Warriors and Survivors - 236

Children Cancer Stories by Rukh Yusuf - Blog # 236

I am Rukh Yusuf, Clinical Pharmacist, also specialized in Total Parenteral Nutrition and Bone Marrow Transplant. I have worked in the Pediatric Oncology unit of a public hospital. The mission of this blog is to bring to you the real-life stories of child patients suffering from cancer. Cancer is still a difficult disease to handle and treat. However, when it strikes the children, some so young that they cannot even speak, their agony is beyond expression and words. Let us pray especially for children suffering from cancer for early and complete remission. May Allah shower His Merciful Blessings upon them. Aameen. 

Title: Aftab’s Silent Battle

In the beautiful city of Sargodha, in a modest home and dusted sunlight, lives ten year-old Aftab a boy whose laughter once filled every corner of his house. He was the one who ran fastest in the narrow lanes, who dreamed of becoming a cricketer, and who believed pain was only a small thing that happened when you fell while playing. But now, pain has become something larger something that has moved into his days and refuses to leave.

Aftab is halfway through his treatment for Wilms tumor, a cancer of the kidney that no child should have to face. The hospital corridors, once confusing, are now familiar to him. The white coats, the beeping monitors, the smell of antiseptic each of these has become part of a world he never chose. He sits quietly during his chemotherapy sessions, his eyes distant, his small fingers gripping his mother’s hand a little tighter every time the nurse approaches with a syringe.

At ten, it’s hard to understand why the body turns against itself. It’s harder still to accept that the medicines meant to heal can also bring exhaustion, nausea, and hair falling in soft tufts on the pillow. Aftab doesn’t talk much these days. He used to ask questions about everything, but now his words are few. Sometimes he just stares at the window in silence, watching birds fly by. “They don’t have to come to hospitals,” he once whispered to his father.

His parents try to stay strong. His mother hides her tears until he’s asleep, while his father forces a smile and promises that things will soon get better. They tell him stories of children who have recovered, who are now back at school and playing cricket again. They show him pictures of the hospital staff who care deeply for children like him. But the hardest part for them is watching their son carry a sadness no child should ever carry.

Every hospital visit feels like an emotional climb for the whole family. His siblings wait at home, asking when Aftab will return to play with them. His grandmother prays every evening, her rosary beads worn thin. In their community, neighbors bring food and whisper words of support, yet they all know that courage is easier to speak of than to live through.

Aftab’s family has learned that cancer in childhood is not just a medical condition it is an emotional storm that tests the strength of everyone involved. Behind every hospital door are families like his, trying to hold on to hope one day at a time. They learn to celebrate the smallest victories a stable lab report, a day without vomiting, a smile after a long treatment session.

There are moments when Aftab’s spark flickers back. When his cousin visits with new cricket scores, or when a kind doctor gives him a sticker after chemotherapy, something in him softens. His father believes that even small moments of happiness are healing in their own way. “We will get through this,” he says, not just to his son, but to himself.

Aftab’s journey reminds us that pediatric oncology is not only about curing disease it’s about understanding the invisible weight a child carries. Every painful injection, every restless night, and every hospital trip is a quiet act of bravery. Children like Aftab teach us that strength is not loud it’s silent, persistent, and deeply human.

For those reading this, Aftab’s story is a gentle call to awareness. Thousands of children in Pakistan and across the world are fighting cancers like Wilms tumor. They need more than medical care they need emotional understanding, social support, and communities that stand beside their families without judgment or pity.

Aftab is still in the middle of his treatment, still learning to trust the process and believe that tomorrow will be kinder. His family continues to whisper hope into his tired heart, reminding him that healing takes time and that even on the hardest days, he is never alone.

Because somewhere in Sargodha, a little boy with sad eyes and a brave heart is teaching us all what courage truly looks like.

