. Reshmi and explained the situation.

She agreed instantly. No hesitation. She would prescribe the opioids.

Around the same time, we secured a morphine supply through Krishnamoorthy Hospital. Two doors that had seemed permanently shut swung open in the same week.

I bought the basic home care kit. We saved more than two thousand rupees because Framton donated an airbed. Small numbers. Massive impact. When you're starting from nothing, every rupee matters and every donation is a lifeline.

The Team

I need to name them, because none of this happened alone. Naveen, Victor, Gabi, Jaba — they showed up. They did the work. They carried equipment to homes. They sat with patients. They drove through heat and rain. Everyone was helpful. More than that — they were motivated by the progress they saw. When you watch a patient who was writhing in pain finally rest because you got them the medication they needed, that's fuel. That keeps you going when the bureaucracy and the rejection pile up.

In July 2023, I completed a five-day palliative volunteer training program. I needed to understand the clinical side properly — not just the compassion side. Pain assessment scales, medication protocols, wound care basics, communication with families. Knowledge matters when someone's life is in your hands.

Home Care Visits

Every visit is different. Some patients welcome us. Others are suspicious. I remember one visit where the patient wanted nothing to do with us. Didn't trust us. Didn't want strangers in the house.

I asked if I could take a selfie with them. It sounds ridiculous, but it worked. Something about the informality of it — the humanness of a selfie — broke through the wall. They laughed. We talked. We came back the next week and the week after that.

Palliative care is not just medicine. It's presence. It's earning trust with people who have been let down by systems, by hospitals, by promises that didn't hold. You can't rush it. You show up. You sit. You listen. And eventually, they let you help.

What I've Learned

Starting something from nothing when everything seems impossible is not heroic. It's terrifying. There were days I genuinely didn't know if SEEDS would survive the week. There were days when the gap between what patients needed and what I could provide felt criminal.

But here's what I know now: you don't need everything figured out to begin. You need one patient who needs help. One doctor willing to prescribe. One team member who shows up. One donated airbed.

You start with what you have. You make the phone call while fasting. You buy the basic kit. You take the selfie.

SEEDS exists today not because I had a grand plan. It exists because people were suffering, and a small group of people decided that was unacceptable. The building came later. The processes came later. The partnerships came later. But the work started in a living room with a woman in pain and a team that refused to look away.

That's how most things worth doing begin. Not with a strategy deck. With a need you can't ignore.