My name is Alison Stone, and I have a PhD in Metaphysics, so I am often referred to as Dr. Alison Stone. I came to Qatar to open up a lady’s well-being center, and the reason that I took this journey of well-being and preventative medicine is that I was diagnosed with cervical cancer when I was 30. So, I attribute my success today to that incident many years ago. I have survived cancer for 27 years, and I think it is essential to see how things have changed in that period.

Here is a brief synopsis of my journey ;

I was married at 18 (in my generation, that was acceptable and normal), had two children, and when I was pregnant with my third child, I went for a routine check-up, and they discovered that I had lesions and they were cancerous. Now, one of the things that I was blessed with in the UK was that in the 80s and early 90s, Pap smears were becoming very accessible for women: they weren’t mandatory, and they weren’t encouraged, but they were accessible, so after the birth of my first daughter I had them done, so I continued getting Pap smears after the birth of my second daughter. Had I not been tested, I am convinced I would not be here today.

The cervical cancer that I had was very aggressive, and mine was mainly because I was pregnant at the time. The cancer had gone to my lymph nodes, so by the time I had delivered my child, I was in stage 4. I do feel very strongly about the need to be proactive with your health.

That experience forced me to look at my life and my control over it. The experience of the surgeries and the treatments that you go through has such a profound effect on you physically, but I think it is more the fear that has the most profound impact, and the fear I had 27 years ago was never addressed. So now, when I find out about societies like the Qatar Cancer Society in Qatar, I am so impressed and excited that women have this opportunity to be supported. Had we had something similar in my day, it might not have changed the outcome, but it would have changed the journey.

As a mother, back then, you would not know what cervical cancer was. And in my day, doctors did not understand that it was the human papillomavirus that caused cervical cancer. And so we suffered in silence. I remember on the fourth day after the surgery–about 14 hours of surgery–and I started to cry. I remember the nurse came in and said, “Stop crying. There are people worse off”. And I remember that I never spoke again. I never spoke about my pain, and I internalized it. So it was ‘keep a brave face, don’t speak about it, don’t talk about it,’ and when I look back now, I see how it took a good 10 or 15 years after that until cancer could be talked about openly. Now, having chemo and not having hair, we celebrate it; it’s ok, and I think that Social Media is a way for people to talk about their own experiences and raise awareness about cancer.

I chose to take control of my life, and I took a spiritual path – I was lost, and I was fearful, and I think that learning and things like meditation about your health give you back a sense of control. Because when you are diagnosed, and the doctor says, ‘You have cancer, it is in stage 4, this is serious’ – you hand everything over to them, and with it goes this feeling of hopelessness because now you are at the mercy of people telling you that ‘you have to have this surgery, you have to have this chemo, you have to have this radiotherapy,” but you don’t feel sick.

So, the growth of self-help groups has been positive since doctors are starting to understand that patients need to have some emotional care. As a patient, I am not just somebody who has had surgery and whose vital signs you will check – I have gone through something life-changing–a hysterectomy– and I might be facing the fact that I will never have children again, the fact that I might die and leave my children, the fact that my husband might never love me again, and I have scars everywhere – nobody addressed that. It was all ‘hush hush,’ don’t talk about it, or ‘You should be grateful you are alive.’ Now, I feel that people can talk about the cancer experience; they can address it.

I  think that the difference in Qatar (I was here ten years ago) is that nobody said the word nobody said that word, and women, therefore, especially Middle Eastern women who tend to put their children first, their husbands first, their sons first, would never even acknowledge having cancer, or want to know, that was the issue. I addressed a group of ladies in a Middle Eastern country 12 years ago, and we tried to convince them to get breast checks and pap smear tests, but they wouldn’t do it because they didn’t want to know. After all, they have fear, or they feel that sickness is based on divine intervention – and either way, they think they should surrender to it, and they don’t want to know. But the generation of women now, we can do something about it, especially the survivors. You can survive cancer, but that is a message that is never given out – you always hear ‘cancer death’ ‘cancer death’ – what about instead ‘cancer journey,’ ‘survival,’ ‘change,’ ‘power,’ ‘change in life,’ ‘change in perspective,’ ‘transformation’? There are a lot more positive words that can go with cancer, not just doom and death.

