My name is Sheikha Al-Mannai. I work as a TV and Radio presenter. I have been working as a teacher and a school principal since 1995. I resigned from my position as a school Principal of a governmental school in 2016, and I traveled abroad to explore myself and find a new passion. At first, I thought it was just a contusion, although it was not blue. I have learned in school how to examine my body. While checking my body, I found a tumor at the top of my shoulder that scared me. Initially, I suspected it could be a tumor because a barrier hit me during swimming. I initially neglected it for nearly four months as I thought it was just a contusion. I met a competent doctor who told me it would be better to subject me to ultrasound rays to see the content of this discoloration. He gave some medicines that might help to reduce inflation. Upon coming home, I decided to work in media. Two months after starting my new career, I became worried about the tumor because it had decreased in size after taking medicines. However, it had re-emerged. Therefore, I went to the Health Center that converted my health file to Hamad Medical Corporation the following day. I received a phone call from a health consultant that they had received my file and would identify an appointment for me.

The doctor went through a Clinical examination and said he suspected having a tumor. He asked me about my family’s disease history and children and whether I had breastfed them. After the first visit to the hospital, I was referred to the surgery department, which removed some lymph nodes for analysis. It took two weeks to get the analysis results. The result was positive for grade 1 breast cancer. I have not understood what happened for a while. I cried when I knew the result, not for fear of illness, but because I knew how my mother was frightened. My mother knew something was wrong, so I told her the truth. The doctor was the most prominent supporter. He told me that I needed chemotherapy followed by surgical treatment. He said to me that medicine is divided into stages. The healing process may be complex and critical. Any of them may result in hair and weight loss. What helped me during this crucial period was the remembrance of God Almighty, the observance of the prayers, and the reading of the Holy Qur’an. I swept grievingly, especially during prayers. I took the first chemotherapy dose at the National Center for Cancer Care & Research (Al-Amal Hospital). The smell of the treatment made me nauseous and tired. I asked the nurse how long the treatment might take, and the response was almost three hours.

My father and doctor used to accompany me on every treatment visit and were waiting for me throughout the treatment period in the hospital. They asked me to eat after treatment, and I refused because the medicine made me nauseous.

On the first dose of treatment completion, I went to my parent’s home; they insisted I stay with them during the treatment period because of my symptoms. I was taking treatment every twenty-one days. The biggest concern for me was the pain that happened to my mother. After treatment, she burst into tears because she smelled of treatment mixed with mine. She noticed that my mood was changing after treatment. Having completed the first treatment stage, I asked to complete treatment in a tranquil city like Qatar in terms of customs and habits. To avoid seeing myself in that sick state, I was converted to MD Anderson, where I was far from my mother. My brother accompanied me on my road for treatment. Before traveling, I had told some of my coworkers about my medical condition. I had not said any of them before because I didn’t want anyone to pity me.

My brother looked at my weak body piteously, and I asked him to stop because this pathetic way may result in more weakness and would not help. Living in Houston is considered the best-ever period of my entire life. I have not lived in the accommodation allocated to patients. Instead, I lived far from them to avoid the sympathetic sight of people. I decided on a day to stop using a wig. When my brother saw me, he went off without saying a word. I knew how he felt. Therefore, when he returned, he was shocked that I accepted myself. Physicians have told me it is temporary; you will return to your normality within nine months. I told my brother that I didn’t want him to look at me miserably, significantly, since the treatment differed. I took the medical dose every 21 days; I take it now weekly. A large number of breast cancer patients were there. Most of them were elderly and accompanied by their husband or sister. Their condition was more difficult than mine. For that reason, I realized that there is hope, and I must be brave and overcome the pain caused by chemotherapy with the help of God during treatment.

I rarely felt hurt because I insisted on keeping myself busy with sports, swimming, and cooking for my brother and neighbors. My daily schedule was crowded. I woke up at 10:00 a.m. to clean the house, put the clothes in the washing machine, do house chores ..etc. These little details mean a lot to me. It made me feel so accomplished instead of feeling sorry for myself. I persisted with my brother going out before treatment to have fun because I knew I couldn’t do anything the day after treatment. The treatment period meant a lot to me. It allowed me to realize the true meaning of family.

I became aware of the importance of having my family next to me. My mother, may God have mercy on her, and my father used to call me several times every day. My mother was very worried about me; she felt ill. Her heart became weak, and she became unable to speak. Psychologically, she suffered more than I did. I tried to show her I was okay and sent her pictures of me doing the housework, but she was still worried. Having arrived in the USA, my life changed completely. My faith became stronger; I used to pray Tahjud at night until now.

