What do you do when you hear that your child has cancer? Reflect on this for a few seconds. What do you do?
Yaseen and I were sitting in the reception area of the doctor’s rooms while Mujeeb was trying to secure a parking spot. Sitting in the room of an oncologist, a cancer doctor, somehow makes the reality of the situation strike home..
I was making random conversation with Yaseen, just trying to remind him of normal life and steer his mind away from the heavy ‘cancer’ word – even as we sat in the waiting room of an oncologist.
Cancer was on Yaseen’s mind though, how could it not be? He started talking about Mathew, a boy at his university who had also recently been diagnosed with cancer. Mathew’s cancer, however, was a rare kind and one that was not easily curable.
I sat there reminded of my blessings, extremely grateful that we had been dealt the scenario of ‘if ever you had to choose a cancer, you’d choose Hodgkin’s Lymphoma as it’s more easily treatable’.
In just a few months, treatment would probably be over for Yaseen and he would be back on campus, studying. Yes, regardless of the situation we were in, I was reminded that there were other people out there who were fighting battles that were greater than ours.
The oncologist met with us and took us through the treatment plan. At the very first consultation, I decided that I didn’t care for this doctor very much. For me, he had made the cardinal error of conducting the meeting as though Yaseen was the key decision-maker, and that we, his parents, were merely there for support.
He saw Yaseen as being 18 years and an adult. And I saw Yaseen as only 18 years, and still my baby boy. All his life, I had acted in his good interest, and all his life I had sheltered him from the bad. Now, when the stakes were so high, I wasn’t ready to be side-lined.
But Yaseen seemed to like the oncologist well enough, as did Mujeeb. I was clearly in the minority regarding my opinion. And so, regardless of my misgivings, this particular doctor was then assigned to proceed with the treatment.
The oncologist recommended a form of chemotherapy as treatment. I thought he would, but still, just hearing the word made me cringe. Chemotherapy. I’m not sure I can properly describe my dislike of that word. I had seen its effects on people who I loved. And now, I was about to witness its effects on my son.
Yaseen, in general, disliked medication. He had a high pain threshold, and often when he had a headache or some pain, he would rather pass up on the Panados and simply weather it out. But now he was facing something much worse than popping a pain pill. As averse as he was to the chemotherapy, he decided that it was something that had to be done. There didn’t appear to be much alternative. It was a matter of do it, get done with it, and move on.
I wanted to consider natural alternative treatments, so I started doing some research. And I was so desperate to avoid the chemotherapy, that at one point I met with a man who produced no credentials, who refused to give me details on the treatment plan he was proposing unless I signed some sort of waiver, and who worked from the back quarters at someone’s home. Perhaps he had a treatment plan that was good, but I decided I wasn’t willing to take the chance.
I realized that there were so many treatments out there claiming to help alleviate cancer, but there were no guarantees.. And I accepted that none could provide that guarantee, except Allah SWT.
The doctor wanted to start chemotherapy treatment as soon as possible, and I needed some time to investigate the alternatives. There was this sense of urgency. So finally, against my rational judgment and despite every fibre of my being despising it, I relented toward the proposed chemotherapy. Just do it, get done with it, and move on.
At the start of this blog, I asked a question – what do you do when you hear that your child has cancer?
You pray. If you never had faith, you start to pray, and if you have faith, you pray more than ever before.
For me, that moment of diagnosis was a heavy reminder that I had no control of the situation. Whatever control I ever imagined I had, was misguided. Allah SWT had allowed me to manage the affairs of my boys. But as for control – it is, was and always will remain His.
This feeling of helplessness was enough to humble me. I needed help, desperately. I needed Allah SWT to fix things, to cure Yaseen and make things okay again.
I needed for Allah SWT to send down His Mercy.
I didn’t fully comprehend that the mercy of Allah SWT was already there. And always was there.
In my mind, I was in the hardest test of my life, trying to get Yaseen healthy again. I didn’t know that this test was one of many more. And that the hardest, was still to come. The fact that I didn’t know the magnitude of the test that was still ahead of me, was mercy.
Had I known, I would have crumbled. I would have broken. I would have failed.
Allah SWT was testing me according to the level of my faith. The small and big hurdles came and went, and each was designed to test me and teach me.
But how do I know, with certainty, that Allah SWT was being merciful to me? Because He told me so.
I mentioned that in Surah Fatiha, there is a dialogue taking place with Allah SWT. So, how does Allah SWT describe Himself in this surah? The Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.
Actually, at the beginning of every surah of the Qu’ran (with the exception of surah At-Tawbah), Allah SWT tells me, reminds me, promises me, that He is the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful…the Entirely Merciful, the Especially Merciful.
And how do I know that His promise of mercy is true? Because, again, He told me. *
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* O people, indeed the promise of Allah (SWT) is true – (Qur’an 35:5)