Prayers for Muhammad Aftab and all the sick children and their families who have to face this pain of cancer. May Allah make it easy for them. Aameen

Warriors and Survivors - 235

Children Cancer Stories by Rukh Yusuf - Blog # 235

I am Rukh Yusuf, Clinical Pharmacist, also specialized in Total Parenteral Nutrition and Bone Marrow Transplant. I have worked in the Pediatric Oncology unit of a public hospital. The mission of this blog is to bring to you the real-life stories of child patients suffering from cancer. Cancer is still a difficult disease to handle and treat. However, when it strikes the children, some so young that they cannot even speak, their agony is beyond expression and words. Let us pray especially for children suffering from cancer for early and complete remission. May Allah shower His Merciful Blessings upon them. Aameen. 

A Mother’s Hope and Ahmad’s Wish

In a small town in Punjab, five year old Muhammad Ahmad begins each day with a quiet determination that seems far too mature for his age. His world has changed completely since he was diagnosed with Wilms tumor, a rare kidney cancer that crept into his childhood when it had barely begun. Once filled with playtime, school, and laughter, his days are now marked by hospital corridors, soft voices of nurses, and the hum of medical machines. Yet amid it all, there is one thing that hasn’t changed his mother’s hope.

Every morning, before they leave for the hospital, his mother helps him get ready. She still combs his hair, ties his shoes, and packs a small toy car in his bag. “You’re stronger than this, Ahmad,” she whispers, the same words she’s said since the first day of treatment. Ahmad nods with a smile that tries to reassure her in return. That brief exchange has become their small shield against fear, a quiet ritual that carries them through uncertainty.

At the hospital, Ahmad’s world feels different. The other children there are fighting their own invisible battles. Some are too tired to speak, others find comfort in crayons and coloring books. Ahmad, even on his hardest days, asks for his favorite toy car. He moves it gently across the bedsheet, pretending the bed is a road. His mother watches, knowing that this tiny act this insistence on play is his way of saying he hasn’t given up.

The nurses often comment on his spirit. “He’s a brave one,” they say softly, adjusting his IV line. His mother nods, but inside she knows bravery doesn’t always look loud. Sometimes it looks like a child quietly holding on through pain, or a mother learning to smile when her heart feels heavy.

At night, when Ahmad finally falls asleep, his mother sits by his bedside, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. In those quiet hours, her thoughts wander. She remembers the day before the diagnosis, the laughter, the noise of the neighborhood, the smell of dinner cooking. Life was ordinary, and she never realized how precious that ordinary was.

Now, each day feels borrowed and sacred. She prays not for perfection, but for simple things: one good meal without nausea, one day without pain, one laugh that sounds like the old Ahmad. Her prayers are no longer about wishing away all sorrow; they’re about learning to live beside it.

There are moments of deep fear that she never voices aloud. When she sees another mother leaving the ward without her child, her heart trembles. She looks at Ahmad and silently renews her promise to keep believing, no matter what. That belief has become her strength. It keeps her standing, smiling, comforting, and hoping when everything else feels fragile.

Ahmad’s will to recover is gentle but firm. Even when fatigue weighs on him, he insists on small routines saying thank you to the nurses, asking for his favorite bedtime story, or whispering “I’m okay” after a difficult day. He reminds everyone around him that courage doesn’t always roar, sometimes, it whispers quietly but persistently.

His mother often says that Ahmad has taught her the true meaning of patience. “He faces pain with more calm than I ever could,” she tells the doctors. “He believes in healing in a way that keeps me going.” The doctors smile, acknowledging that sometimes children become the strongest teachers in these rooms of struggle.

On days when Ahmad’s treatment leaves him weak, his mother opens the curtains to let in the morning light. “See, Ahmad,” she says softly, “the sun came for you again.” He nods, too tired to speak, but his small smile says everything. That sunlight becomes a symbol for warmth, for tomorrow, for life beyond the illness.

Hope, for them, is not a grand declaration. It’s a series of small, consistent choices: showing up for every appointment, believing in recovery, and finding reasons to smile even when the day feels long. His mother carries this hope like a quiet flame that refuses to fade.