Not talking about cancer can be devastating – probably the most powerful memory I have about my experience is that I remember after my initial diagnosis from my doctor going home to my husband and when I told him and the look of fear in his eyes and then he shut down. I remember that they said I could terminate my pregnancy and that I had every reason to because my pregnancy would escalate the cancer, and I remember thinking, ‘What do I do? This will be the last chance to have a child because they are going to give me a hysterectomy. What do I do? And I again.

I told nobody about the look on my husband’s face and his inability to even respond to me. And so I carried that burden, which I am sure wasn’t healthy. I couldn’t even have the conversation about terminating my child or not because I didn’t want to reach out to anyone, because I didn’t want to see the fear again in somebody else’s eyes. And in those days, when you said the word cancer, you were met with silence. So I didn’t tell even my mother or anybody until after my surgeries. And then, when I was in the hospital, people started to visit. And I put on a very brave face to begin to deal with the fear because the fear I saw in other people’s eyes put fear back in me. But at least by then, I had gone through the process. In a way, keeping silent saved me because I could pretend it wasn’t happening. After all, nobody was talking about it. I fit into that era’s psyche: “Don’t speak about it; it doesn’t exist; let’s pretend everything is ok; just move forward.” Then, at night time, in the shower, you cry your eyes out.

I didn’t tell anyone about my illness, and I was in the hospital for about six or seven weeks. When I came out of the hospital, I asked my Mum to take care of me, so of course I opened up to her. I never told my daughters until they were 18 years old. I didn’t want them to be afraid that I was going to die. I did not want to put that fear into them. And I, not them, was preventing me from telling them. I always used the excuse that they were not old enough, and I didn’t want them to fear, but at the same time, I did want them to be proactive about cancer screening, so it was one of those challenges that I told myself: ‘I have to tell them.’ Two of my children have been vaccinated against the Human Papilloma Virus and regularly go for Pap smears. What I realized was that if I had dared to address it earlier, it is not that they would have gone earlier for Pap smears, but we could have had the conversations we had when I did eventually tell them. But my daughters have taken the situation on board, and nobody is afraid. I think the blessing in waiting to talk to them is that it is 22 years later, and they have only known me as a very healthy person, and now they understand the need to be proactive. As for everybody else, they avoided me. I lost contact with quite a few people after my illness. And I think some girlfriends were fearful because I was so young and healthy. That was the main thing: I was not a sickly person. I was healthy and had brilliant births.

But what the experience of illness has done for me is pave the course of my life since that time. My choices in development, self-development, and professional development have their basis in understanding and going through my journey. My Ph.D. is in metaphysics, and I am very keen on learning about epigenetics, which is the complete understanding that your cells are a reflection of your environment and not only your DNA, and so that is why they change. The internalization of fear and not taking care of yourself affects your genes too, which is fearful but empowering as well – it is fear because you ask yourself, ‘Did I do this to myself?’ but it is an empowering idea as well because whatever has happened to me, I have the power to change that environment. So therefore, again, having that supportive, nurturing, caring environment versus having that fearful environment is essential, which includes everybody else’s fear. Fear is quite toxic, and that can affect you too. That could affect your genes.

When I went for my surgeries, I was courageous. I took a breath and went in there feeling strong and brave. So I think the whole spiritual aspect to illness is faith, how strong faith is, what color it is and what it looks like to you, and how you can turn that into a physical element that walks you through that journey.

My illness made me a much better person, and it gave me a purpose in life – when I look at all the things that I had been planning before my illness and what my life has been like over the years, everything was about learning about care and preventative medicine. I have a bachelor’s degree in alternative medicine. A housewife with three kids – who would have thought it? I studied Ayurveda in India. Who would have thought that a homemaker would have done that? And I met the most incredible people who came my way. And I can look back and see that every single thing that I did without a plan, in reality, led me to get a Ph.D., to be in Qatar to build the women’s wellness center, to be connected, and to finally, after 27 years being able to tell my story someday.

