Children Cancer Stories by Rukh Yusuf - Blog # 222
Naveed’s Story: A Dream Interrupted
Naveed is a 14-year-old boy from Bahawalpur, a city where fields stretch far, and life moves gently with the seasons. Before illness came into his life, Naveed was known in his neighborhood as the child who never stayed still—always running between classes, cricket games, and sketching small machines in his notebook. He had a quiet smile, a love for drawing, and a serious dream: he wanted to become an engineer one day.
He was the kind of student who remembered what teachers said the first time. His parents often said he didn’t need reminders to do homework. He understood how things worked—how a bicycle chain moved, how electric switches-controlled fans—and that fascination turned into a goal: engineering. He would speak about it with pride, sometimes shyly, sometimes boldly.
A few months ago, everything began to change. It started with a fever that wouldn’t go away and an unusual swelling in his abdomen. His family thought it might be an infection, something treatable. But the tests that followed told a different story—one that no family ever wants to hear.
Naveed was diagnosed with hepatocellular carcinoma, a type of liver cancer. For someone his age, it’s rare. For his parents, it was confusing. There had been no long-term illness, no warning signs. He had always been healthy, playful, and full of energy. Yet, now, he was being admitted to a hospital, surrounded by medical teams, tests, and quiet conversations between doctors and nurses that he tried not to overhear.
At first, there was hope. The oncology team began his treatment with a plan. Medicines were started. His family held on tightly to every small improvement—when his appetite returned for a day, when his fever stayed down, when he smiled at a visiting cousin. But cancer, especially this kind, doesn’t always follow a predictable path.
A scan taken weeks later revealed something unexpected and painful: small nodules had appeared in his lungs. Pulmonary metastasis—the disease had spread. The medical team gathered to discuss his case in a multidisciplinary team meeting (MDT). His name was spoken with seriousness, with compassion, and with the weight that doctors carry when science begins to offer fewer options.
Now, the conversation has turned towards palliative care—a shift from trying to cure, to trying to keep him as comfortable and pain-free as possible. It is a different kind of medicine, one that holds the child more gently, that speaks more softly, that listens not only to symptoms but to fears, wishes, and quiet silences.
Naveed understands more than his parents sometimes wish he did. He knows he’s very sick. He asks fewer questions now but watches more. His sketchbook lies open on the bedside table. One page shows a bridge he had started drawing weeks ago. It’s only half-finished.
His parents spend their days by his side. They speak to him about school, friends, and Bahawalpur. His younger siblings come to visit when they can. In their presence, he tries to sit up straighter.
There are no perfect words for this kind of journey. His story is not about beating odds, but about a boy who had dreams, who loved learning, and who continues to mean everything to his family. He still matters—deeply—even in these most uncertain days.
Naveed’s life may now be measured in smaller ways—days without pain, mornings when he asks for mango juice, evenings when he listens to stories from home—but it is still his life. One that deserves gentleness, dignity, and remembrance.
Some dreams get interrupted. But some, like Naveed’s love for understanding how things work, don’t truly disappear. They live on in the hearts of the people who knew him, who cared for him, and who now hold him with quiet love through each moment.
Prayers for Naveed 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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