Moreover, I read Surat Al-Baqarah and morning and evening remembrances daily. I noticed how the speed of daily life makes us all get distracted and lose control of time, convincing us that there is not enough time for what we want to work on and occupying us with work that we think is more important. However, there is nothing more important than that a person takes time dedicated to himself to maintain his health and keep him connected to his Lord to feel God’s blessings in life. All of us need time to meditate on what we went through. It is important because the disease affects everything in a person’s life, no matter how small. Treatment affected my body and deepened my way of thinking. This experience made me shift my view from negative to positive and how I deal with life difficulties.

Now, I consider anything that may meet me in life easy, God willing. When a person relies on God Almighty, he will find an unnatural force that helps him face whatever happens. I have realized that nothing could be compared to cancer. I cannot describe myself as a cancer fighter. However, I combat cancer with the help of God Almighty. My illness was a test from God to see my patience and endurance. Allah says, “Allah burdens not a person beyond his scope” 02:286. God, the Highest, knew I could bear my illness, and I contracted this disease to realize my shortcomings. On becoming ill, I realized the importance of everything and became aware and appreciated what life gave me. I knew the value of health and family. My children and brothers have become closer. My daily routine took me away from my parents. I visited them daily, but I have never been close to them. I have discovered these things because of illness.

 

Abdulrahman is a typical 13-year-old Qatari boy whose life changed dramatically when he was eight. Which tells us his story, saying:

It was a month after my birthday, and I was playing with my cousins and my brother (at my grandfather Yousuf’s house) when my mom brought me to the Pediatric Emergency Centre at Al-Saad for what we both thought was a regular physical checkup and blood work since I was falling sick continually (with a high fever) and more than any other children in my family. (The doctor wanted to send me home with antibiotics, but my mother felt something was wrong and insisted that the doctor get blood labs done as I looked pale, weak, and tired.) I told my cousins I would be back very soon and we could continue playing football when I returned. Little did I know that would be the last time I would see my family for another three years.

My mother and I had arrived at PEC and expected similar results as previous visits. We waited patiently when the nurse and doctor told us we had to be moved to an Isolation room. Being an 8-year-old, I didn’t quite understand what was happening around me, but this was also the case for my mother, and the doctor didn’t explain why we had to move.

As the nurse came in to (check on my vital signs), my mother asked if we were placed in the isolation room to keep others safe since she thought I had an infectious disease. When the nurse replied, “It’s to keep your son safe from others,” this reply shocked my mother and me.

Within an hour, I was in an ambulance on my way to Hamad General Hospital, still not knowing why all this was happening to me. Once I arrived at the hospital, another group of nurses tended to me and started (a) another blood transfusion containing platelets. Despite all this chaos and uncertainty, my mother kept her composure and was my light in the dark. My mother had called her father (my grandfather). She told him of this situation, which caused him to cry since his friend was diagnosed with Cancer and had undergone a similar procedure (the symptoms she was explaining to him that I was having confirmed to him that I had Cancer.

My mother, extremely frustrated as nobody was giving us any answers, had googled all the symptoms and concluded that I had Leukemia (pale, fatigue, high fever, bruises, low platelets, low ANC, etc.). This conclusion was met with hesitancy from the doctors, and both my mother and I spent the entire (night) in Hamad Hospital without knowing why we were there. The next day, when the doctors came in for their morning rounds, my mother confronted them and asked if I had Leukemia–but she was met with more uncertainty from the doctors. (The doctor had excused himself and left the room.

After a few hours, my mom was asked by the doctor to step out of my room and in the hallway, I was told that they usually don’t give this type of information to a lady without her family present, but as I have already known, yes they are suspecting that my son has Leukemia) After enduring a couple more days full of tests in Hamad Hospital, they had to confirm that I had Leukemia, so I had to undergo an LP to take a sample of my bone marrow to check for cancer cells. My mother and family were very nervous and praying, but my mom never should be a sign that something serious was wrong with me.). (The next day, the doctors had a meeting with my family and informed them that) I was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) and started on chemotherapy immediately to save my life – this was only two days after I had left my home for what had seemed to be a regular checkup that would change my life forever. At this point, I was getting agitated and just wanted to know when I could leave the hospital and play with my cousins again. At that point, my mother explained to me simply about Leukemia and what we would have to do to get rid of this disease. For example, there was a problem with my blood, and the platelets and blood transfusion they gave me were like soldiers going into my body to fight the bad guys). My mother didn’t want to leave me in the dark regarding my condition (and firmly believed that it was essential that I understand what was happening), but at the same time, she didn’t want to scare me with big words–I was a child after all.

