November 17th 2024.
As soon as the doctor told my family and I about my 19-year-old brother's blood cancer, tears started streaming down my face. It was a devastating blow to all of us. My brother, Hassan Ali, seemed surprisingly calm despite just being informed about the 14cm tumour in his chest.
In response to the news, he simply said, 'Alhamdulillah', which means 'thank God' in Arabic. Some may find it strange to express gratitude in the face of such bad news, but Hassan's faith in Allah was unshaken. For him, this was his way of acknowledging that everything happens for a reason and that hardships can lead to spiritual growth.
As a Muslim, I also believe in this concept and I witnessed it firsthand throughout Hassan's cancer journey. It all started in March last year when he attended a football match with his friends and screamed so hard when his hometown team won that he ended up with a cough. At first, I didn't think much of it as I was a qualified paramedic myself. But as weeks went by, Hassan's symptoms worsened, including swelling in his face, blue fingertips, and a persistent cough.
We went to the GP several times, but they kept prescribing antibiotics and steroids, thinking it was just a chest infection. However, these medications had no effect, and Hassan became increasingly frustrated. One morning, our parents found him swollen and blue in the face, and we had to rush him to the hospital. That's when the doctor requested more tests and scans, and we were devastated to learn about the 14cm tumour and the possibility of blood cancer.
From that moment on, Hassan's life changed drastically. We moved into University College Hospital in London, where he received treatment for the next eight months. This meant that he had to put his university studies and his love for football on hold. As for me, I was a third-year university student trying to complete my dissertation while also taking care of my brother.
I had to postpone starting my job as a qualified paramedic to be there for Hassan, but I never regretted my decision. He gave me the encouragement and support I needed to finish my studies, and we even worked on my dissertation together. Our bond grew even stronger during this time, and I would do it all over again without hesitation.
Hassan's treatment involved various chemotherapy medications, including drips and tablets, which left him feeling nauseous, weak, and fatigued. But we were fortunate to have the support of Mikela, a Young Lives vs Cancer social worker, who made Hassan feel at ease and was a source of comfort for us both.
There were many ups and downs during his treatment, and one of the lowest points was when Hassan started shivering uncontrollably one day. I immediately pressed the emergency button, and doctors and nurses rushed in to help stabilize him. It was a scary moment, but we found solace in our faith and prayed together that evening.
Sadly, after seven months of treatment, we received the worst news imaginable. The cancer cells were still multiplying despite all the efforts, and the doctor informed us that there was nothing more they could do. They suggested palliative care, and we were given the heartbreaking timeline of four to six weeks.
I will never forget the evening when Hassan took my hand and said, 'It's okay, Sadi. You don't have to be strong. You can cry.' And so we did, we sobbed and held each other, and even the doctors couldn't hold back their tears. We called our parents and family members to tell them the news, and it was a shock to everyone.
The next day, I made sure that Hassan was discharged and could spend his final weeks at home surrounded by his loved ones. He was still his cheerful, lively self, and it was hard to believe that he was nearing the end. He spent quality time with friends, nieces, and nephews, laughing and enjoying every moment.
But one day, he couldn't walk, and we had to call an ambulance to take him to the hospital. Sadly, it was his last trip. During his final hours, Hassan drank Zamzam water, listened to the Quran, and even managed to say the Shahadah before passing away peacefully with his hand in mine and our family by his side.
His funeral was attended by hundreds, maybe even thousands of people. It was a testament to how much he was loved and how many lives he had touched. But for those of us left behind, life felt empty without him. He was more than just a brother; he was my best friend, and now I feel lonely without him.
Through this experience, I have come to realize that there is a lack of awareness about blood cancer and its symptoms. People often dismiss warning signs such as a persistent cough, facial swelling, and blue fingertips, which can delay diagnosis and treatment. I want to change that and make sure that others don't have to go through what my brother did.
I believe that by raising awareness and supporting blood cancer research, we can make a difference and give people a better chance of survival. Hassan's legacy will live on forever, and I am determined to honor him by spreading awareness and advocating for a cure. He will always be our lion, and we will never forget the bravery and strength he showed throughout his cancer journey.
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