I've Already Lost My Husband... I Cannot Lose My Son Too!

The first time I noticed the lump, I tried not to panic. It was just behind his ear, barely the size of a coin. But within weeks, it grew larger, and then the swelling spread toward his neck, and up the side of his head. He was only three. How could something this dangerous grow inside someone so small? By the time doctors told me it was a high-risk tumour, they also said something else—without urgent surgery, I could lose him. The estimate was in lakhs, and I barely earn ₹200 a day. I have already lost my husband. I have no savings. No land. Nothing. Just my boy. And now, I am fighting with all that I have to keep him alive.

He had liver disease. His stomach would fill with fluid, and his breathing got worse day by day. We tried getting him treated, but the money just wasn’t enough. I did everything I could, but I still lost him. I remember sitting beside his body, holding my child in one arm, wondering how I would survive now. There was no time to grieve. I had to work, feed my child, and somehow keep going. I began working as a labourer... sweeping, mopping floors, washing utensils. The house where I stay, if you can call it that, barely has a roof. But I managed. Somehow, I managed.

They gave me medicine for the pain, told me it was nothing. But it didn’t stop growing. I went from one place to another, spending hundreds, thousands... everything I had. I borrowed from neighbours, relatives, anyone who would listen. Some doctors asked me for ₹5 lakhs, others for ₹6 lakhs. Even getting the scans done emptied my pockets. One day, I didn’t even have money to buy the painkiller he needed. That night, I held him in my lap as he cried in his sleep. I didn’t cry. I just sat there, staring into the dark, too numb to feel anything. Eventually, someone told me about a hospital in Delhi. I made my way there, holding on to hope like a thread ready to snap.

The doctors here have been kind, and also very clear: the tumour is dangerous. It has already started to spread, and time is running out. The cost of the procedure is more than I can ever afford. I don’t even know how to say that number out loud. I’ve already sold everything I could. I’ve already borrowed as much as people would give. I’m not asking for anything for myself. I only want a chance to save him. Just this once. Please.

Every morning, I get up, wash my face, and tell myself that if I can just get through one more day, maybe help will come. That’s why I’m here, folding my hands before you. I know you don’t know me. But I am someone’s mother, and I am begging you. Please help me save his life. Whatever you can. Even the smallest help means the world to me.