For now, Ahmad’s journey continues, marked by challenges and small triumphs. Each step, each test, each moment of rest brings them closer to something she cannot yet see but deeply believes in a future where Ahmad runs freely again, free from hospital walls and machines.

In their world, recovery isn’t just a medical word. It’s a daily act of love and resilience. It’s in Ahmad’s gentle will to get better and his mother’s unwavering faith that tomorrow will be kinder. Together, they walk through each day with quiet courage a mother’s hope lighting the path, and a child’s will leading the way.

Prayers for Muhammad Ahmad and all the sick children and their families who have to face this pain of cancer. May Allah make it easy for them. Aameen

Warriors and Survivors - 234

Children Cancer Stories by Rukh Yusuf - Blog # 234

I am Rukh Yusuf, Clinical Pharmacist, also specialized in Total Parenteral Nutrition and Bone Marrow Transplant. I have been working in the Pediatric Oncology unit of a public hospital for several years. The mission of this blog is to bring to you the real-life stories of child patients suffering from cancer. Cancer is still a difficult disease to handle and treat. However, when it strikes the children, some so young that they cannot even speak, their agony is beyond expression and words. Let us pray especially for children suffering from cancer for early and complete remission. May Allah shower His Merciful Blessings upon them. Aameen. 

When a Childhood Stands Still: A Story from Sialkot

Ten year old Hamza from Sialkot was like any other bright, curious child. He loved cricket, math puzzles, and racing with his younger brothers after school. His mother, a schoolteacher, often said his laughter filled their home with life. His father, who also worked at the same school, took pride in his son’s energy and his endless questions about the world. But a few months ago, that laughter began to fade. Hamza grew tired easily, often complained of pain in his legs, and started missing school because of frequent fevers and unexplained bruises.

After several visits to the local clinic and countless tests, the diagnosis came, acute leukemia, a word that changed everything for Hamza and his family. For a ten year old, illness is often understood in fragments. Hamza knows he is sick and that his blood is “not working right.” He knows he has to go to the hospital often, that his hair is falling because of the medicines, and that sometimes he feels too weak to play. What he doesn’t understand is why this is happening or when it will end.

His parents, educated and thoughtful people, try to explain gently. They say the doctors are trying to help his blood make new, healthy cells. But no words can fully prepare a child for what follows the long hospital stays, the nausea after chemotherapy, the sterile smell of wards, and the sight of other children fighting the same silent battle.

For Hamza’s parents, each day feels like walking on thin ice. Both continue to teach at their school, but their minds remain elsewhere on the beeping machines, the lab reports, and the fragile body of their son. The hospital bills have started to pile up, and although they try to stay strong, fatigue shows in their eyes. They take turns staying with Hamza at the hospital while trying to care for their three other children at home.

The youngest, only five, often asks when his big brother will come home. The eldest sister, now thirteen, has started helping her mother more cooking simple meals and looking after her brothers. Their world has quietly rearranged itself around Hamza’s illness.

Illness in one child is never borne by that child alone. It ripples through the family, altering daily rhythms, emotional balance, and even financial stability. The home that once echoed with laughter now carries an undertone of worry and exhaustion. There are moments of hope when Hamza’s white cell counts improve or when the doctor says he’s responding to treatment but they are mixed with the anxiety of relapse and uncertainty about the future.

Hamza himself is learning resilience in ways children never should. He has grown quieter, observant of the nurses and their routines. Some days, he colors or reads in bed; other days, he simply lies still, watching light move across the ceiling. His body is fighting a disease most adults would struggle to comprehend. His parents tell him he’s brave, and he tries to believe them, even when tears fill his eyes after another injection.

Leukemia in children is one of the most treatable cancers when diagnosed early, but it requires long term care months, sometimes years of chemotherapy, blood tests, and emotional support. In Pakistan, where pediatric oncology resources are limited, families often travel far for specialized treatment. For parents like Hamza’s, who work in education and live on modest means, the cost is not only financial but deeply emotional. The constant uncertainty, the weight of watching your child suffer, and the helplessness of not being able to take the pain away these are burdens invisible to most.