Within a week after this chaos, my father, brother, grandma Ameena, mother, and I were flown to the Children’s Hospital in Washington, DC (accompanied by a doctor and nurse on the plane as I was still very sick and hooked up on various medications). Immediately as we walked into the hospital room, we were swarmed by a room full of doctors and social workers (remember this was the evening, and my mother was exhausted from the long flight). This was the start of my 3-year medical journey (in the USA). I was (sad, confused, and wanted to see my family) miserable most of this time, despite my family’s strong support and my mother staying by my side the entire time. I hadn’t seen my school friends, siblings, and cousins for a long time and felt emotionally isolated. I only had my mother and grandmother as my only constants, which was the sole reason I could get through this illness and stay strong.

I don’t remember much of what happened in the hospital (since most of the time, I was on strong pain medication). Still, some of the most painful moments were when they had to place a Broviac Catheter in my body–I remember being in excruciating pain and not talking to my mother. I felt like I was no longer a boy; they had changed me into a robot. That period was the longest time that I had ignored my mom. Then (my Uncle Ahmed) one of my uncles, called me from Qatar and pointed out that Ironman’s arc reactor on his chest looked just like my catheter, and he told me that Ironman’s reactor was the basis of his strength in the same way that my (Broviac)catheter was my strength. My Uncle’s words helped me to change how I looked at hospital procedures; the procedures no longer scared me, but they were still painful, just not as scary as before.

I lost much of my hair in the hospital due to chemotherapy. Chunks of my hair would be falling into my cereal ( and I would wake up with hair all over my pillow, even in my mouth sometimes, and that frustrated me), and then (my Uncle Abdulla) another of my Uncles, Facetimed me and told me about John Cena and The Rock, two of my favorite wrestlers who were bald (and that the strongest people in the world are the people in the military and they all shave their heads). He said being bald made them strong, and this conversation helped me immensely during that time. I even let the Chief of Hematology Oncology in the hospital to shave my head. (And I was happy with that.)

Besides the hard times, I also remember the fun I had in the hospital with the nurses who cared for me and the hospital clowns and ballet dancers who would often visit. I remember (during my bone marrow transplant, I was not allowed many visitors, and my interactions with the nurses weren’t allowed anymore except with my assigned nurse) one time when interaction with the hospital staff was decreasing, so my mother created a game called “Guess Haman’s ANC,” where the hospital staff would guess my Absolute Neutrophil Count every day. The closest guesses would get prizes. This encouraged the team to walk by my room and wave or smile or talk to me, which lifted my spirits (she would print a piece of paper, stick it on my door, and open the curtains so that I could see everyone’s excitement). This community spirit helped me and my family get through this ordeal.

I was able to be friends with some of the children in the hospital, especially this Saudi boy who was admitted at the same time as me. Still, there was an incident when one of my friends had to get her legs amputated, which was a major shock to me, and that event stopped me from talking to any of the children in the hospital. I still don’t understand why I did that, but I felt more comfortable talking to the adults in the hospital after that incident.)

I could not go to school during chemotherapy as it was taking a significant toll on my body, but I did have tutors who would come to the  tutor would come to my home whenever I was there, and no matter how sick I felt, my mother made sure I kept my brain working) hospital to teach me. Even at moments when I wouldn’t be able to speak, I was still learning, thanks to my mom. I wouldn’t say I liked every second of it then, and I would try to hide under my blankets and ask my mother to make the tutor leave, but now I understand the importance of continuing my education. My mom said that continuing my education was designed to make me feel that this part of my life was temporary and that this, too, shall pass. I didn’t believe in that idea then, but I do now.

After most of my chemotherapy cycles were over, we rented a huge house and moved into it instead of the hospital as it wasn’t necessary to stay there. My mother had rented a house with a basement and turned it into my playground – I had video games and a vast space to play football – it was great! But this didn’t last long: more labs were done for me, which revealed that there were still cancer cells in the blood – the chemotherapy wasn’t working as well as we thought it would, and the doctors found out that I had a 5q deletion in my genetic profile, which means that I had to have a bone marrow transplant. Thus, I had to have two more cycles of chemo before the transplant could be done, so we had to move back to the hospital.

