Patterns of Past, Present, Promise: A Life Reborn
I was pregnant with my first child when I was diagnosed with drug-resistant tuberculosis (TB). I’d already suffered years of misdiagnosis. In an instant, all the joy I felt as an expectant mother turned to fear and anxiety.
I was immediately put on painful treatment and told of many complications this could lead to. I was isolated, told I was a danger to my baby and made to feel ashamed by those who were meant to care for me.
I gave birth alone in a glass isolation room. No touch, no comfort – just pain, silence and shame. Moments after he was born, my son was whisked away to the hospital nursery and I didn’t see him again for five days. Was he getting enough to eat? Was anyone holding him when he cried?
I thought about all the special moments drug-resistant TB had stolen from me. Those final days of pregnancy, daydreaming about becoming a mum, bonding with and feeding my baby once born. All those joyful moments I wouldn’t have. I’ve never felt such pain and powerlessness in my life.
But the moment I held my son in my arms, everything changed. The grueling treatment no longer felt like a punishment – it became a gift as I fought to survive. Suddenly I had a second chance at life and motherhood.
My experience of misdiagnosis and drug-resistant TB sadly isn’t unique. Drug-resistant TB is a growing global crisis – worsened by fragile health systems, interrupted funding and stigma. Every year, 10 million people fall ill with TB. And despite being a preventable and curable disease, more than 1.2 million people die from TB each year – making it the world’s top infectious killer.
Thanks to the Global Fund partnership, I am one of 65 million lives saved. Today I am healthy and a mother of three. But my journey didn’t end at survival.
My story is woven into the fabric you see on my hijab. The swirling shards of glass symbolize my isolation as I gave birth, the fragility of survival, and breaking free from shame. Bitter pills represent the painful treatment that saved my life. And flowers blooming against the odds remind us that hope can grow anywhere. From brokenness came strength.
This pattern is a beautiful reminder that the pain I endured gave rise to my purpose, helping others heal after TB. My pattern tells my story, but it also represents my community. Mothers who fear they are too weak to heal. Patients who still struggle in silence.
We have what it takes to end TB. So why are millions still suffering? Why are millions still dying from a disease that’s preventable and curable?
This is our fight: for mothers, families, communities. For dignity, health, and hope. We cannot stop now. Together, we must stop at nothing to finish this fight.
With thanks to Anindita Rahardjo for honoring Ani’s story in this pattern.