Besides all this, there are glimpses of courage and love that hold the family together. Hamza’s mother keeps a journal of his recovery milestones. His father reads stories aloud during hospital nights. The siblings draw pictures to decorate his room. These small acts of hope, though ordinary, carry extraordinary strength.

Stories like Hamza’s remind us that pediatric cancer is not just a medical diagnosis it’s a family’s journey through fear, endurance, and hope. Each case is a call for awareness and compassion. Early detection, community support, and accessible oncology care can make a real difference in the lives of children like Hamza.

Behind every hospital bed lies a story not of defeat but of struggle. Hamza’s story is still being written with courage, care, and quiet faith. His parents continue to teach, his siblings continue to wait, and he continues to fight. In their resilience, there is a message for all of us to notice, to understand, and to support families navigating the long road of childhood cancer. Because every child deserves more than treatment, they deserve a chance to heal, to play again, and to simply be a child.

Prayers for Hamza and all the sick children and their families who have to face this pain of cancer. May Allah make it easy for them. Aameen

Warriors and Survivors - 233

Children Cancer Stories by Rukh Yusuf - Blog # 233

I am Rukh Yusuf, Clinical Pharmacist, also specialized in Total Parenteral Nutrition and Bone Marrow Transplant. I have been working in the Pediatric Oncology unit of a public hospital for several years. The mission of this blog is to bring to you the real-life stories of child patients suffering from cancer. Cancer is still a difficult disease to handle and treat. However, when it strikes the children, some so young that they cannot even speak, their agony is beyond expression and words. Let us pray especially for children suffering from cancer for early and complete remission. May Allah shower His Merciful Blessings upon them. Aameen.

Bisma’s Journey with Leukemia

In a small town of Sialkot lives a five year old girl named Bisma. She is the youngest in her family and the only daughter of her parents, with two elder brothers who adore her deeply. A year ago, Bisma’s life, and that of her family, changed when she was diagnosed with leukemia. Since then, her days have been shaped not by the carefree routine of childhood but by hospital visits, long treatments, and the constant fight against illness.

Bisma’s father works at a local school. He spends his days teaching children and returns home to care for his own, carrying the weight of both responsibility and uncertainty. Her mother manages the home and, more importantly, has become the steady presence by Bisma’s side during treatment. The diagnosis of leukemia brought with it not only medical challenges but also emotional and practical struggles that the family continues to navigate every day.

For treatment, the family must travel from Sialkot to Lahore several times each month. Each journey is filled with its own set of difficulties early departures, long hours on the road, and the knowledge that the destination is another hospital ward. For a small child, the hospital can be overwhelming. The smell of antiseptic, the sound of medical machines, and the sight of needles are not what childhood should be made of. Yet Bisma has grown familiar with these surroundings.

Chemotherapy is a demanding process. It drains energy, affects appetite, and often brings side effects that are difficult to endure. Bisma, like many children in her situation, has had days where her playfulness fades under the weight of treatment. Still, in her quiet resilience, she shows strength beyond her years. Her smile, when it comes, brings comfort to her parents who wait anxiously for every sign of improvement.

Staying in the hospital is not easy for the family. Her mother spends long nights by her bedside, watching over her as she sleeps. The simple routines of home meals shared around a table, evenings with her brothers are replaced by the uncertainty of hospital corridors and schedules determined by treatment cycles. Her father divides his time between work, caring for his sons in Sialkot, and traveling to Lahore to support his wife and daughter. The strain of this separation is felt deeply, yet they continue to hold together as a family.

Financially and emotionally, the journey is heavy. Traveling frequently for treatment adds expenses, and the loss of normal family life adds to the burden. Yet despite the challenges, Bisma’s parents remain committed. They know that every difficult journey to Lahore, every long hospital stay, is a step toward giving their daughter the chance at recovery.