The search for an HLA (human leukocyte antigen) match was probably the worst period for my mother as our relatives and friends back in Qatar weren’t aware of this, and even when they were tested, no one turned out to be my match (even the international bank didn’t have a good match for me). One day, the doctors informed us that a mother in Texas had donated her newborn’s cord blood, which surprisingly matched my HLA: I had an unrelated stem cell donor in Texas!

The following steps before the transplant were the worst. I had to endure total body radiation twice a day (since kids rarely undergo this type of radiation, I had to go to an adult hospital via ambulance – I didn’t mind the ambulance ride. It had a TV!)  and then (one more cycle of chemo but it was strong on my body and the doctor’s told my mom that they need to bring my body to near death as possible so that my body doesn’t reject the donor’s cells) more cycles of chemo before I was ready for the transplant. Then came the complications – (Acute and chronic GVHD in the gut and skin) and multiple rejections of the transplanted bone marrow. Your body recognizes that the new bone marrow is foreign and tries to fight it. Hence, I was placed on heavy steroids to combat the rejections. I was given strict guidelines: everything I ate had to be cooked thoroughly, and I had an hour to eat it and to drink a bottle of water within an hour as well –if it had been left alone more than that, it was no longer safe for me to drink. (I was not allowed to eat fresh fruits, vegetables, or anything not cooked at home for a long time. However, due to my GVHD and other complications, I didn’t eat for six months and was living on TPN 24 hours) During this challenging time, my mother ensured I had a psychologist so that my mental health was cared for.

After most of the medical severe therapy was over, and the doctors allowed me to go to school, I was enrolled in a public school in the USA. I had mixed feelings about going back to school. I had missed playing and having friends my age, but at the same time, this was a different environment, and I didn’t exactly look like a normal kid. The steroids I was on had caused a lot of weight gain, so I faced some bullying at the public school. Other students wouldn’t allow me to play football, my favorite sport, with them, and even the teachers didn’t seem to understand my situation. The Physical Education teacher was frustrated that I couldn’t run during the PE sessions due to my weight. This didn’t bother me as much as it did my mother. I just told her that it was okay, and I played football in my head – little did I know then that this was a coping mechanism I had developed during my bedridden time in the hospital. I was taken out of the school soon after since the students or the teachers weren’t accommodating, and the next school, BASIS Independent Mclean (a private school), was more understanding and accompanied by my condition and requirements. Instead of making me feel left out, they made me stand out amongst the others, and I had the opportunity to share my story, which was welcomed by all students and teachers alike. I made many friends there and felt like I was returning to my life.

Besides support from the school, the community spirit in the hospital played a massive role in my recovery. Organizations such as “Make a Wish” allowed me to meet John Cena, and support groups for mothers such as PANDA would come up with non-medical solutions for issues such as nausea or sleeping difficulties. I remember receiving a ‘magic ceramic in the shape of a ball stone’ from them to help with nausea. Now I realize that the stone was probably not magical at all, but it helped me to believe in such a thing at that time. Additionally, there was a couple who volunteered to take pictures of all the kids in the hospital, giving us all a photo shoot – it was this support that broke the stigma and feeling of hopelessness that surrounded the kids and their families. Removing stigma about Cancer is something that I feel could be improved in Qatar, which is what the Qatar Cancer Society is trying to achieve.

When we all returned to Qatar after the transplant, I had to every 6 months Abdulrahman had to return to DC to continue his treatment and checkups. Alhamdallah, on the 12th of June 2020, we celebrated five years since his bone marrow transplant – 5 years cancer-free!  My mother made sure I joined QCS so that I could share my story with others who might be in the same position as me. We expected to see Qatari children and their families to be in the support groups. However, the association had only ex-pats, which shows that this is still a taboo topic in this society. Hence, in an attempt to empower others, my mother arranged for me to make a video about my experience with Cancer to show that if I can get through this, so can they.

This journey has made me realize that I am stronger than I look or think and appreciate the people around me, as life is unpredictable. I thank the doctors, nurses, social workers, and everyone who supported me in Qatar and the USA. I would also like to mention “Be the Match,” a bank to which anyone can donate their blood and help find an HLA match like me. If the mother in Texas hadn’t donated her newborn’s (cord) blood to the bank, I wouldn’t have had a good transplant, and if more people in Qatar were aware of this bank, then I could have gotten a faster match and recovery. (since the HLA typing is based on ethnicity)

Last, Abdel Rahman’s mother sent her message to the community: “Cancer is given to us by God: children like my son have done nothing to acquire this. Hence, it shouldn’t be taboo or haram to talk about it; more people should open up to this so that we as a society can get comfortable and support each other.