Even in my 5^th year being cancer-free, I was sweating and panicking – what if it has come back? This is interesting because you would not do that with any other disease. All of our terminology characterizes this disease as a beast, and once it has you in its grip, it is going to seize you, but if we could change the dialogue to an attitude of ‘let’s see how healthy you are’ or ‘your blood cells are fantastic today.’ Suppose we switched our approach to cancer and reframed everything, for example. In that case, we might say things like, ‘Let’s see if we can add you to our three-year list of cancer-free living,’ that would be a very different conversation about the disease rather than saying, ‘Let’s see if it’s come back’ or ‘let’s see if you are still in remission.’

I think that the medical profession could reframe the way it talks about cancer with patients. For example, changing phrases like ‘I am so sorry, but I think we need to see you…” or ‘we will only call you if there is something wrong’ – in simple terms, what the patient hears is, ‘we will only call you if you have cancer’ and you get a miscall, and you get upset, and you are waiting and waiting anxiously. Make the experience of going in for a check-up more positive, so I will want to return. Instead of telling patients, ‘You only have two months to live,’ why not tell them that the medical system will do the best it can, send them home, and ask them to focus on the quality of their life and their diet?

Mohammed Shabaan, a 55-year-old man, has always prioritized a healthy lifestyle, maintaining a balanced diet and regular exercise routine as part of his daily life. His passion for health extends to his small home farm, where he cultivates a variety of fruits and vegetables, recognizing the numerous benefits they offer. Among his crops is the Moringa tree, known for its medicinal properties in reducing blood sugar levels and providing anti-inflammatory and antioxidant effects.

In March 2017, Mohammed faced what he describes as a life-altering moment. Initially experiencing mild constipation, which he attributed to consuming pomegranates, his condition persisted for ten days, prompting him to seek medical attention. Despite efforts with laxatives, his symptoms worsened with sudden and severe vomiting, leaving him exhausted and unable to walk, leading to an ambulance call.

Following extensive tests, including CT and PT scans, Mohammed received a diagnosis of Stage 3 Colon Cancer. This news came as a shock, as he had expected his symptoms to be transient and quickly resolved. However, upon learning of his diagnosis, Mohammed was prepared to confront the challenges ahead, remaining steadfast in his faith and determination to overcome the obstacles brought by his illness.

Concerned about potential complications, including the temporary placement of a colostomy bag, Mohammed grappled with worries about his image and reputation among family and friends. Despite these fears, he remained resolute in facing the uncertainties of his condition.

After a prolonged discussion, surgical intervention became necessary due to bowel obstruction, with initial attempts to insert a tube proving unsuccessful. However, with the arrival of a determined surgeon, Mohammed’s faith in God’s will was affirmed as the procedure was completed without complications.

Following surgery, Mohammed underwent chemotherapy, enduring severe side effects, including weight loss and diarrhea. Nevertheless, he found solace in the realization that he was nearing victory in his battle against cancer, having weathered the storms of surgery and chemotherapy.

Throughout his journey, Mohammed found unwavering support and understanding from his family and friends, witnessing a positive shift in attitudes towards cancer acceptance. Despite the challenges, he remained hopeful and resilient, facing each obstacle with courage and determination.

Mohammed views cancer not as a defeat but a new beginning—a chance for personal growth and resilience. He actively participates in initiatives such as the “Step of Hope,” in collaboration with the Qatar Cancer Society and the National Center for Cancer Care and Research, advocating for cancer awareness and support.

In conclusion, Mohammed is grateful to the Qatar Cancer Society for pioneering efforts in supporting cancer survivors and raising awareness. His journey is a testament to the power of patience, faith, and community in overcoming life’s most significant challenges. Through his story, Mohammed inspires others to embrace hope and resilience in the face of adversity, proving that with patience and faith, living with cancer is possible and can lead to a life of newfound strength and purpose.