Her brothers wait eagerly for her return after each round of treatment. They understand, even at a young age, that their sister needs more care right now. Their small acts of love sharing toys, sitting quietly beside her become part of her healing environment when she is home. In their own way, they protect her from the weight of illness, reminding her of the joy of being a child.

Bisma’s story is not one of easy victories but of steady perseverance. It reflects the reality faced by many families in Pakistan and beyond families who must balance hope with hardship, and who discover resilience they never knew they had. The road between Sialkot and Lahore is not just a physical distance for her parents; it is a symbol of their determination to fight alongside their daughter, no matter how many miles it takes.

At only five years old, Bisma has already endured more than many adults face in a lifetime. Yet her story is not defined only by illness. It is also defined by the love of her parents, the quiet strength of her brothers, and the tireless efforts of doctors and nurses working toward her recovery.

For now, her journey continues marked by hospital visits, treatments, and the hope of brighter days. Bisma’s family holds on to that hope, believing that one day she will be able to return to the life every child deserves: a life of play, learning, and laughter, free from the dark shadows of a cruel disease.

Prayers for Bisma and all the sick children and their families who have to face this pain of cancer. May Allah make it easy for them. Aameen

Warriors and Survivors - 232

Children Cancer Stories by Rukh Yusuf - Blog # 232

I am Rukh Yusuf, Clinical Pharmacist, also specialized in Total Parenteral Nutrition and Bone Marrow Transplant. I have been working in the Pediatric Oncology unit of a public hospital for several years. The mission of this blog is to bring to you the real-life stories of child patients suffering from cancer. Cancer is still a difficult disease to handle and treat. However, when it strikes the children, some so young that they cannot even speak, their agony is beyond expression and words. Let us pray especially for children suffering from cancer for early and complete remission. May Allah shower His Merciful Blessings upon them. Aameen. 

Abu Bakar’s Story: A Child Too Young to Understand

Two-year-old Abu Bakar from Lahore is at an age where most children are busy learning words, pointing at colors, and asking for their favorite toys. For him, life has taken an unexpected turn that neither he nor his family could ever have imagined. He has been diagnosed with beta thalassemia, a condition that is unfamiliar to his parents and heavy with challenges.

The diagnosis came suddenly. Abu Bakar had been falling ill repeatedly, and his parents noticed he often looked pale and tired. At first, they thought it was due to simple weakness or lack of proper nutrition. Like many parents in families without medical background, they assumed he just needed better food, vitamins, or rest. But when his condition worsened and he started appearing increasingly lethargic, his parents finally took him to a local clinic. Blood tests were ordered, and that was when the word thalassemia entered their lives for the very first time.

For Abu Bakar’s parents, the doctor’s explanation was overwhelming. They are not highly educated and had never even heard of the disorder before. The medical terms sounded foreign, and they struggled to understand why their child who looked like any other toddler was facing such a serious lifelong condition. The news struck like a shock, their little boy would need regular blood transfusions to survive.

At first, the family felt lost. They wondered what they had done wrong, and like many parents in similar situations, they questioned if they were somehow responsible for their child’s illness. In their community, awareness about thalassemia is limited. The word itself carries fear, uncertainty, and confusion. But slowly, after several visits to the hospital and many discussions with doctors, they began to understand that this was not their fault it is a genetic condition that requires lifelong management.

Accepting reality was not easy. The thought of their child spending so much time in hospitals instead of playing freely at home was painful. But as days turned into weeks, Abu Bakar’s parents realized that treatment was the only way forward. They committed themselves to making sure he would never miss a transfusion, and his mother in particular became his constant companion, never leaving his side during hospital visits.

For little Abu Bakar, life feels different in ways he cannot yet explain. At two years old, he does not know what thalassemia means. He does not understand why he has to be taken to the hospital so often, or why nurses come close with needles and tubes. What he does know is that he is not at home as much as other children, and that his mother never let’s go of his hand in those strange hospital rooms. To him, this closeness is a comfort, but it also makes him cling even more tightly to her when he sees white coats and hears unfamiliar medical sounds.

