A Close Look at Cancer

My Story: A Close Look at Cancer

Being a mere high school student, I did not have much choice as to how I could spend my summer. But about one thing I was adamant, I wanted it to be something new and different. An experience for which I could always be grateful.

Coincidentally, the same year, our school was arranging a Social Awareness Internship Programme. I immediately signed up, and with sheer luck, got chosen, along with a few others, as a volunteer for a few weeks in one of the country's most prestigious organizations-Shaukat Khanum Memorial Cancer Hospital and Research Centre.
Every year, thousands of patients go to Shaukat Khanum in the hope of recieving free cancer treatment.
My first day there as a volunteer, and I was a nervous wreck. Being only fifteen, I had no idea what I would be expected to do. Would I be watched every step of the way?
But it was a huge blow for us when we found out what we were supposed to be doing. Wich was to spend time with cancer patients, get to know them, and for those who were in desperate need of it, console them. I remember what we were told: 'The biggest challenge for you would be to get down to their level, and talk about things they can relate to.'
At that point, this did not seem to be much of a challenge.

The first patient they gave me was a six year old boy. I remember the happy expression on his face as I tried making conversation and then finally settled for reading out Jack and the Beanstalk to him. I don't remember seeing anyone this happy. It made me think over what his life usually must be like.
Just then, a doctor entered the room and informed the boy that he would be discharged the next day. The boy hugged his moher and nearly cried with happiness. The next day, however, the second I entered the In-Patient, I learnt that he had passed away.
I had no choice but to accept that, and it was far from easy.

I met many others. A three year old girl, whose father was told right in front of me that there was no hope. She had blood cancer, and after a series of treatments, had nearly recovered. But the cancer had struck again, and she was unable to fight anymore. I remember the frightened expression on her innocent little face. Even though she was just a baby, but from what she could see-the doctors gathered, their grave expressions, her poor father, standing hopeless and confused-she could obviously sense something was not right.
After that day, I never heard of her again.

The biggest challenge I got was in the form of a throat cancer patient. She was new to this city, and so we hardly had anything to talk about. It was difficult because she was seventeen, not a child that could be dealt with easily.So obviously the rule about 'distracting' a patient had to be broken here. Though strictly advised against it, I started discussing her health with her. I still have no idea why, but the next thing I knew, I heard myself promising her that she'd be okay, and would get to go back home. Clearly, she had strong faith, too. Or maybe ordeals can bring out that side of a person. She promised me that once she went back home, she would continue with her education and would not get left behind in any way. I'd regularly go in and exchange a greeting with her and give her something to read.
I had developed a special attachment with her. Even though neither of us could identify with each other, I could still understand, and sympathize with, her situation. So I had finally overcome that 'challenge' we were told about at the very beginning. Shaukat Khanum had managed to teach me that.
And one point to be noted here is, she DID get to go back home.

Another patient I wouldn't ever forget was a five year old Pathan boy, who had stomach cancer. He had come up from the north, spoke Pashto and could not understand a word of Urdu. He was the most cheerful boy I had seen so far, shrieking with happiness at the littlest of things. A nurse came to start his chemo, and at the sight of the injection, all happiness went down the drain and he started crying. His mother told me that this was his sixth one so far. Finding this painful to hear and see, I got up to leave, but he started to cry harder and said something in Pashto. His mother translated it for me: 'please don't go'. And as I sat down once again, to watch him cry and whisper prayers to God, at that moment, I wished for every good thing in the world for that boy.

By the end of my volunteership, I was growing increasingly hopeless. Just the word 'cancer' was enough to cause me to break down. The last few days I spent with a girl the same age as me, fifteen. She had brain tumour, her head and right eye were bandaged and she was awfully weak. When we talked about how her life used to be like previously, I learnt that it was not much different than my own. We were in the same grade, and just like me, she had a passion for reading and writing. I asked her, if she could get the chance to be published, what would she write about? And she replied: 'my life story'. She told me that I had no idea how lucky I was.
When I was in her room, I could hear the conversation going on in the other end, though we were separated by a curtain. A twelve year old was crying loudly, she too had a tumour in her brain. Her mother was speaking to a physician. And from what I could make of the conversation, the girl was not surviving for long.
That day, my last day as a volunteer at the hospital, I had nothing to say. I was speechless.

A doctor asked me about what these two weeks had taught me. And I said: 'The fact that I can never be grateful enough'.

Indeed, this was one experience I'd remember forever.