By Ruma Tariq (Sister)
I will start from the day I found out my dear brother, Haroon, had leukemia, and not from the day he himself found out that he had this disease. I still remember the late October evening of 1995, when I saw him walking in through the main door. (So handsome & so dear). I was sitting on the dining table helping my young son to finish his homework. He was in pre-school. As my husband was away for a year to do his Masters in England, I was staying with my parents.
So as I greeted him, I saw that he was pretty tense (very unlike him), and his two friends followed him. “What’s wrong?” I asked concerned. He just patted me on my shoulder and said its nothing. I looked back at his friends and they were so sad that I got instantly worried. I told my son to run along and followed my brother and his friends to our parent’s bedroom. Every one sat down and I also perched myself on one of the chairs.
Everyone was so solemn. I came to know that this was an arranged meeting and my brother had called my parents before coming home that he had something important to talk about. My parents were looking expectantly towards my brother, he tried to speak once, twice and then he just closed his mouth and looked at his friends to help him out. I was getting panicky by each passing second. It was so unlike my brother, he was the most courageous man I had ever seen, so full of confidence and energy. The friend, cleared his throat and started,” You know uncle (my father) when people get sick they had to be taken care off. Haroon is really sick and he not only need treatment but also great support at home.” “ We are going to admit him in hospital, (where he worked) and treatment is going to start tonight.”
Everyone was speechless. Finally my father asked, “what’s wrong with him?”
Before the friend could reply Haroon cut him short by saying, “ Its nothing Papa, its just that I didn’t want to make you people worried, that’s why I came with my friends so that they can confirm that what I have is treatable.”
My brother ever considerate always caring was just trying to make it easy for us. So they started talking about arrangements that who will stay in the hospital with him.
I walked out thinking its okay and things are not that serious. He is sick and we will take care of him.
What I found out later was that my brother found out about his blood cancer a week ago before he told us. He was devastated but he didn’t tell anyone, not even his wife. He was thinking of us all, even at that time. When he found out about this thing he didn’t know if he would survive or not, still he was worried how we all would take it, I kills me to think that there was no one to hug him at the time he found out, he had to console himself and then he was so sensitive to our devastation that he tried to shield us by telling slowly, by mentally preparing us. He asked his friends to support him because he knew he was going to break down if he breaks the news alone. He was a great man.
So, that evening he went and mother went with him, his wife could not stay the night at the hospital, because there were 3 small children to be taken care off (theirs). Mother is a very innocent soul she didn’t know what was going on even when they started the chemotherapy. My aunt, the owner of the hospital, told my Mom, that Haroon is under going chemo. My innocent mother said isn’t done to people with cancer. My aunt told her that Haroon has cancer, a blood cancer.
My mom just lost it; she told my aunt that she has to go to wash room. It is a habit of my mom if she gets too worried her tummy at once gets upset. So she started making frequent visits to the washroom. My aunt at that moment realized that my mom is the wrong person to be in the hospital with the patient. She called me at home, I was putting my son to bed, and she told me that she had to tell me something. I told her I already know Haroon was sick and he was under going treatment in the hospital. She said do you know what was he suffering from? Of course I didn’t know. She said, ‘ he has leukemia Ruma, and you should come and stay with him not your mother as she is out of her wits with worry’.
This was too much for me to digest. I simply sat that with receiver in my hand, I could not find a word to say. At that very moment my father walked into my room. I must tell you at this moment that our father is a heart patient and I couldn’t control my facial expressions for a little while. Anyway, he had come to tell me that he is also going to the hospital because he could not sit at home, he was worried that Haroon might be hiding something from us. You bet, I thought. I told him that I would accompany him and bundled up my son and we both went to the hospital.
There my father found out, it’s a strange feeling when you find out something about your loved one as devastating as this. You simply feel light headed and in trance. The tears come later, much later.
My father took the whole situation in his hands and scolded my brother for not telling him sooner. He started talking with doctors and asked for the best doctor in town. The oncologist who was treating my brother had just returned from England, and he assured us that we had caught the disease at the very beginning and after treatments, Haroon will be okay. That was a great relief to us. I tried to make things less tense by joking with my brother. My parents left the hospital and mom took my son. I stayed there for the night.
