Children Cancer Stories by Rukh Yusuf - Blog # 214
Uzair from Jhang: Six Months into a Battle He Never Chose
Thirteen-year-old Uzair doesn’t talk much these days. Not because he has nothing to say, but because most of his energy is spent on just making it through the day. He lives in Jhang, a town where people know each other by name, and children play cricket in the narrow streets until the sun sets. That used to be Uzair too. Until everything changed.
Six months ago, Uzair was diagnosed with acute B lymphocytic leukemia, a type of blood cancer that grows fast and needs immediate treatment. It started with small signs—he felt tired all the time, lost interest in food, and bruises showed up on his arms without any falls or injuries. At first, his parents thought it was weakness or maybe a seasonal virus. But when he fainted one evening while helping his father close the shop, they knew something was deeply wrong.
The road to diagnosis wasn’t short. In Jhang, basic healthcare is available, but serious conditions need extra care. Uzair’s parents visited local clinics, did blood tests, and finally travelled hours to a cancer unit in Lahore. That’s where they heard the words no parent ever wants to hear. Cancer. Chemotherapy. Long-term treatment. No guarantees.
Since then, Uzair’s life has been split between hospital beds and home. His school uniform now sits folded in a corner, untouched. Instead of math books and cricket bats, his daily routine involves blood counts, IV lines, and anti-nausea medicine. Chemotherapy is hard. It makes him sick, makes his hair fall out, and sometimes leaves him too weak to even speak.
But perhaps the hardest part isn’t just the physical pain. It’s the isolation. He misses his friends. He misses being part of the everyday rhythm of life—going to school, fighting with his sister over the TV remote, waiting for the power to come back during load-shedding, or eating his mother’s homemade kheer.
His parents are doing what they can, but it’s not easy. Treatment does not have high cost, but they have to sometimes pay for expensive tests, and consistent care means travelling back and forth to bigger cities. His father has reduced his working hours, and his mother hasn’t slept properly in months. They don’t complain. Not because they’re not exhausted, but because they don’t have time to be. Every rupee, every ride to the hospital, every medicine—it's all part of trying to save Uzair’s life.
One might think six months into treatment, things would get easier. But the truth is, they don’t. The worry never fades. Even when Uzair has a “good” day, there’s always the fear of infection, of relapse, of what happens if they miss a dose because they couldn’t afford it that week.
And yet, there are moments. Moments when Uzair hums an old song from a TV drama or smiles when his cousin calls from the village to talk about cricket scores. Moments when his mother gently oils his scalp, whispering stories from when he was little. These are not victories in the loud, movie-like sense, but they are real. They are the fragile, precious parts of living through something no child should have to go through.
Uzair’s story isn’t finished. There are still months of treatment ahead. There are still blood reports to wait on and medicines to collect. But what his story tells us now—more than anything—is that childhood cancer is not just a diagnosis. It’s a test of everything a family holds together: strength, sacrifice, patience, and hope.
In places like Jhang, where resources are limited and every journey to a hospital is an uphill one, children like Uzair quietly fight battles that few see. His life is not a headline, but it matters. And that’s why it must be told.
Prayers for the Uzai and all the sick children and their families who have to face this pain of cancer. May Allah make it easy for them. Aameen
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