Physically, Abu Bakar’s condition shows. He often feels weak, cannot play for long stretches like other children, and sometimes struggles with restlessness. His little body carries the burden of a disease he cannot name, and it shows in his pale skin and frequent fatigue. Mentally, though, he is still a child. He smiles at his toys, responds to his parents’ affection, and feels joy in the smallest of things whether it is a balloon at the hospital or a gentle hug at home.

For his parents, watching him live with this condition is both heartbreaking and motivating. They have learned that thalassemia is not a temporary illness but a lifelong challenge. Regular transfusions can help, but they also come with severe complications such as iron overload, cardiovascular complications requiring further treatment . The family is still in the early stages of navigating these realities, and each hospital visit deepens their awareness of what lies ahead.

Abu Bakar’s story is not just his alone. In Pakistan, many children are diagnosed with beta thalassemia every year, often in families that have little knowledge of the condition until it strikes. The illness does not only affect the child but reshapes the entire family’s life emotionally, financially, and socially. The shock of diagnosis, the burden of treatment, and the uncertainty of the future are experiences shared by countless parents like Abu Bakar’s.

Raising awareness is vital. Thalassemia can be prevented through simple premarital screening yet lack of awareness means many couples never know their carrier status. Families like Abu Bakar’s bear the weight of this gap in knowledge. By sharing their story, there is hope that more people will learn about thalassemia, its complications, and the importance of prevention.

As for Abu Bakar, he continues to live his childhood in fragments of hospital visits and quiet moments at home. He does not yet carry the knowledge of his condition, but he carries the love and care of his parents, who are slowly learning to face this reality with acceptance. His story reminds us that behind every medical term, there is a child too young to understand and a family learning, step by step, how to live with it.

Prayers for Abu Bakar and all the sick children and their families who have to face this pain of cancer. May Allah make it easy for them. Aameen

Warriors and Survivors - 231

Children Cancer Stories by Rukh Yusuf - Blog # 231

I am Rukh Yusuf, Clinical Pharmacist, also specialized in Total Parenteral Nutrition and Bone Marrow Transplant. I have been working in the Pediatric Oncology unit of a public hospital for several years. The mission of this blog is to bring to you the real-life stories of child patients suffering from cancer. Cancer is still a difficult disease to handle and treat. However, when it strikes the children, some so young that they cannot even speak, their agony is beyond expression and words. Let us pray especially for children suffering from cancer for early and complete remission. May Allah shower His Merciful Blessings upon them. Aameen.

Childhood Cancer Awareness Month: origins, the gold ribbon, and the global state of play

Why a month and a symbol matter

Childhood Cancer Awareness Month (observed in September in much of the world) is more than a public relations exercise, it is a coordinated platform to advance rapid diagnosis, secure resources for curative and supportive care, highlight survivorship and late effects, and push for systems level equity. The gold ribbon adopted internationally as the symbol for childhood cancer intentionally evokes value and rarity: “gold” to represent that children are precious and deserve prioritization in research, care and health policy. ACCO

How this movement rose to prominence

Public recognition and nationaldeclarations in the U.S. and coordinated global advocacy (professional societies, parent organizations and WHO partnerships) gradually consolidated September as the focal period for awareness and fundraising. In parallel, WHO and partner institutions created formal global initiatives to translate awareness into measurable gains in access and survival. World Health Organization

What causes childhood cancer? A practical clinical summary

• Etiology is heterogeneous and often idiosyncratic. Unlike many adult cancers where lifestyle exposures predominate, most pediatric cancers arise from developmental biology and genetics: somatic mutations during growth, inherited cancer-predisposition syndromes (e.g., RB1, TP53/Li-Fraumeni, etc.), chromosomal rearrangements, and less commonly specific environmental or infectious agents.

• Risk gradient and preventability: A minority of childhood cancers are plausibly preventable by environmental modification; most are not. That does not reduce the value of primary prevention where identifiable (e.g., reducing therapeutic radiation exposure where feasible), or of secondary strategies (early recognition and rapid referral).