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My name is Sheikha Al-Mannai, and I am a television and radio presenter. I started my career as a teacher in 1995 and served as a school principal until 2016. After finishing my tenure as the principal of an independent school, I decided to travel abroad for leisure and to find a new passion. Little did I know that this journey would begin another, more challenging journey in my life.

The Initial Discovery of the Tumor

While staying abroad, I noticed a lump on my upper shoulder. At first, I thought it was just a bruise from hitting the swimming pool wall before my trip. However, the lack of any bruising made me concerned and prompted me to conduct a self-examination, a skill I had learned in medical courses I attended in the past. I felt a small, ball-like lump under my skin, but I ignored it, believing it would disappear over time.

The Diagnosis Journey

After four months of the lump’s appearance, I decided to visit an ultrasound specialist upon returning to Qatar. Although the lump had shrunk after taking the medications prescribed by the doctor, it reappeared, increasing my anxiety. I then went to the health center, which referred me to Hamad Hospital. The next day, I received a call from the hospital requesting that I schedule an appointment with an oncology specialist.

Examinations and Tests

The doctor began with a clinical examination and suspected a malignant tumor. He asked about my family’s medical history and whether I had children. After the initial review, I was referred to the surgery department to remove some lymph nodes for testing. It took two weeks to get the test results, and during that time, the days passed slowly and anxiously. When the results came in, it was confirmed that I had stage one breast cancer. I was in shock and cried, not out of fear of the disease, but out of fear for my late mother, knowing how scared and anxious she would have been for me.

Starting Treatment

When I informed my mother of the test results, I noticed the worry on her face. My doctor was a great support, explaining that I needed chemotherapy followed by surgery. He informed me about the stages of treatment and the challenges I might face, such as hair loss and weight loss. Despite the physical and emotional pain, I decided to hold on to hope and faith.

Family Support and Faith

I began chemotherapy at the National Center for Cancer Care and Research. The smell of the treatment caused nausea and made me feel fatigued. My father and my doctor accompanied me to every session, waiting for me throughout the treatment. After each session, they would ask if I wanted to eat, but the treatment made me nauseous, and I had no appetite. I moved in with my parents during the treatment due to the side effects. I received treatment every 21 days.

Psychological and Social Challenges

What hurt me the most was seeing my mother cry when I returned from treatment sessions, as she could smell the treatment mixed with my scent and sensed my mood changes. I requested to be transferred to a hospital in Houston to complete my treatment, so my mother wouldn’t see me in my sick state. My brother accompanied me on my treatment journey, and I always tried to show him my strength so he wouldn’t feel pity for me.

Life in Houston

I considered the time I spent in Houston one of the best periods of my life, despite the challenges of the illness. I did not stay in inpatient housing but in a home away from other patients because I didn’t want to feel pitied. I focused on exercising, swimming, cooking, and keeping myself busy with household chores. I would wake up at ten in the morning and start my day by cleaning the house and doing laundry. These small details meant a lot to me and made me feel a great sense of accomplishment instead of feeling sorry for myself.

New Challenges

One day, I decided to live without wearing a wig, which shocked my brother when he saw me. He cried and left the house, but I told him that I had accepted my condition that it was temporary and that my health would return to normal in nine months. Despite the difficulties, I insisted that my brother and I go out before my treatment sessions to enjoy the weather, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to do anything the day after the treatment.

Lessons Learned

During my treatment, I realized the true meaning of family and the importance of having them by my side. My mother and father would call me several times a day to check on me. Despite my mother’s severe anxiety and deteriorating mental health, I always tried to show her that I was fine. This experience brought me closer to my children and siblings and gave me a chance to re-evaluate my life.

Conclusion

After arriving in the United States, my life changed completely. I became more faithful and consistent in prayer, and reading the Quran. I realized the importance of enjoying simple moments and stepping away from the pressures of daily life. I learned to allocate time for myself to maintain my health and connection with God and to appreciate divine blessings. The experience affected every aspect of my life and made me view things positively.

