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The night we left our home for the last time, my wife, Ishrat, stood in the doorway for a moment longer than I could bear. She ran her hand along the chipped paint, her fingers lingering on the place where our daughter had once scribbled with a blue crayon. I turned away. I couldn’t let her see my eyes, couldn’t let her know that I, too, felt like I was leaving behind more than just four walls; it was our life, our memories, our security. But cancer doesn’t care about these things. It doesn’t care that we had no other choice. It doesn’t care that after selling everything, we are now living in a rented space, barely managing on borrowed time and borrowed money. And yet, despite all this, the disease is still here, still taking from us. I have given it everything, but it is not enough.
After losing our home, our lives have shrunk into a single rented room. The walls press in, thick with worry. My wife is too weak to cook, too exhausted to sit with our daughter as she studies. My parents, already struggling with their own health, try to help, but how much can they do? Every day, I wake up wondering how to pay for the next injection, the next hospital trip. We have begged. We have borrowed. And yet, every rupee disappears into a battle we are losing.
My biggest fear is not even the money
It is my daughter’s small hands tugging at my shirt, her wide, searching eyes asking, “Abbu, when will Ammi get better?” She still believes that all prayers are answered. She still waits for the day Ishrat will get up and hold her the way she used to. I try to shield her from the truth, to protect her world. But she can see through my forced smiles. She sees her mother grow thinner, weaker. And one day, she might stop asking.
Ishrat is my partner in everything
Before cancer, we dreamed together. We laughed easily. We planned a future where our daughter would have the best education, where we would build a home filled with love and certainty. Now, I sit beside Ishrat as she fights for every breath, her body wracked with pain. And I feel helpless. This is not how our story was supposed to go.
I have done what any husband would do
I have sold every possession, let go of my work, spent sleepless nights figuring out how to keep her alive. What happens when there is nothing left to sell? When even my will to fight is not enough? The doctors say a bone marrow transplant is her only chance now. But the cost is beyond anything I can ever earn. I have lost my home. I cannot lose her too.
Time is slipping away from us
Every day without treatment is a day stolen from her life, from our daughter’s childhood, from the future we once saw so clearly. I cannot do this alone anymore. I am reaching out, with everything I have left, to ask for help. Please, if you are reading this, know that your support is not just for Ishrat, it is for a little girl who still believes her mother will come back to her, healthy and whole. It is for a family that has given everything, yet still dares to hope. Please, help us bring Ishrat back home.
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EIN 20-5139364