• Clinical implication: maintain low threshold for evaluation of persistent unexplained signs (prolonged fever, pallor, weight loss, lymphadenopathy/masses, focal neuro signs) and prioritize timely diagnostic pathways to pediatric oncology.

Latest global numbers (key facts you need at a glance)

• Annual global burden: ~400,000 new cases of cancer are diagnosed each year among children and adolescents (0–19 years). World Health Organization

• Survival disparity HIC vs LMIC: In high-income countries where comprehensive services are accessible, >80% of children with cancer can be cured; in many low- and middle-income countries (LMICs) cure rates remain well below 30%, largely driven by delays in diagnosis, lack of diagnostic/treatment infrastructure, abandonment of therapy, and treatable-mortality (infection, malnutrition). World Health Organization+1

• Global 5-year net survival (average): Pooled global estimates illustrate a stark gap, recent aggregated estimates place global 5-year net survival in the 30–40% range (estimates such as ~37.4% are cited in advocacy and analytic summaries), underscoring inequity and the opportunity for impact. Children's Cancer Cause

• Trajectory in survival: High-income settings show continued improvement five- and ten-year survival have risen substantially over recent decades (for many common childhood cancers, 5-year survival now exceeds 80–90%); population trends from 1970s to the 2020s show major gains driven by risk-adapted chemotherapy, refined radiotherapy, transplant, supportive care and targeted agents. However, gains are uneven by cancer type (e.g., certain high-grade brain tumors and diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma still carry very poor prognosis). PMC

Where to focus clinical and public-health effort now

1. Systems for early detection and referral. In LMICs, downstaging (earlier stage at diagnosis) could deliver large survival gains. Strengthen primary care recognition, referral pathways, and pathology/imaging access. The Lancet

2. Access to standard therapies and supportive care. Many deaths are preventable (infection, hemorrhage, organ toxicity). Policies assuring essential cytotoxic and supportive medicines, blood products, and trained pediatric oncology nursing reduce mortality. World Health Organization

3. Reduce treatment toxicity and plan survivorship. In HICs the urgent agenda is reducing late effects organ toxicities, secondary malignancies, neurocognitive and psychosocial impacts while maintaining cure rates. Pharmacogenomics, dose optimization and less-toxic targeted approaches are central. PMC

4. Global partnerships and capacity building. The WHO Global Initiative for Childhood Cancer (goal: at least 60% global survival by 2030) is the operational framework for coordinated improvement; it prioritizes essential packages, workforce training, and data systems. Clinicians should engage with national cancer control plans and regional networks. World Health Organization

Final reflections

Awareness months do not substitute for systems change, but they catalyze resources and political will. As clinicians we must translate awareness into durable commitments: robust early diagnosis pathways, access to safe curative therapy, investment in survivorship, and international solidarity that closes the survival gap. Practically, that means advocating for reliable supply chains for pediatric oncology drugs and blood products, embedding pharmacogenomic approaches where evidence supports them, and supporting long-term follow-up structures that enable healthy survivorship.

Warriors and Survivors - 230

 Children Cancer Stories by Rukh Yusuf - Blog # 230

I am Rukh Yusuf, Clinical Pharmacist, also specialized in Total Parenteral Nutrition and Bone Marrow Transplant. I have been working in the Pediatric Oncology unit of a public hospital for several years. The mission of this blog is to bring to you the real-life stories of child patients suffering from cancer. Cancer is still a difficult disease to handle and treat. However, when it strikes the children, some so young that they cannot even speak, their agony is beyond expression and words. Let us pray especially for children suffering from cancer for early and complete remission. May Allah shower His Merciful Blessings upon them. Aameen. 

A Small Child-Big Diagnosis: Hammad’s Story

Hammad is only one and a half years old. At this age, most parents are caught up in watching their child take unsteady steps, speak their first clear words, and begin to show tiny glimpses of their personality. But for Hammad’s parents, life has taken a very different turn. Instead of simply enjoying these milestones, they are weighed down by the words of a diagnosis they had never even heard before: beta thalassemia.