So the chemotherapy was to be done for 7 days, and then was the remission period. My brother’s cells were to be given time to re-generate in that period. I don’t know the medical terms that well, but this I know that the remission period was terrible. No doubt my brother bore the pain manfully but it was a torture to see my handsome brother’s face contort with pain. First chemotherapy, I was with him at nights. Mornings his wife took over. My elder sister, Lubna, came from Karachi (another city of Pakistan) She also pitched in and shared morning duties with my brother’s wife, Saba.
It was a very slow remission period. We all felt like walking on egg shells. We all prayed that my brother’s damaged cells from chemotherapy should start re-building.
I loved being with my brother in the hospital; even in his pain he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. He used to tell me I don’t know what you people feed me everything tastes like saw dust. I instantly replied, well how about if I bring saw dust for you maybe it would taste nice to you. We laughed a lot. I loved him so much. He also shaved his hair, because he said they were going to fall anyway. (Due to chemo)
His cell started re-generating in the remission period and we were overjoyed. He was going to be fine.
He came home, he looked so handsome even bald headed. We used to call him, ‘ Takla’, that’s a name for a bald person in our language. Every now and then we used his head as a drum, he was such a good sport. We laughed and were looking forward to his full recovery.
He had to under go a second chemotherapy after his body cell completely re-generated. I didn’t stay with him in the hospital this time but I frequently visited him. We used to chat and see TV together. This time we were not as worried as the first time. We thought the worst has passed and the feeling of impending doom was gone. But what we didn’t know that my brother knew he would not survive. The sweet man didn’t share his fears with us, but he was preparing his wife. We found out later that she used to come out of his room red eyed and sometimes crying. She herself is a very brave woman and to this day she is facing the world alone with her three children. My brother used to tell her that after his death she should get married. So that she has some one to take care of her. This shows how much my brother loved her. After his second chemo he came home. He was perfectly all right, all his cells were re-generated. He used to take his wife all over the places. Once my mom was furious, she scolded my brother, that why he doesn’t rest, as the doctors told him to. He said he just want to teach Saba (his wife) everything, banking and all other assets he has. My mom cried and told him, what does he think if God forbid something happened to him she would throw his wife out on the street. She wept and said she would keep her close to her heart. Besides nothing is going to happen to him. He just smiled.
He once told Lubna, my elder sister that he had no wish left. If God took him away he would have no regrets. He has fulfilled all his wishes. My sister told him it was not possible because when one wish is fulfilled more wishes come up. But he just smiled. Was he preparing us? What a considerate man he was.
Now was the time for his third chemotherapy. Our father told him not to go for it, as all cancerous cells were gone from his body. But he was adamant, he said father we have to complete the procedure. But you don’t need it son my father was very forceful. So my brothers reasoned with him by giving him an example, that when we take anti-biotic, no matter we get better after a few doses we complete the whole dose. So this thing is the same. I had to undergo three treatments, with intervals for the cells to regenerate. So my father had to say ok, but he was not happy with it.
So the final treatment started in May 1996. It took my brother’s life, if I had any inkling that it would be the end of my beloved brother I would have hugged him and told him how much I loved him. I wish he knew how much I loved him.
So, the third started and because my husband had returned I shifted to my house with my husband.
I no longer could spend as much time as I wanted with my brother. As I was also doing a job at that time, I only had few hours to spend with him. His treatment went smoothly but the remission period after the 7-day treatment was worse this time. There were a lot of side effects. He didn’t rest much in that period. He had to be kept away from different infections in that period, because body was very week and couldn’t fight any other infections. But alas, something went wrong. And lots of complications occurred.