I went through a difficult experience, but I learned a lot from it. I realized that relying on God gives a person extraordinary strength to face any challenge. I consider my illness a test from God to see my patience and endurance. I became more humble before God’s greatness and more aware of the value of life, health, and family. Praise be to God for everything.

In an inspiring story of healing, Abdulrahman, a 13-year-old Qatari boy, recounts how his life changed drastically at age eight. He never anticipated that his innocent play with his cousins and brother would transform into a challenging journey.

The Difficult Start:

The days leading up to Abdulrahman’s eighth birthday were full of joy and laughter, but illness began to encroach upon his young body. After noticing his worsening health, his mother decided to take him to the pediatric emergency center in Al-Sadd. Abdulrahman thought this visit would be just another routine check-up, but little did he know it would drastically alter his life.

When the family arrived at the center, they were shocked to be asked to move to an isolation room, which caused great concern for his mother. Abdulrahman was too young to fully understand what was happening and felt a mix of anxiety and fear. His mother reached out to the doctors, but they did not explain the reason for the isolation procedures. Amid this uncertainty, she discovered through online research that Abdulrahman might have leukemia, although this was not yet confirmed by the doctors.

Searching for Hope:

Abdulrahman began his journey with chemotherapy at Hamad General Hospital, but this was only the beginning. After days of tests and diagnoses, he was confirmed to have acute myeloid leukemia, and his chemotherapy treatment began, lasting for years. Despite Abdulrahman’s pain and anxiety, his mother remained by his side, helping him understand the illness and cope with it in age-appropriate ways.

The Treatment Journey:

The family moved to a children’s hospital in Washington, D.C., where Abdulrahman started a complex medical journey. He experienced significant distress and sadness due to the chemotherapy, and losing his hair was among the most challenging aspects. Nevertheless, there were moments of support, such as his uncle comparing his catheter to Iron Man’s “arc reactor,” which gave him the strength to face his challenges.

Meanwhile, Abdulrahman’s mother worked tirelessly to ensure his education continued, with teachers coming to the hospital to teach him. Although it was difficult for him, he later realized the importance of continuing his education as part of his healing journey.

Overcoming Challenges:

Despite the numerous challenges Abdulrahman faced in the hospital, including graft-versus-host disease and repeated chemotherapy, his family’s support never wavered. His mother was particularly distressed by the lack of suitable donors, but hope was restored when a mother in Texas donated umbilical cord blood that matched Abdulrahman.

Returning to Normal Life:

After the transplant, Abdulrahman and his family moved to a new home instead of staying in the hospital. The new home had a large basement that Abdulrahman transformed into his playground, giving him a space for relaxation and fun. However, he was still under regular medical follow-ups. Over time, the family returned to Qatar, where Abdulrahman continued his recovery.

Returning to School and Community:

When Abdulrahman returned to school, he faced difficulties adapting to the new environment, including bullying due to the weight gain from treatment. However, with the support of his new school, he was able to overcome these challenges and make new friends. The school was welcoming and helped him reintegrate into a normal life.

Optimism and Support:

Abdulrahman and his mother have not forgotten the gratitude they owe to the doctors, nurses, and social workers who supported them throughout the treatment journey. Organizations like “Make-A-Wish” and “Panda Group” provided non-medical support, improving Abdulrahman’s quality of life. Gestures such as providing photos of children in the hospital or supporting them through nausea had a significant impact on his morale.

A Message of Hope:

As things settled, Abdulrahman’s mother wanted to share their experience with the community. She expressed her hope that society would become more open and understanding in supporting children and their families facing cancer. She said, “God tested many children with cancer, including my son. This topic should not remain taboo. Society needs to be more open and understanding to help children and their families, as mutual support greatly contributes to overcoming hardships.”

Conclusion:

Abdulrahman’s story is a powerful reminder of the strength of hope and the role of family and community support in overcoming tough times. His journey from pain to healing highlights the importance of empathy and cooperation in addressing health challenges.