My name is Suma; I’m a Nurse Specialist. I always cared for patients with Lung cancer who are primarily diagnosed in advanced stages and hence need palliative care, thinking that I can ease their pains and sorrows – I can be their shield against cancer, against a villain who I have never expected to face myself, but I was wrong; July 2016 was the time for me to be bold and fight against it, and at that time, I found my patients to be my strong, protective shield throughout my journey. I had persistent fatigue, so I decided to see a physician; then, I had blood tests and a mammogram, which showed that I might lump in my breast, so a biopsy was obtained. This biopsy conveyed a diagnosis that I had never imagined. It translated my fatigue into something beyond my imagination. I was told that I have Stage 1 Breast Cancer.

Denial and rejection were all that I was feeling initially; I was not able to grasp the fact that I had cancer. I went home that day with a heavy heart, with serious steps, carrying a worrying diagnosis, which should have been the end of my story. I went home where I was sure I would feel secure; I went home to see my children and to listen to their joyful stories; I went home to be embraced by my family as my heart was filled with worry, and they’re the only ones who can enlighten it. Then came the question: should I inform my family yet? Will they be able to grasp it? I believed in them and knew they would support me with every step I took.

I informed my husband; he broke into tears. He cared for me a lot and was upset about my well-being. As time passed, he accepted it, and so did I. We both were ready to fight it together. He was always strong and by my side when I needed him. He comforted me and was there for me throughout the treatment. I had a one-year treatment phase, which included surgical treatment followed by chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and targeted therapy. I was tired and physically drained but I knew I was strong enough to handle it. I did things I enjoyed during my treatment cycle; for example, I’m a workaholic; thus, working although I’m sick took away all the sickness which I was experiencing as I felt happy doing my assigned duties. I showed this physically-draining disease that I’d appreciate life more as much as it drains me. I decided not to take sick leave; I went to work and helped my patients as I now know what they go through when they are sick. Cancer has enlightened my perspective regarding the disease and made me a better carer for my patients. Was I losing hair? Being fatigued? Having mood swings? This all vanished when I realized I was strong enough to win this battle. I gained strength through my family’s support, my patient’s well-being, and acceptance of my illness. In addition, my spiritual habits and strong relationship with god made me stronger and wiser, as I started to look at this condition as any other condition that will pass, making me mentally and physically stronger.

Cancer throws a person into a deep end, thinking that they entered a tunnel with no opening on the other side, but this is not the case; one should believe that they have the tools to create a space for themselves, leading to their well-being and acceptance. For that to happen, one must establish a positive attitude, supportive group, hope, and faith. Do things that make you happy, support others, and give yourself time to heal. Let it be; you can fight it.

 

 

My name is Sami Fattouh. I am eight years old, Syrian, live in Canada, and go to Fairview public school. I have fond memories of Qatar, the country I have lived in and one of the most beloved countries in my heart.

I speak Arabic and English. My parents enrolled me in a different school to learn Arabic after they felt that I started to forget it little by little because of living in Canada. I love to play in public parks and ride bikes. My dream is to become an adventurer, a paleontologist, and an astronaut in the future.

When I was three years old, I started to feel pain in my leg, but my parents did not want to worry me, so they told me that I had to go to the doctor to know the reason. when I was six, my parents told me, “We did not want you to be anxious when you were young; you had cancer since you were three.” At seven, my parents informed me more about Cancer and how it varies. I learned more when I started school. The treatment lasted for 36 months at the hospital. I completed the treatment, checkups, and medication at home. I still remember when my friends visited me and bought me presents. My favorite gift was Air Wheels Cars.

Cancer has many types. Any of them may attack body organs… You have to be punctual and take the medication in a strict amount and promptly. There was a playroom in the basement where I frequently played with my brother. Sometimes, I would stroll down the street with friends in Doha. But sometimes, the doctors recommended stopping visitors from seeing me. Therefore, in cooperation with Qatar Cancer Society (QCS), several volunteers would come to my room to make happy faces across the glass in the hospital and give me gifts so I could smile and even laugh. The doctors were kind and friendly.