When the doctor explained it, they could barely follow. The name itself felt heavy and foreign. They had taken Hammad to the clinic after noticing that he seemed unusually pale, often tired, and not as playful as other children his age. They thought maybe he was low in vitamins, maybe a simple syrup or tonic would help. But after blood tests, they were told their son had a serious blood disorder, something that would not go away with a short treatment.

For a moment, both parents were speechless. They did not know what to ask, because they did not even understand what it meant.

Coming to Terms with the Unknown

For families who have never heard of thalassemia, the diagnosis is not just frightening, it is confusing. Hammad’s parents had questions piling up in their minds: Will he recover? Will he always be sick? What does this mean for his future? They did not have the words to ask, and even when the doctor explained, it was difficult to absorb.

Beta thalassemia is a genetic blood disorder where the body cannot make enough healthy red blood cells. Without treatment, it causes severe anemia. The only way to manage it is through regular blood transfusions and ongoing medical care. For a small child, that means hospital visits will become a part of life.

When Hammad’s parents understood this, a silence settled over their home. They looked at their little boy, still smiling at them, too young to know anything about illness. And they wondered how they would carry him through this unknown road.

The First Steps in Care

The days after the diagnosis felt unreal. Relatives and friends asked about Hammad’s health, and his parents found themselves hesitating. How do you explain something that you are still struggling to understand yourself?

They began reading, searching, and asking doctors for more information. They learned that children with beta thalassemia often need transfusions every few weeks. They learned about iron buildup in the body, and the medicines that help reduce it. They learned that while there is no easy cure, medical advances and proper care can give these children a chance at a better life.

But behind every fact they read, there was a quiet ache. No parent imagines their toddler spending childhood in and out of hospitals.

The Emotional Weight

For Hammad’s parents, the hardest part is not just the treatment it is the uncertainty. They wonder how they will explain this to him when he grows older. They think about the financial and emotional burden of constant medical care. They worry about whether they will be strong enough to manage it all. Whether Hammad will be strong enough to bear this all

At the same time, they feel the quiet isolation that often comes with rare diagnoses. Few people around them truly understand what they are facing. And yet, their love for Hammad keeps them moving, one day at a time.

Why Awareness Matters

Hammad’s story is not just about one child. Every year, many families in South Asia and around the world discover that their child has thalassemia. Often, like Hammad’s parents, they hear the name for the very first time only after diagnosis.

What makes this especially important is that thalassemia is preventable. Since it is a genetic condition, couples can undergo simple blood tests before marriage or pregnancy to know if they carry the trait. If both parents are carriers, there is a risk of having a child with thalassemia.

Awareness can change futures. If more families knew about screening, many could be spared the shock and pain of an unexpected diagnosis. Communities could talk more openly about genetic conditions instead of keeping silent out of fear or stigma.

Looking Ahead

For now, Hammad is too young to know the challenges ahead. He still laughs when his father tosses him in the air, still clings to his mother when he feels sleepy, still lives in the innocence of babyhood. His parents, though, are beginning a journey they never imagined.

They are learning to balance hospital visits with normal family life, to manage their fears while giving Hammad the love and comfort every child deserves. And perhaps most importantly, they are learning that they are not alone. Other families have walked this road, support groups exist, and medical care though demanding, is possible.

A Gentle Reminder

Hammad’s story is a reminder for all of us. Illness does not only affect bodies; it touches families, hopes, and futures. Beta thalassemia is not just a medical condition it is a lifelong reality that parents and children must navigate together.

By talking about it, by sharing stories like Hammad’s, we can create understanding. We can encourage more people to get tested, more communities to support affected families, and more compassion for the quiet struggles that often go unseen.

Hammad’s parents still do not have all the answers. They are still speechless at times, still afraid. But they hold on to one truth: their little boy deserves every chance at life. And for him, they will face whatever comes next.

Prayers for Hammad and all the sick children and their families who have to face this pain of cancer. May Allah make it easy for them. Aameen