My name is Sami. I come from Jordan. I moved to Doha in 2016 to start my own business and improve my children’s and my family’s material and social conditions. I was a kind father, responsible for the happiness and welfare of my family. I was an athlete, never smoked, and paid great attention to my health.

After I arrived in Doha, I began to feel a change in my right eye, although the external eye examinations did not explain why! However, an MRI scan did.

Here was my first shock when it turned out that the reason was the presence of some tumors in my brain. Later, cancer spread to different parts of my body: the liver, the adrenal glands, the lungs, and the spine, and a terrible nightmare began.

I never thought I’d start counting the number of days left for me in the world, and I never imagined myself in bed, waiting to die; I’ve had mixed thoughts about everything: parents, children, work .. etc.

Should I give in to sickness and death just like that? Should I open the door so easily for that monster to eat my body and my ability to live? During those days, I saw only death in front of my eyes. Death did not faint in my mind, so I was exhausted of this feeling until I stopped myself and asked, why do I think about death while I was still alive? Therefore, I resisted; I decided to co-live with it and put away every negative thought or slight idea that meant my life was ending. I would hide this dilemma from my parents and family. I did not want to overburden them or make them feel pain or sorrow for knowing my disease, so I decided to leave them to their lives and studies. Even my wife has burdens and responsibilities against kids and their studies.

I started the journey of radiotherapy, then chemotherapy. Have you ever heard about chemotherapy and its adverse effects? It has severe impacts on the body and psyche. It causes delirium, weakness, inflammation, diarrhea, depression, and several significant side effects.

Cortisone and radiation left their prints on my face and frail body. Questions by colleagues at work began to increase. My capability to work was decreasing. I found that people surrounding me offered their help. However, my decision not to inform anyone has never changed. I did not stop working, refused all assistance despite suffering from fatigue and pain, and endured all with love and conviction about God’s fate.

I continued with the chemotherapy for a while and liked to stay in the hospital despite seeing patients suffering everywhere around me. Nevertheless, I succeeded in making these hard times an opportunity to create a peaceful and thrilling atmosphere. I used to sit in the hospital garden to enjoy the open air and chat with nurses and patients. I was grateful to God that the center was free of sick children because I couldn’t bear to see a sick child.

I followed the treatment patiently and effortlessly, resisting and insisting. Little by little, disease began to decline, and victory was overcome. Medical reports showed positive results after the chemotherapy. In contrast, the stage of immunotherapy has started. Hope, vitality, and strength returned to my tired body, which was exhausted by the treatment.

I have become more upbeat and optimistic and look forward to the prospects of a better life free from cancer and treatment.

All this happens without telling anyone about my family. I endured a great deal of physical and psychological fatigue.

During that period, all excuses for not returning to my country and seeing my family during holidays and vacations are running out. My wife was inquiring why her husband was changing, so I had to tell her about my status and everything that had happened. She had never expected that I and death would be at a close distance.

My wife asked me to come to Doha immediately, but I refused and asked me to leave everything back and go to me. Still, I declined and convinced her of the necessity and importance of our stay in the same situation and continued my treatment, and she continued to take care of the children.

Thank God, I became better and better under the treatment I follow at the National Centre for Cancer Care & Research.

My advice to those afflicted by this disease is to adhere to treatment, not give up hope, and not heed other advice that others believe will cure cancer.

Having achieved an excellent result with immunotherapy, my presence in the center became less, and I recovered successfully. After a short period, I visited my family. I told everyone, especially my mother, but I reassured her that I was being treated in safe hands and that it was much better than being in any other place or country.

At this time, I decided to end this line of my life and start over another bright line and page. I came out of that experience a new human being reborn after my recovery, and my view of life was renewed, so that time became more valuable, as well as in the evaluation of relationships and work, and God only determines that death. Determination, will, desire to live, and trust in God is the way to recovery and not to think about death for as long as we live.