2 January 2020

Who Cares that I have Terminal Cancer?

Glancing over to the patient Daniela had invited me to see, I saw a heavily bandaged head staring down towards bare feet which were crossed awkwardly. J’s shoulders were curled in and his hands crossed in front of him. It seemed to me like he was just trying to take up as little space in the world as possible.

We were alone in the small room and I wasn’t sure if I should disturb his thoughts, but I decided to have a go engaging despite his lack of English, and my lack of Arabic. So I took out my phone, found a photo of my husband and I took a step towards him to show him. I pointed to my wedding ring and smiled saying, this is my husband. J smiled shyly back, if momentarily a little confused. So I pointed to him and asked You – married? He quickly got it, nodding saying “madam” – he has a wife – so I carried on and asked “baby?” to find his eyes lighting up by the second.

By the time doctors Daniela and Nikki, and J’s interpreter came back into the room (all volunteers who’d come in specially on their one day off), J was animated and asking the interpreter for his phone to show us photos of his wife and five children – three boys first, followed by two girls, all age 3 to 15 – and all far from him still living in Syria. As he talked about them he was a different man! Up until then I’d barely heard J speak. 

We’d met an hour before in the Samos MedEqual Clinic where he’s being treated for a tumor; to the best of the team’s ability when he really needs a hospital and surgery. His tumor has eaten a hole into J’s head, I don’t know how else to describe it, and if he gets an infection, i.e if sepsis sets in, then he’ll surely die within just a few short days. Turned away by the Samos Hospital, instead doctors Daniela and Nikki who are currently volunteering in Samos have taken quiet, unassuming J’s case on and he’s coming in for daily dressing changes and painkillers. The tumor in his ear has exploded, and he’s in constant pain. His features are being pressurised inside his head and his sight is starting to suffer and he has headaches. With his family so far away J is making his journey alone.

Doctors Daniela and Nikki have fought hard for his case and are now waiting to hear any day that he’s leaving Samos on a MediVac (medical evacuation) to the mainland. Not least because Daniela goes home to Germany on Sunday, and Nikki to UK on Monday, so what happens to J’s care on Samos then? However, the MediVac doesn’t guarantee him care at the other end, on the Greek mainland. I’m not sure what it does do to be honest, except get him off the island. And so I turned to my volunteer network for help. Real help for J.

Firstly, an emergency call to Rando of One Human Race. Rando will now collect J at the port in Athens, get him a room in a clean hotel for a few nights and ensure an Arabic speaker is available for interpretation. Amazing. Once J’s settled in it’s time for urgent next steps. Most likely including a trip to A&E so that he’s recognised for the surgery he needs, a clean, dry non-damp room to rent for at least 4-6 months, and a daily visit by a nurse who can change his dressings.

Whilst he’s still on Samos the volunteering community here is pitching in too. J has been referred to Project Armonia for meals as his weight and general health are suffering. Project Armonia feed the most vulnerable in camp a healthy, fresh, nutritious meal each day. And he has few clothes, or even a bag, so Refugee 4 Refugees’ free shop jumped in immediately to help and he now has enough to get him to Athens warmer and more comfortably – including socks for his bare feet and a cardigan in place of his jumper which is so painful for J to pull over his head.

Volunteers are keeping a loving husband and dad alive, and are fighting for him to get the care he needs because his family can’t and the authorities won’t. We’re in this together – humans for humans – where every life is unique and every life is as important as the next. Because that’s the way we think the world should be evolving. Don’t you?

Good luck J. The odds are stacked against you, but we’re all rooting for you to make it through and, maybe one day, see your family again.