Yaseen had faced every medical crisis on his own, but the news of his kidneys failing, that was too much to bear alone. He was in need of some positive reinforcement. So he asked that one parent visit with him, inside the hospital room.
After some deliberation and for various reasons, we decided that Mujeeb should be that parent. Mujeeb did his Covid test, donned the BMTU protective gear and stepped into Yaseen’s room every day for weeks, to lend Yaseen as much physical and psychological support as he could.
Since Yaseen’s abdomen was very bloated with the fluid retention, dialysis proceeded swiftly and daily. And then at around day three of dialysis, the treatment was abruptly stopped. By the mercy of Allah SWT, Yaseen’s kidney function had improved to a point where dialysis was no longer needed. Suddenly, unexpectedly, but gratefully, it appeared the worst of the kidney crisis was over.
We were dealing with crisis situations since July, and it was now September. Yaseen was still in hospital, his dad was still doing the in-room visitations with him, and I was still visiting him from outside his hospital window. And then, things changed that September.
Waseem was on school vacation, so I requested him to spend a few days at his grandparents place. And then I went into isolation, did the Covid test and swopped roles with Mujeeb.
After almost two months and so many close calls of losing him, I was finally inside the same room as my son, holding him.
The days passed with me reading monitors and consulting doctors, and it was hard. Hearing news in situations of life-threatening illnesses, and relaying that kind of news, is hard.
This journey through Yaseen’s illness was a lonely journey. Covid’s seclusion from family and friends made it lonely. And me wanting to spare everyone else from seeing and feeling my sadness, made it lonely. I hid, as best as I could, my sorrow from the world. But in private, I sobbed. In my prayers, I hid nothing. I cried as if my heart was breaking, because it was.
It was early October 2021, and we had encountered around two full months of organ after organ going into distress. And then, just when we thought the worst of it was over, yet again, we were proven wrong.
Yaseen was barely eating. Nurses had tried more than once to insert a feeding tube via his nose, but he kept on vomiting it out. My baby had become so thin and frail, just to look at him broke my heart.
There was no resemblance to the stocky, strong ‘rugby player’ (that the nurses had joked he resembled) physique he had when he had been admitted into hospital. Cancer and chemotherapy had chipped away at this. But it had failed, utterly, completely, miserably, to bend and break his beautiful spirit.
Yaseen was complaining of pain by his stomach area, and he was barely eating. So a general surgeon, a soft-spoken Indian doctor, was called in to do a scope of the stomach area.
As had happened so often before, what we hoped would turn out to be minor, turned out to be major.
A large amount of the vessels in Yaseen’s stomach lining had burst, causing bleeding into his stomach. The surgeon had cauterized some of the bleeding vessels, but there were too many for the cauterization to be effective.
After considering the situation, the surgeon suggested that as a solution, a portion of Yaseen’s stomach be cut away. Due to the complicated nature of Yaseen’s condition, she would perform the surgery with the assistance of another senior doctor. And she was also honest enough to acknowledge the complications that could arise from the surgery, and the life risk that it posed.
A few days after the first cauterization, Yaseen’s condition necessitated for the surgeon to perform another scope and cauterize yet more of the blood vessels. On this day though, the procedure was taking especially long. So long, in fact, that a nurse from the BMTU was dispatched to the surgical unit to see what the delay was about.
And then, after a long while, Yaseen was wheeled out of theatre and hurried straight off to the Intensive Care Unit. A complication had arisen due to the anaesthetic, and the anaesthetist had struggled to revive Yaseen back to consciousness after the procedure.
Following this second procedure and the results which the scope showed, the operation to cut away a portion of Yaseen’s stomach was quickly scheduled to take place in the next week.
I cannot describe how stressed I was. I had endured many weeks of rollercoaster emotions. Many moments when I thought Yaseen would survive and many moments when I thought I would lose him.
Complication after complication had me thinking ‘I’m going to lose him’, but my heart refused to accept it. We were a small family, a family of only three. Without Yaseen, it would have been only me and Waseem. And a family of two seemed impossibly small for me to bear.
‘Oh Allah SWT…please, another miracle! Please, another miracle! Please, my Lord, another miracle!’
I sat in the room with Yaseen on the Monday, a few days prior to his upcoming stomach operation. The BMTU had very strict rules about what he could consume or not, wanting all food items to be bought, packaged and properly sealed.
But on that day I disregarded the rules of the unit and took in some blessed water from Mecca, from the well of Zamzam. I gave Yaseen a few sips of the water, and a short while after drinking, he started vomiting up blood. Thick, clotted blood.
I do not exaggerate when I estimate that he brought up more than a litre of it. In a panic, I called out to the nurse for help. The silver pan that sat near his hospital bed was almost filled with blood, and we took a second pan, which was around halfway filled by the time he stopped vomiting.
I was terrified, and I could see the concern on the nurse’s face. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering, was this because of the Zamzam water?
The nurse phoned the doctor, and the next thing I knew, emergency arrangements were made for the stomach operation to proceed that very same day. I phoned Mujeeb, and anxiously explained what was happening, so he urgently left work to come through.
Within hours of vomiting blood, Yaseen was wheeled away to surgery, and Mujeeb and I sat outside the operating theatre awaiting any news.
And then the procedure was done. But not the operation procedure, as the doctors had planned. What had been carried out was only a scope.
As the surgeon had performed the pre-operation scope to assess the situation, she noticed the stomach area seemed significantly healed compared to a few days earlier. I know it sounds incredulous, but that is how it was. Yaseen’s stomach had improved to such an extent, there was no longer a need to proceed with the operation.
There was no explanation for what had occurred. Except, that we had been gifted a miracle. Again.
These months of stress, one dilemma after another with hardly any breaks in between, had me at my weakest emotionally. And like I said previously, shaytaan comes at you when you’re at your weakest.
Despair was hardly steps away from me, and it would have been the easiest thing in the world to give in to depression. It felt like: I keep on praying, but the test never ends...How do I make it through this?
Allah SWT told me that my success would lay in certain things, and there were two particular things that I want to mention which certainly stepped up to save me from utter depression.
Every call to prayer told me “Come to prayer, come to success.” Salaah was my salvation.
And Qur’an was my Reminder. This is what Allah SWT calls our Qur’an – a ‘Reminder’.
When I think about Ibrahim (AS), who had waited until his old age to be blessed with a child, a son whom he loved, and then Allah SWT commanded him to slaughter that very child. Even then, Ibrahim (AS) did not turn away from Allah SWT’s command. And neither did Isma’il (AS), his child, turn away
Every story of every Prophet, who are the most successful of people, ever, reminded me of the same thing. They all had one particular philosophy. Success is always in turning towards Allah SWT. Never away.