My grandparents and aunts were paying visits to me constantly, bringing gifts and favorite foods. I decorated my room during Ramadan with crescents, stars, and lanterns. My family accompanied me every single moment of my journey. We always engaged in different activities, such as watching TV or playing cards. The intravenous treatment was painful; I was sometimes intense and weak at others. my uncle Mustafa and Khaled had their hair cut and said, “Come on, Sami, you have to have your hair cut.” I didn’t know that hair loss was a side effect of chemo. I guessed they encouraged me to cut my hair because it was a competition.

I have been feeling pain sometimes, but not always. Once, my cheeks were ripped out of the inside from the chemo, and it was painful, so I had to go to the hospital. It turns out I had cracks in my digestive system. It took a month to treat these cracks. I was no longer able to eat. I lost weight quickly. There were dry spots on my cheek inside, and I was crying from the pain, but soon I was playing and stopped crying. I liked eating the pasta the hospital served, and my mother started cooking it for me at home. I am used to eating it, and to this day, I call it ‘the hospital pasta.’ I also used to ask my mother to call my grandmother to ask her to make me kibbeh and mahshi.

I was so proud of myself when my parents called me Victor because I had beaten Cancer; Cancer significantly prevented me from hanging out with friends, going to preschool, and riding horses and bikes. It even stopped me from strolling down through the park. However, I used to walk in the hospital garden and play in the games room. I used to ask my aunt to take me to the games room during closing hours, and I used to go back to my room sadly to compensate my aunt, who gave me an iPad, to play games and watch YouTube together. I was accustomed to playing with toy trucks and characters, and I liked to run outside with my brother Iyad, but unfortunately, I could not run fast.

I was bored in the early days of my stay in the hospital, but I stopped being bored with the help of QCS and my family. My friends used to come to visit me and bring toys. I put those toys aside to be a souvenir for these difficult days. My brother and I frequently played with them. I have donated some of the toys to those in need. QCS used to give many gifts, and some of their members warmed my heart, especially when they dressed as clowns and cartoon characters.

QCS has provided me with much support and encouragement by inviting my parents and me to the events they organize. When I finished the treatment period, I could do everything. I will return to my usual life as before. I will sleep, as usual, go shopping, and go to classes.

 

The mother tells her memories of this  journey, saying :

“Stories of hope and people’s life experiences are the most important things that patients and their families seek. What matters most is that they are the hope and motivation to give more hope. Patients and families seek similar experiences and success stories that inspire patience and hope.

When the doctor told us that Sami had leukemia, it was a huge shock. Nevertheless, the involvement of our family and friends around us was a helpful factor in relieving the situation. Besides, credible doctors, thoughtful responses, and direct care from health professionals in Qatar have played a significant role in introducing the disease to us and calming us. We still remember our first stays at the hospital as the most challenging phase of our lives.

سWe had thought it was the end. Cancer is a diverse disease that affects people and ends their lives. We were trying to learn more about this disease and the recovery rate. We’ve been trying to hear any person’s experience that may lift our spirits and give us hope. I was praying for God to save my son and remove this ordeal. We quickly became ambassadors who spread hope among patients.

Sami responded to the treatment and medication processes despite the difficulties and complications. As a result of the lack of immunity, he sometimes developed some infections, and treatment was stopped. He has been infected with hepatitis, fluid retention, and heart inflammation. The cracks in his cheek, which Sami talks about with a smile now, were one of his most challenging experiences. These ulcers continued for 30 days, and he could not eat or drink, so the condition worsened. His digestive system completely deteriorated after chemotherapy until the doctors temporarily stopped treatment. Eventually, he recovered.

After Sami was discharged from the hospital, we decided to play a role in alleviating people’s suffering by paying short visits to other patients, telling them Sami’s success story, and providing them with advice. Through the effectiveness of QCS, I can inspire you with our journey. While describing his story, I am thrilled with Sami, a hero who achieved his voice faster and reached a more significant segment of society.

We were waiting patiently for Sami’s recovery day, and I took photos and videos to document the moments in his journey. Our feelings were a mixture of joy, and we ended this phase of his life with some concern about a possible relapse, God forbid. Still, this obsession haunts me even now, but it will gradually ease with time. However, I relate any minor illness of Sami to the possibility of his disease returning.

In conclusion, I sincerely thank QCS, who are still by our side. They have supported us financially and emotionally. Their programs and targeted activities mean a lot to families and patients.

 

 I felt it twice, and I kept feeling it until I realized I needed to see a doctor about it. At the doctor’s office, I was told it was a muscle cramp; I was given painkillers and sent on my way. However, the pain came back when I ran out of painkillers on vacation with my sister; therefore, I made an appointment at a clinic in Istanbul.

