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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Other / Not Listed
- Published: 10/29/2012
Umar Daraaz
This is a true story, without any fabrication or dramatization, based on some hard facts of life.
It was back in 1995, when I started my internship in General Surgery. That was my first rotation after graduating as a doctor. Practice is so different than theory, even a lot different than observation. Surgery was my passion and I was thoroughly enjoying my tough duties, developing surgical skills and loving every bit of my work.
I was allotted five beds in the general ward. One of those days, a new admission came on bed 1. He had a lovely and an extra-ordinary attractive face with blonde hair, the typical fair pink complexion people have from the North of Pakistan and huge blue-green eyes. His name was Umar Daraaz, which in Urdu language means ‘a person with a very long life.’
He was 10 years old and was admitted with an ulcer on his neck. The ulcer was not only infected, but it was manifested with worms too. It was a foul smelling ulcer which I cleaned and dressed twice daily. He used to be unusually quiet while I cleaned and dressed his wound, I realized later that he used to feel embarrassed because of the smell.
With antibiotics and dressings, the wound started to get better. I had developed an attachment with Umar, and kept doing his dressings myself while they could also be done by a nurse. He opened up too, and started talking to me. He told me that he came from a very poor family, and was the eldest amongst four siblings. He started to go to school, but could not continue as his father couldn’t afford the minute amount of fee and the expenses of stationary. He reeled off that he loves to read and write. So, in my free time, I started to teach Umar reading and writing both, Urdu and English. He was a very fast learner. Within days, he was able to read the names of the on-call teams of nurses and doctors, from the board placed on the wall.
When the wound was clean enough and was free of worms and infection, we took a biopsy from that ulcer. It turned out to be Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, which is a cancer of lymphoid tissues, i.e. the defensive tissues of our body, such as lymph nodes, spleen, and the white blood cells.
It was heart-breaking news for all the staff members, as all of us started to get very fond of Umar. They arranged a transfer for him in a Cancer Centre. He was tearful before leaving, and he took a promise from me that I would call him very often. I did call him several times. I was told his cancer was wide spread to other vital body organs and blood itself. He was started on chemotherapy and after six months, he was discharged from the cancer centre. Before going back home in the north, he came to see me.
That was the last time I saw Umar. He was lying on the back seat of the taxi and looked like a skeleton. His beautiful blonde hair was gone due to the chemotherapy and the pink complexion had turned pale. His father told me that the doctors said he cannot be treated anymore so they decided to take him home. Umar was so weak, he could hardly get up to hug me and looked at me with his lifeless eyes as if asking for help. He told me that once back home he would start going back to school and would be a doctor like me one day.
*****************
It was the new year night in 1996 and all my friends were out celebrating, while I was on-call at work. The security guard came to me and told me someone wanted to meet me. It was an odd hour for a visitor, and when I came out, I found that it was Umar’s father. He was coming from hundreds of miles. He broke into tears the moment he looked at me and handed me a heavy envelope saying, ‘Umar has left this for you’.
Looking at him and his broken voice, I knew instinctively that Umar was no more. I sat with him for some moments but had no courage to ask him anything. After a while, he said, ‘There was not a single day when Umar did not talk about you. He wanted to become a doctor like you. He used to write letters to you and in this envelope are those letters. He told me to deliver these to you in person and not to post them.’
Later, I sat in my on-call room, reading the letters written to me by Umar Daraaz. The letters were written in broken handwriting and were full of spelling mistakes, but comprehensive enough to deliver me all his thoughts.
He had realized he was going to die soon, he had written about his dreams of life and how it felt when he knew those dreams would remain dreams forever. He wrote about the pain he used to feel in his body and the aches of his heart. He wrote that he could see his father had looked as if he had grown ten years older in only a few months. He wrote about the agony in his mother’s eyes.
But his last letter contained just one sentence…..
‘Why was I named Umar Daraaz?’
Umar Daraaz(Asma Naqi)
Umar Daraaz
This is a true story, without any fabrication or dramatization, based on some hard facts of life.
It was back in 1995, when I started my internship in General Surgery. That was my first rotation after graduating as a doctor. Practice is so different than theory, even a lot different than observation. Surgery was my passion and I was thoroughly enjoying my tough duties, developing surgical skills and loving every bit of my work.
I was allotted five beds in the general ward. One of those days, a new admission came on bed 1. He had a lovely and an extra-ordinary attractive face with blonde hair, the typical fair pink complexion people have from the North of Pakistan and huge blue-green eyes. His name was Umar Daraaz, which in Urdu language means ‘a person with a very long life.’
He was 10 years old and was admitted with an ulcer on his neck. The ulcer was not only infected, but it was manifested with worms too. It was a foul smelling ulcer which I cleaned and dressed twice daily. He used to be unusually quiet while I cleaned and dressed his wound, I realized later that he used to feel embarrassed because of the smell.
