Thursday, January 6, 2011

Friend #70

Oh boy. It's going to be difficult to get through this post without crying. Remember Friend #14? Ashka? Well, her daughter, the student of mine, graduated on October. I was so proud because she was turning 22, married, and pregnant with her second child. I wanted so badly for her (now that she's not my student, I can tell you her name is Iqra) to accomplish something academic in her life before she becomes a mother of ten children - her dream. Actually, that was her dream before she had Baby #2 - a boy.

We had to do a bit of juggling during that quarter in October when Iqra was to graduate. She gave birth during Finals Week. In addition to this, her baby boy was born with heart problems and needed many surgeries. High School graduation became the last thing on Iqra's mind. She now had a toddler and a sick baby. And to add to the strife, Iqra's language barriers made it a challenge to fully understand the doctor's explanations of the baby's issues.

Iqra came in to visit me yesterday. The baby has finally come home after living at the Children's Hospital for three months. He has a tracheotomy tube and a feeding tube. His 18-month-old sister loves these tubes, unfortunately. One shining moment came when the hospital informed Iqra and her husband that their insurance would cover a nurse in their home for eight hours every day in their home.

I listened as Iqra matter-of-factly told me about her new daily schedule. I was impressed. Here I am feeling sorry for myself juggling a job and two healthy children and Iqra is amazingly breezing through being a Somalian refugee with a busy toddler and very sick newborn. I had some "blessing inventory" to do.

And then the other shoe fell.

Iqra's baby will not likely live past the age of five. There is no more hope. The doctors informed her that each day is a new day that he might die.

Of course, the absence of tact and sensitivity in the doctors irked me. But not Iqra.

"If he dies, he'll be my angel. If he lives, he'll have a good life too. Whatever God decides to do, is his choice, not mine," Iqra stated with a strong, honest face. I was dumbfounded. I wanted to shake some cries out of her, but there were none. She went on to assure me that she will not give up on her baby's life and she will fight for him, but not fight against God.

Iqra demonstrated the incredible faith in God. The ultimate Faith. The faith that says, "God, do whatever you want. It's your world, not mine. These are your children, not mine and I will trust you completely." I don't think I have that kind of faith in me. I really don't. I'd be kicking and screaming every second of the day.

At the young age of 22, Iqra is so much stronger than I ever will be.

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