 When Faiza Al Kaabi – The owner of the story – went to her appointment, she described her pain to the doctor, who ordered some tests, and when the test results finally came back, her sister found out before her, and she could see in her face” Bad news. “

Faiza said, “I had lymphoma around the lungs, and the cancer had spread to my underarm and abdomen.

I was shocked–I couldn’t believe it. I had cancer. I used to participate in events to support cancer patients, and now they tell me I am a cancer patient. How did this happen? I had no bad habits that could cause cancer: I was active, constantly moving around. Why did this happen? Was it a test from Allah? Was it an affliction, and if so, for how long? Was it a punishment–what am I being punished for? What is my future going to be like? Will even I have a lot, to begin with? I had too many questions running around, colliding in my head. I was torn; one part of me thought it made sense that I had cancer. The pain was there (I could feel it); the test results were there, confirming the diagnosis. And yet the other part of me couldn’t make sense of it, and that part screamed, “This is me we are talking about! How can I have cancer!” But I did. I had cancer.

My head was a tangled web of thoughts, and the world was moving too fast. I needed to decide if I wanted treatment, and if so, I needed to start treatment immediately. I needed to decide where will I get the treatment. Will I return to Doha, get treated there, or stay in a foreign country? I needed to make too many decisions, and I needed to make them quickly. I couldn’t decide since I was still confused and in disbelief. Eventually, I pulled myself together and decided to get my treatment abroad with the same doctor who diagnosed me.

As my first chemo session approached, more and more people called me to tell me that I was strong and would get through it, and after a while, I started to believe it. I began to accept that I had cancer. By that point, some of the initial shock dissipated, but not all of it.

Everything changed a few days before Eid Al-Adha when I started chemo. The chemo shocked my body: I was constantly tired and vomiting, I was irritable and anxious, and I couldn’t eat without getting nauseous. I reached a point where I wished my mother would not visit me so that she would not bring me food that would make me sick. It felt as if I became a new person that didn’t know what she wanted or how to express it; I felt like I was in the middle of a storm, alone with a stranger that is supposed to be me, and my task was to get to know the stranger. I was in such agony that I prayed for patience to bear all this pain and the trials to come the day before Eid.

The first day of Eid came, and Faiza felt even worse. Her family looked as if they had been at a funeral. Everyone had a frown on their face. They couldn’t smile or be happy, and they couldn’t even wish each other a happy Eid. Eid seemed like a burden on her family, reminding them that while the rest of the world was enjoying this “happy” day, something was eating her from the inside out.

A week after my first chemo session was my birthday. The chemo was wreaking havoc inside my body, and I felt every little change the chemo was inducing. I felt the pain of every dying cancer cell and was exhausted. The pain was too much. I reached a point where I started to question why I was doing this. Why am I putting myself through this torture? Why am I bearing all this agony?

My reason became apparent when I saw the unshed tears in my family’s eyes and how hard they tried to make the treatment more accessible and make me happy. On my birthday, my sisters rented a yacht. On the yacht, they showed me how much they loved me; they prepared a birthday dinner with cakes and gifts and even wrote my name with a laser on Bosphorus Bridge. I was over the moon. I forgot about the pain and was too happy to think about it or feel it. In that blissful moment, I thought, “If I die after today, I will be content.” That day gave me an intense dose of happiness that kept me going.

My family treated me with love. They showed me how much they loved me through the little things. The smell of detergent bothered me, so they told me to leave the room whenever they wanted to use it. I saw how worried they were about me. My sister couldn’t sleep well and would wake me up and ask me if I was alright. My mother couldn’t eat because I couldn’t eat. She would cook me food daily, even though it was hard for her to get up and stand due to a leg problem. It soon became apparent that I feared leaving my family behind rather than fearing death.

When it was time for one of my sisters to return to Doha for her kids, I could sense her heart’s dilemma. She left a part of her heart with me, while the other part belonged to her children. We were all having dinner one last time before my sister went back to Doha when I broke the news to them. “I haven’t had enough of you all yet,” I said. “There are so many more experiences that I want to have with you. I want to grow old with you. I will bear it all for you; I will endure the pain, bear the nausea and the fatigue. I will come back for you, sister.” Everyone broke down in tears. I realized I was one of the lucky ones. I had so many people that loved me and cared for me. The people who weren’t physically with me called me every day without getting bored to check up on me.