I still remember distinctly, about three days before he finally lost the battle of his life, It was May the 21st, 1996, a warm evening when I called him from my house. He was in hospital, Oh God I can hear his voice even now when I close my eyes, he seemed so tired, “ Haroon Bhai (bhai is a word used as respect with names of your elders specially males) how are you?” silly question at the stage but what else could I have asked. He, so like him, told me that he was okay. I wept but didn’t want him to hear tears in my voice. I told him that I could not make it to see him that day, but would definitely come tomorrow. He was all consolation, ‘Ruma’, he said, ‘ don’t worry about it; I am okay and almost sedated. So no worries you can come tomorrow’. I put down the phone and cried my heart out; I made a promise to myself that I would go tomorrow. So on 22 May, I was running late from the school, where I worked and my son went to. I didn’t go to see my brother in the morning, (I will regret it to this day). On my way back from school, I stopped at the hospital, ran upstairs to his private room to hug him. When I went in his room, he was heavily sedated. I knew he could see me but he was unable to talk properly. His wife was sitting having her lunch. I went over to him, tried to smile but failed. “ Haroon Bhai Jan (Jan is your loved one in our language) I am here. I don’t know whether he heard or not. I looked at his body. It was sort of swollen. I looked at his wife and said to her he doesn’t look good. She said he is sedated. ‘No’, I was getting panicky, ‘he is not good, something is wrong, and he is all swollen up’.
I didn’t wait for my sister in law’s answer, I ran down the stairs and told the doctor on duty to check Haroon Bhai out. There seemed to be something wrong, his breathing, and the swelling on the body.
I ran out and was thinking that I would go to my parents and leave my son over there and would come back. When I reached their place I told them my fears and my father said you remain with your mom and he would go and see what was going on.
He called me about an hour later from hospital and told me to come to the hospital and bring Mom. I drove with my mom and my son to the hospital and also called my husband to pick our son from the hospital on his way back from office.
We reached hospital and my brother’s room was filled with so many people, all doctors. They found out that he was not passing urine properly. Even at that time my brother (he was a doctor himself) was giving instructions to other doctors what to do for proper flow of urine.
If today someone tells me that a patients is not passing urine, I will straight away say that the patient’s kidneys are no longer working and its time to kick the bucket for him/her.
But at that time I was so numb and witless that I didn’t realize it. Everyone was trying to avoid eye contact. There was a strange feeling all around. My aunt and my mom were sitting crouched in the corner. The doctors were fluttering around. My brother’s BP dropped to 80 and 50. It was decided to pass catheter, as the blood pressure was too low to give water pill.
My father took my distraught mother home, I assured them that they should rest and I would stay with my brother. My husband came and took my son home. I just kept on sitting on the sofa and watched the doctors keeping watch over my brother. My hands were deathly cold and clammy. I looked at my sister in law she was like a statue. I wondered what she might be feeling at that moment. I felt such a deep lethargy coming over my body that I could not make myself get up and console her. But console for what? I was mad at my self, my brother was alive, and everything would be okay. I went down stairs and made an out of town call to my sister. When she came on the phone I started crying. I told her to come at once. I don’t know why I said this to her. She said she would be coming in the first available flight. I dropped the phone and went up again. My aunt was praying hard, she grabbed my hands and squeezed them, ‘Ruma’, she whispered, ‘ pray for your brother’. I just sat there like a zombie. My brother’s voice was almost gone, every one decided to go for dialysis, as water was filling up in his lungs. My aunt’s hospital didn’t have this facility in her hospital so my brother was to be shifted to a bigger hospital. My sister in law came to me, she looked death itself, she said I don’t know what to take to that hospital, as there was no private room over there, my brother would be going to intensive care. I have no idea what I said to her, I felt as if everything is happening in a room and I am outside watching it through the sound proof windows, without any feelings. I called my father and told him that we are all going to go to another hospital for dialysis. He said he would meet us there.
