“Allahu Musta’an“. When your world is crumbling around you, remember these words.
Yaqoob AS said these words when he heard the worst of news. And what followed next, for us, was going to be the worst of news.
It was two days after Yaseen was discharged, and we were back at hospital. He was spiking an extremely high fever that we couldn’t manage to get under control. We hoped that going to the hospital was going to be a scenario of get-in-get-meds-get-out, but we were wrong. Yaseen had to be readmitted.
We, doctors included, weren’t sure what was causing his fever and tests needed to be run for some answers. The results that came back weren’t good.
Yaseen’s bilirubin count had gone from being under 10 umol/L to over 400 umol/L within a few hours. To explain – there was a problem with his liver function, and whatever it was, it was serious.
The doctors were struggling to get Yaseen’s infection markers to drop. Despite all efforts, his bilirubin levels continued to climb, seemingly unresponsive to the medication. Finally, it reached a point where a gastroenterologist was consulted to help us find some much needed answers.
The doctor’s prognosis: Yaseen had developed a rare liver condition called Veno Occlusive Disease (VOD). The disease was so rare, in fact, that medication for treatment was unavailable in South Africa. The medication needed to be ordered from Singapore, with an expected arrival time of around seven days.
By this time, Yaseen was yellow. From the colour of his skin to the whites of his eyes, everything was yellow. Each day was critical for him. We were in a desperate battle to try and prevent further deterioration of his liver function and to curb the rising toxicity in his body.
In short, each day was a battle for Yaseen’s life. And we had no idea whether the seven days that it would take for the medication to arrive in South Africa and get to him, would prove too long.
Even as we were awaiting the arrival of the medication from overseas, the next major blow came.
Yaseen had been tested for Covid-19 on being admitted to hospital and the results were negative. Two days later, the test was repeated, but this time the results came back as Covid positive.
For Yaseen to remain in the BMTU was too risky for other patients and for BMTU staff, so he was rushed off to the High Care Covid ward. And then the news came – Yaseen’s oxygen levels had started to drop.
My mom’s reaction on hearing the news that Yaseen had contracted Covid was painful. It was clear that she thought we were going to lose him. I imagine many people thought the same, but wouldn’t say it out loud. I thought the same, but wouldn’t say it out loud.
Yaseen was fighting two life-threatening diseases simultaneously, possibly three. There was the VOD affecting his liver, Covid-19 affecting his lungs, and the main instigator, if it hadn’t been completely eradicated – cancer.
And he was doing this with a body that barely had any time to recover from the transplant, and an immune system that was severely compromised.
My mind knew that the chances were incredibly high that I was going to lose my son. But my heart…my heart was holding onto a miracle. As long as he was alive, there was hope.
I dealt with each day as it came, moment by moment, waiting to hear from doctors regarding Yaseen’s progress as he battled on in High Care. I was constantly in a state of fear, anxiously awaiting news on how he had reacted to the cocktails of medicines that were administered in an attempt to sustain him.
In your darkest hour, it’s amazing how Allah SWT places people in your life as light. Family and friends were reciting the entire Qur’an, from cover to cover, over and over, praying for Yaseen’s recovery.
As for me, I was on a journey of my own. My world felt as if it was collapsing around me. So, to keep sane, I focused on bringing my world down to two. Allah SWT and I.
In those moments, when everything became too much and I couldn’t bear the weight of what I was facing, I sat on my prayer mat and spoke to the One who was closest to me…closer to me than my own jugular vein. And I sought His help.
“Allahu Musta’an”… Allah SWT is the One whose help is sought. [ taken from Qur’an 12:18].
When Yaqoob (AS) said these words, he also said something else immediately before them, something important and relevant: “So it is best to be patient.”
As anxious as I was, I knew that there were so many other people who were stressed alongside me, and who were doing whatever they could to help. So I started a routine of sending out daily WhatsApp messages to update them on Yaseen’s progress. Or regress.
‘Alhamdulillah’. That is how Allah SWT inspired me to start the messages, regardless what the news for the day was…good or bad. This served as my reminder more than anyone else’s. Yaseen was still breathing, and I needed to be grateful.
And then the unexpected happened The medication for the VOD finally arrived in Cape Town, but before we could administer the first dose, Yaseen’s liver function started to improve – without the medication. And, in addition to this, his Covid symptoms began to improve
Yaseen’s recovery was so sudden and unexpected, especially with regard to his liver, that even his doctor seemed taken aback. He could not give us a conclusive explanation as the reason for such a turn-around. We had, in short, experienced a miracle.
We breathed a sigh of relief. But that is all that it was, a momentary breath. Because the next test came so soon thereafter.
Yaseen’s kidneys were failing.
All praise be to Allah SWT for blessing our doctor with the intelligence to know his limitations. He was smart enough to know that his area of expertise was related to haematology, and as he had consulted with other doctors when Yaseen’s liver went into distress, this time he was quick to consult an expert as Yaseen’s kidneys went into distress.
Yaseen’s kidney function had, rapidly and with little warning, deteriorated to such a point that urgent dialysis was needed.
My son was barely recognizable at this stage. He naturally had a medium to fair complexion tone. But his skin and eyes had turned yellow from the liver complications, and now his skin was turning a dark shade of brown, presumably from the kidney failure. His hair had fallen out from the chemotherapy, and what was left had been shaven off.
It is hard to think this, let alone admit it openly, but my son’s physical form had changed so drastically, if I’d walked past him in the street and I wasn’t paying attention, I might not have recognized him. That was how extreme the change was, and this change had happened in a matter of just a few short weeks.
Can you even begin to imagine how much distress his body must have been in to have changed so significantly, so quickly?
The day we had taken Yaseen back to hospital, we had hoped he would be back home within a few short hours. We didn’t anticipate him being readmitted for any prolonged period of time, let alone so many weeks – and then ultimately months.
We didn’t expect to be reliving the scenario where he was back in the BMTU and we were, once again, standing outside his hospital room window. Once again outsiders, lending support, as our son battled, yet again, for his life.
And I was, once again, with raised hands, begging. Only because Allahu Musta’an.