“Every story is different, every emotion is different.”
My journey with cancer began in Ramadan 2022, just after I returned from Umrah. At the time, I was already going through a period of deep emotional pain due to some personal family matters. One day, my daughter looked at me and said, “You look weak.” I told her I always feel tired after Umrah, but she insisted, “You’re 50 now — get a mammogram.”
That moment changed my life.
Thanks to my husband’s company insurance, I was able to get the mammogram done. They immediately advised an ultrasound. The result came back as BIRADS V — highly suspicious of cancer. When the doctor asked why I hadn’t done a self-exam, I explained that I had — and even demonstrated how — but they said the tumor was located in an area that’s hard to reach, just under the nipple. My nipple had inverted, and I didn’t know that could be a sign of cancer. I wish I had known.
The biopsy that followed was difficult and prolonged and confirmed the cancer diagnosis. We were advised to deposit Rs. 13 lakhs at a private cancer hospital, but thankfully found another facility where my husband’s insurance was accepted.
I was told I could opt for chemotherapy either before or after surgery. I chose surgery first. The surgeon gave me two options: breast-conserving surgery or mastectomy. A trusted family friend, who is also an oncologist, strongly advised a complete mastectomy to reduce the risk of recurrence. I followed that advice, though I don’t think I fully understood what it would mean for me at the time.
There was one important reason I didn’t go through with the surgery immediately — my son was in the UK, and I couldn’t do it without him. When he finally came home, I had my surgery on 16th September 2022. He was devastated when he found out. He kept asking how someone as brave as me could have cancer. It broke his heart so much that he decided not to return to the UK. He stayed in Pakistan permanently, and now he prays for my health and wellness every single day.
After surgery came chemotherapy — and it was incredibly hard. I lost my hair, my skin changed, my moods darkened. Even though I had seen other family members go through it, I wasn’t prepared for how much it would take from me. My husband and daughter would be at work, and I would ask my older, married daughter to stay on the phone with me, just so I wouldn’t feel alone. One day, my daughter noticed I wasn’t eating. I told her I couldn’t even hold the rolling pin anymore. I couldn’t make roti. I felt so weak and empty — not just in body, but in spirit.
My family often says I take things to heart. That’s true. I’ve always been sensitive, and the emotional pain I was already carrying made everything heavier. My father passed away when I was in 11th grade. I got married the very next year. His loss left a permanent ache in my heart. Spiritually, I feel that when you hold onto an old pain for too long, Allah sometimes gives you a bigger one — one that forces you to let go of the past.
Today, I live a quiet, withdrawn life. I only visit one close friend from time to time, spend two or three happy days with her, and then return to my routine.
But even in this loneliness, I’ve found a strange kind of peace.
I believe this illness came as a form of purification — for missed prayers, fasts, or zakat. I cried a lot in the beginning. I lost so much of myself — physically and emotionally. Family comments about my appearance cut deeply. But now, I try not to let such words touch me.
There are bigger pains than cancer. And other illnesses can be just as harsh. Cancer hurts the body, yes — but emotional pain eats you from within. I used to work at the Federal Board and wrote textbooks from Grade 2 to 8. My name, Hina Naveed Irfani, is still printed on the Grade 5 textbook being taught in both Punjab and federal schools. It was a good job, and I still don’t know why I left. Perhaps cancer made me lose parts of myself I wasn’t ready to let go of.
Maybe I’m more pessimistic than others, but I’ve reached a place of surrender. I’ve chosen not to return to an oncologist. I leave everything to Allah now. I also suffered from pancreatitis, but I see all of it as part of His plan for me.
Despite all that I’ve lost — my job, my smile, my strength — I believe Allah will return it all to me in Jannah. What He takes from us here, He gives back in ways we can’t imagine.
And that belief… gives me peace.