I am unaware of the means how we got there. I don’t remember anything, I just found myself outside the intensive care with my aunt, and my sister in law and even my father was there. Everything seemed to moving in a slow motion. It was so cold; the waiting room had wooden benches. I sat there and then again got up. My aunt went inside the intensive care, my sister in law followed. I stood there outside the closed door and started at the door stupidly. “ Who’s in there?” some one inquired. I turned and saw a woman. ‘ My brother,’ I replied automatically. ‘Is he very sick?’ she asked. What a stupid woman she was, of course he was very sick, how else he would be in intensive care. I just looked back at her and walked away. My father came near me and told me that my sister would be coming in the early morning flight. ‘ What time is it’? I asked him. It was 11:30 pm. Then again we were quite. There was nothing to say. I was afraid to hug my father for support I was sure I am going to break down at one sympathetic touch. I walked away and sat down on the wooden bench. My aunt came out and started talking to my father. I lost interest in my surroundings. I thought how cold and eerie the hospital was. Why it looked so desolate? The floors were dirty. Don’t they ever clean this place? I felt a hand on my shoulder. I tried to shrug it off but it stayed there. ‘What?’ I looked at the same woman sitting besides me the one who was bugging me. ‘You people look well-off’, she said looking at me and my father and aunt. ‘ What the hell was wrong with this woman’, I thought. I didn’t reply. I told her that I was very upset and want to be left alone. She wiped a tear from her eye and told me she too was upset and her father was in the hospital. I nodded. She, seeing that she had got my attention told me that her father needs surgery and they are too poor to pay the bill. I thought this could not be happening to me at this time. I said, ‘look lady I understand your plight, I would certainly have helped you, but my brother is very serious. I could not think of any one else at the moment. She started crying and begged that do it for your brother’s life. I was so distraught by her statement that I told her to wait; I walked over to my father and asked him if he had any cash on him. He was surprised, ‘ why do you ask?’ I told him the whole story and he was disgusted at the hospital and its staff, who could not check people pestering others in front of intensive care even. He was fed up but he complied my request and took out some money and told me to give it to her. I gave the money to that woman and told her not to bother me again.
My sister in law came out of the intensive care and I wanted to go in, so my father said he would wait for me. I went in saw my brother lying down on a white bed, he was holding oxygen mask in his hand and breathing through it. I went over touched his legs and feet. They were cold as ice. ‘Are you cold Haroon bhai?’ I asked him. He moved his head in a negative. The mask was in his hand; he was holding it on his face. Strange! Why there is no nurse here. I looked around; there were other beds also in there. One man was sitting there. Maybe he was the nurse. ‘ Where the hell were all the doctors’, I thought. This could not be real, this was supposed to be the intensive care unit and there was no doctor here. I wanted to comfort my brother. I started to massage his legs and feet. He was trying to say something but I couldn’t make out. I lowered myself against his mouth, ‘what’? I asked. ‘ Don’t break my legs’, and he actually smiled. Oh how I loved him. I said sorry and stepped back. They were going to take him for dialysis I think, that lone man in the corner came forward and told me to leave. That was the last time I saw my brother alive. I said bye to him and promised I would come tomorrow with my sister, who was to arrive at 5 am.
I walked out. My sister in law said she will stay and we should come in the morning to relieve her. I nodded and my aunt also told us that the blood pressure has become normal and Haroon is stable. We left the hospital at 1:00 am. My father dropped me at my house and he drove away. He told me before going that he will go with my sister to the hospital in the morning and I should come in later. I said okay. I don’t know why everything seemed so simple and normal.
I lied down in my bed and realized how tired I was. I had a dreamless and disturbed sleep and I woke up around 5 am.
My sister arrived at 5am and my father who didn’t sleep the whole night, went to receive her from the airport. She wanted to go to the hospital right there and then. But my father said she must sleep, as she also had spent the night sleepless. She was so restless that she persisted that she wants to go now. Still they left the house around 7 am.
I too was out of the house at 7 am. I was going to my school with my husband and son; I saw them at the mini market near our house (my father’s house was very near my house). My husband stopped the car and I stepped out and hugged my sister and we both wept. We just wept; maybe unconsciously we knew the end was near for our beloved brother. I told her that I would meet her in the hospital. We both drove away, my father and she is hospital’s direction and I towards my school.
