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
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