With antibiotics and dressings, the wound started to get better. I had developed an attachment with Umar, and kept doing his dressings myself while they could also be done by a nurse. He opened up too, and started talking to me. He told me that he came from a very poor family, and was the eldest amongst four siblings. He started to go to school, but could not continue as his father couldn’t afford the minute amount of fee and the expenses of stationary. He reeled off that he loves to read and write. So, in my free time, I started to teach Umar reading and writing both, Urdu and English. He was a very fast learner. Within days, he was able to read the names of the on-call teams of nurses and doctors, from the board placed on the wall.
When the wound was clean enough and was free of worms and infection, we took a biopsy from that ulcer. It turned out to be Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, which is a cancer of lymphoid tissues, i.e. the defensive tissues of our body, such as lymph nodes, spleen, and the white blood cells.
It was heart-breaking news for all the staff members, as all of us started to get very fond of Umar. They arranged a transfer for him in a Cancer Centre. He was tearful before leaving, and he took a promise from me that I would call him very often. I did call him several times. I was told his cancer was wide spread to other vital body organs and blood itself. He was started on chemotherapy and after six months, he was discharged from the cancer centre. Before going back home in the north, he came to see me.
That was the last time I saw Umar. He was lying on the back seat of the taxi and looked like a skeleton. His beautiful blonde hair was gone due to the chemotherapy and the pink complexion had turned pale. His father told me that the doctors said he cannot be treated anymore so they decided to take him home. Umar was so weak, he could hardly get up to hug me and looked at me with his lifeless eyes as if asking for help. He told me that once back home he would start going back to school and would be a doctor like me one day.
*****************
It was the new year night in 1996 and all my friends were out celebrating, while I was on-call at work. The security guard came to me and told me someone wanted to meet me. It was an odd hour for a visitor, and when I came out, I found that it was Umar’s father. He was coming from hundreds of miles. He broke into tears the moment he looked at me and handed me a heavy envelope saying, ‘Umar has left this for you’.
Looking at him and his broken voice, I knew instinctively that Umar was no more. I sat with him for some moments but had no courage to ask him anything. After a while, he said, ‘There was not a single day when Umar did not talk about you. He wanted to become a doctor like you. He used to write letters to you and in this envelope are those letters. He told me to deliver these to you in person and not to post them.’
Later, I sat in my on-call room, reading the letters written to me by Umar Daraaz. The letters were written in broken handwriting and were full of spelling mistakes, but comprehensive enough to deliver me all his thoughts.
He had realized he was going to die soon, he had written about his dreams of life and how it felt when he knew those dreams would remain dreams forever. He wrote about the pain he used to feel in his body and the aches of his heart. He wrote that he could see his father had looked as if he had grown ten years older in only a few months. He wrote about the agony in his mother’s eyes.
But his last letter contained just one sentence…..
‘Why was I named Umar Daraaz?’
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Kevin Hughes
04/25/2019Asma,
Jd said it best- heart wrenching testimony to the human spirit. And I wonder if his story isn't giving him long life? You will never forget him. Your readers now have a place in their hearts for him...thirty years after his death, we still talk about him in the present- who knows how many people have read your story - and they will keep Umar Daraaz "alive" too.
Smiles to you, and your good works.
Kevin
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Asma Naqi
04/25/2019I am really impressed with the depth of your thoughts Kevin. You are right, there is so much more to unpack and learn from this short life. At the age of 10-11, I think he has left a long-lasting impact and that was possible only because he could write down his thoughts. Otherwise, who would know what he had in his mind? Perhaps, this is a lesson for all of us to look beyond the visible and not to quantify gains and losses in terms of life and death. A short life can be longer than the mere digital scores.
Thanks for reigniting the desire to write again which I had stopped for many years.
Cheers!
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Kevin Hughes
04/25/2019Asma,
Umar's story has so much in it to unpack. For example: you thought you were providing Medical Care, and a bit of friendship, one of those rare patients that become "friends." But look at it from Umar's perspective. He had a thirst to learn, to wonder, to think- poverty and lack took that away from him...until you!
You taught him to read and write in two languages- while he was sick. How deep must his thirst to learn have been to drive him to study while ill? A person he respected, one he could only imagine meeting in his real life or village- took time to teach him. He didn't want to fail you, and you opened a dream for him.
Cancer is careless with dreams and hopes- we fight, but often lose, and as you well know, the modern treatments bring you horribly close to death - in the hope of regaining life. Umar fought, because you gave him a dream. Had he lived, there is no doubt in my mind he would have become a Doctor, and asked you to be there when he got his Diploma.
For a year, he was growing, learning, chasing a dream, and fighting for his life, just because you taught him to read, and what might be possible. So much so, that he was able to articulate his thoughts- and end his notes to you with a profound question. His way of asking, why was I born? What does my life mean?
You gave him the tools to reach the level where he could dream, answer, and seek. He had a year of a reason to be alive, and the hope of a future. Your story was no small footnote in a busy Doctor's life. It was a Pandora's box that proved living long, can be a shorter life than Umars.
Smiles, Kevin
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Asma Naqi
04/25/2019Thank you Kevin. I think you are right. Life is much more than just breathing and through this story, Umar Daraaz is still living in our thoughts. May be in the thoughts of many more people than he would have if he was still alive today.
Cheers!
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