Over there at the hospital, after we left, my brother went for dialysis. My sister in law was with him. But around 5 am his condition started worsening. His kidney completely collapsed. At the end he was unable to whisper even. My sister in law kept on saying that they should call the senior doctor. But only a student doctor was on duty. He was not very professional and seemed to be out of his wits. My brother the brave warrior fought for his life till the end. He called the stupid student doctor who would not call any senior doctor, for reasons unknown to my sister in law and later to us. My brother couldn’t talk, so he started telling with signs that doctor to directly cut his neck and put the tube in through there so that the water could be taken out. My sister in law first understood what he was trying to say, she begged the doctor to do as he was told. But they didn’t listen to her and told her to go out of the room as they want to try something else or whatever. My sister in law didn’t budge from there but stepped aside. As I was not there and I don’t know the details what happened next, I am only retelling what she told us afterwards.
My brother’s children were with my mother. It was 7am, 23 May 1996. My mother was awake as my father and sister had just left for the hospital. Suddenly the phone rang. My mom picked up the phone, dreading. The man on the other side asked who was speaking. She told him and asked is everything all right? The man just blurted out, ‘Madam, Doctor Haroon Rashid is no longer with us’. My mom was alone with the children in the house (my younger brother also); she dropped the phone and started screaming piteously. Her screams were so loud that all the neighbors came running. My younger brother, Mamoon, came out of his room. He caught her, tried to console her, but she was inconsolable, her screams were unstoppable. She was sobbing uncontrollably. My brother, who had just woken up, was worried witless. He ran outside the house without his shoes, ran all the way to my aunt’s (my mom’s sister) house who lived in the next street to our parents house. He didn’t find her there, so he told her daughter, our cousin, to call her mother. My younger brother came back home.
He has no re-collection of what happened next. He couldn’t even remember that he was the one who called me at my school. His mind had a complete memory loss of the whole episode. He only remembers now the point where my brother’s body arrived in the ambulance.
My Uncles and aunts (my father’s side), who lived close by, also came running. Everyone came.
The poor children, now father less were standing there in the door way wide awake and dumbfounded, their innocent brains incapable of comprehending what a terrible loss they have suffered.
I was just getting out of the car on reaching the school, when our office assistant came running out of the office, that I have a phone call from home. I went in the office. A dead calm was on me, I asked who it was. It was Mamoon, my younger brother. ‘ Ruma’, he said simply,’ come home.’ I asked him, ‘what’s wrong?’ knowing unconsciously but my conscious was not accepting it. He repeated come home. I ran back to my car, left my son in school, and told my husband, ‘ lets go back home’. The whole way I kept crying. It was the longest ride of my life.
My father and sister arrived at the hospital around 7:20 am. Both my aunts were there. My younger aunt seeing my father ran towards him and told him that Haroon has left us. My father was so grief stricken that he fell down on the bench. My sister started crying, she came all the way for nothing. He was dead. My father told my aunt that he is going home, as my mother was alone in the house. My aunt said that she would make arrangements for Body to be brought home. How strange it sounded, body! In one second Haroon was changed into just a body.
I reached my parents place, and place seemed to be filled with so many people. I knew it then, I just knew it. Still I asked my mom sitting there on the sofa like a Zombie, she just blurted out,’ ‘ your brother is dead’.
I wanted to go to the hospital but my husband told me to stay put. I sat down with my mother. The tears stopped. I felt nothing. I was dead myself. People kept on coming; I just sat there looking vacantly at every one.
My father stepped in the house with my sister. My mom hugged him and started crying in earnest. My father was a tower of strength; he stood there holding her, lifeless but consoling at the same time. He looked anguish personified, but he controlled himself. I have no idea how.
Everyone was there. There were so many people; still there was pin drop silence. An hour later ambulance brought my brother home; my sister in law was with him. She seemed as if she was running the whole night. I hugged her; even then the tears didn’t come. She was crying. I could not even console the poor girl, whose home was ruined.
Then I saw my brother, under a white sheet, they brought him in. Every thing became out of focus for me. I zoomed into him. He had come home, finally. He had come home. It was the most wretched day of my life, that day a part of me died with him.
My grief was and still is inconsolable. I still miss him, even after seven years. Who says time heals all wounds. It doesn’t, I still cry for him and whenever I hear of a young death, I feel sad very sad.
May Allah bless all those who are gone, and give strength to all those who are left behind to suffer the loss.