It took me a while, but I accepted my illness. I was in a situation I couldn’t get out of. What was I going to do about it? My doctor told me that my chances of survival were high. Nonetheless, some people don’t get better and die. He said, “It’s still a disease, treat it like you would anything else, and leave the medicine for me and focus on yourself.” And that I did.

After my third chemo, I learned to live with my cancer. I had a chair in the bathroom for when I got dizzy and bags for when I needed to vomit. I knew that lemon made me nauseous, so I steered clear of it. I had one of my sisters sneak ice cream into my hospital room behind the nurse’s back since I wasn’t allowed to have any. I had my favorite books sent over from Doha to read them whenever I felt like it. I let my body adjust to the new reality of cancer and chemotherapy.

Even with my family’s unwavering support, I had moments of weakness. I was left alone in an isolated room for six chemo sessions, with no sound except for machines beeping here and there. I was starved of human interaction. I missed being with people and socializing with them. The loneliness of the treatment room, combined with the inconsistent illness that the chemo brought on, pushed me to a point where I couldn’t make the most straightforward decisions, so I surrendered my autonomy to those I trusted most, my family. During my moments of weakness, I felt insufferable pain that made me want to quit, but my sister wouldn’t let me. She would ask me to bear it for her if not for myself, which made me angry. I didn’t want to take this torture for anyone. My sister would leave me to my thoughts after my outbursts. I would think about what she said and remember why I started treatment in the first place: I started it for them.

Six chemotherapy sessions in total. It sounded like a lot and like the sixth session was so far away, out of my reach. Regardless, I did it: I finished the first course of chemotherapy, and now, it was time for the doctor to check and see if chemotherapy had any effect on my cancer.

I had no expectations for the test results. I was neither hopeful nor was I pessimistic. I didn’t want to have hope to get disappointed, and I didn’t want to think negatively. Whatever the test results were, I would have accepted them. I was in a place of tranquility. If the doctor told me the treatment didn’t work and there was nothing else he could do, I would be upset, but I accepted death. I didn’t take death as the end. Instead, I took it from a religious perspective. “If you yearn to meet Allah, Allah will also yearn to meet you.” That phrase gave me comfort and courage to face my death. My family, of course, wouldn’t hear any of this, but it was a possibility that we all needed to acknowledge. If the doctor told me I had a little while left, I would go back to Doha and gather all my loved ones to see them one last time before I departed this universe and entered another. If he told me my end was near, I would stay in this country until my time was up.

“Fayzah, I have some news for you,” said the doctor.

“What?” I asked.

“Good news,” the doctor answered. I expected him to say that my body was responding well to treatment or other things doctors say to their patients to motivate them. What he said next left me speechless and baffled.

“The test results are out: they show a healthy body.”

Everyone calls me a hero for beating cancer, but I do not feel like one. I had moments of weakness, for no one is strong regarding illness. Sometimes we can’t sleep due to a toothache. Imagine what it would be like to feel the ache of cancer and chemo. It has been a year since I got cancer. I don’t know if it will ever come back or when. Maybe I got cancer to change how I see things, to tell me that I needed to live my life better. However, I know I am stronger now, thanks to cancer.

My life was a dirty lens before cancer–blurry and unclear–and cancer helped me clean it and see the world. I stopped letting the small things bother me, for life is more significant than whatever little thing is trying to upset you. Cancer taught me to choose myself and those who love me over work because I am easily replaceable at work, whereas I am irreplaceable for my loved ones. I realized that losing my hair is nothing compared to losing my soul and that I should do whatever it takes to preserve it, for a single hair doesn’t determine my happiness, and my soul is what matters.

I am grateful that I belong to a community where strangers will reach out and ask about you, and other strangers will start a charity project in your name just because they heard you were sick. Nonetheless, I hope that one day people will stop treating cancer as if it were a disgrace: we, cancer patients and survivors, did not choose or ask for it.

I can say to those who were just diagnosed, “I prevailed, and so can you.” There isn’t a single disease on earth without a cure. Humans haven’t discovered the cures for “incurable” diseases. Listen to your doctor and only your doctor for medical advice, and focus on yourself.

I’m glad I put up with the treatment a year later because many things are worth the pain and living for. I’m so happy that I got cancer and went through this experience. Given the choice, I would not return to the way things were because I now see things.

I wouldn’t wish that someone would go through what I went through, but if someone has cancer, take it with courage. We can do this together. We are part of a supportive community that wants to be there for everyone. I am sharing my story as my way to be there for you.