Just breathe

Dr. Rehma

I knocked on the door of room 408, eager to assist this eighteen-year-old cancer patient who had recently attempted suicide. According to her parents, she was always strong, smart, and overall a brilliant girl.

"She has always been a warrior, living up to her name," her mother told me. "I never imagined she would do such a thing."

Even her doctor was shocked by this event. He thought she had been coping well. According to him, she was a little disturbed by this, but having cancer is disturbing for all patients. "It was a miracle that she survived despite the blood loss and cancer," he explained. "If she hadn't been AB positive, a universal acceptor, collecting blood in a short amount of time may not have been possible."

After 24 hours of studying her life, I was finally getting to meet this warrior herself.

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I pushed open the door and entered. The bed was in the centre of the room, as it was in all of the other rooms in this ward. A small table adorned with colourful flowers stood opposite the stretcher. On the left was a large window with its blinds half-open, revealing the world outside, which was more lively than this room. Everyone had something to cling to out there. And Hafsa had it too, but her vision had blurred so much that she couldn't see it.

"Salam, dear," I said.

She returned my greeting without turning around.

"I'm going to be your therapist," I explained.

When she finally turned around, she looked surprised but then shook her head.

"You're not going to understand anything." She mumbled. "I'm sure you'll rant about how sinful I am or something."

"Hey, just because I'm wearing a niqab doesn't give me or anyone else the right to call someone sinful or even judge them." Judging others is forbidden. I sighed. "You should at least give me a chance. I'll try."

She didn't seem entirely convinced, but she began to tell her story with some scepticism.

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يَـٰٓأَيُّهَا ٱلنَّبِىُّ قُل لِّمَن فِىٓ أَيْدِيكُم مِّنَ ٱلْأَسْرَىٰٓ إِن يَعْلَمِ ٱللَّهُ فِى قُلُوبِكُمْ خَيْرًۭا يُؤْتِكُمْ خَيْرًۭا مِّمَّآ أُخِذَ مِنكُمْ وَيَغْفِرْ لَكُمْ ۗ وَٱللَّهُ غَفُورٌۭ رَّحِيمٌۭ ٧٠

"O Prophet! Tell the captives in your custody, "If Allah finds goodness in your hearts, He will give you better than what has been taken from you, and forgive you. For Allah is All-Forgiving, Most Merciful."

I closed the Qur'an. Hafsa's story had been disturbing enough. I was even thinking of trying to excuse myself and get out of this case, but then my Lord showed me this beautiful verse of Surat Anfaal.

Quran is indeed a miracle. Not just in the way it was revealed to the Prophet or the way Allah has preserved it in its original form for centuries, but also because every time it is opened, it is new and fresh, as if it changes depending on the context.

Another thing that surprised me was how people think that Allah doesn't reply to us. However, he does. Through the Quran. Every time I seek guidance and open the Quran, the first verse or first few verses that appear are the answer.

It was as if my Lord were telling me not to give in to His creation and not be so judgmental. There might still be a bit of hope.