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In January 2017, just days before the Trump Administration's first ban on refugees, Ali and his family landed at SeaTac Airport and rushed straight to Seattle Children's Hospital, fighting for the life of seven-year-old Zaid.

Read the original story below to learn more about the family's remarkable journey to the United States and their first months resettling in our community. Now a year later, the family is well on their way to making Seattle their new home. At a recent ̽����ѡ event, Ali shared these updates from his family:

"I got a job at Safeway near our home, but I want to do so much more. My wife and I plan to help more people, just as so many have helped us: I hope to become a nurse again, and she hopes to pursue a dental career. [St. Joseph Parish] has also extended the house to us for another year while we continue to focus on the health of our sons and building our financial stability.  

I am overwhelmed by the support and friendship we’ve received from so many of you in our new community. And recently, we received another donation that truly changed our lives. On September 10th, my son Zaid received a kidney transplant. The team at Seattle Children’s Hospital performed the surgery. They did an excellent job. Today Zaid is just a regular kid, going to school, learning to ride a bicycle! 

So, it has been an incredible year."  

In the middle of the night, in the January rain, Ali, his wife Dhilal and their two sons raced in an ambulance from SeaTac Airport to a team of waiting doctors at Seattle Children’s Hospital.  Fleeing the threat of death at the hands of extremists and battling time to save the life of his gravely ill seven-year-old son Zaid, Ali had spent the last two and a half years pleading for a chance to leave Iraq, to exchange home for safety.

Two days later, while the blood of his son cycled out of his body, through a nest of plastic dialysis tubes and blinking electronics, and back to his heart, pure and clean, Ali watched the hospital television as President Trump signed the order that would block all refugees coming from Iraq. They had made it to safety, but in many ways their journey had just begun.

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Ali could tell something was off with Zaid; something in his body was not working. At age three, the boy once so full of energy and life stopped eating and seemed to need sleep all the time. As a career nurse, Ali was accustomed to monitoring symptoms, but when the doctors in their hometown of Nasiriyah in southern Iraq diagnosed Zaid with vesicoureteral reflux (VUR) Ali knew Zaid’s journey to full health would be a long one. The disorder can cause kidney failure. In Zaid’s case that failure was complete, literally “end stage”.

When your kidneys don’t work you have one of two options, dialysis, where you’re connected regularly to a machine that pulls blood out of the body, cleans it, and puts it back in, or find new kidneys. With a transplant impossible in Iraq, Zaid’s doctor arranged for him to begin dialysis. And Ali began searching for a way out of the country.

It wasn’t the first time Ali had considered leaving. The work of his father, Abdulsalam, assisting the US Army Corps of Engineers put a mark on the entire family. Abdulsalam had already resettled in Seattle fearing for his safety in Iraq. One day Ali opened a text message from an unknown number: “Leave or we will kill you and your family.” Ali moved the family to a new part of town and prayed.

While the whole family was under very literal threat, Zaid faced his own, more certain crisis. “Dialysis in Iraq,” Ali says, “means Zaid is waiting for death.” He describes his son sitting in a filthy hospital room with dirty floors and a complete lack of anesthetic. A microwave-sized electric food warmer used to “sterilize” instruments. With Zaid crying, they insert the catheter in the wrong part of his body. When dialysis began, Ali lost all hope.

Ali sorrowfully recalls seeing another patient at the same hospital - someone else’s child - lying on a cold metal hospital table. No blankets. No one watching. The child is trembling, then convulsing, then passes out. The hospital workers glance over and carry on. No hand to hold his, no anesthetic to numb the pain. No rush to the emergency ward. Ali knew he had only one choice if his own child was to have a chance at survival.

Two and a half years after submitting their application for resettlement with the International Organization for Migration (IOM), the United Nations’ migration authority, the family was finally cleared to leave for Seattle. A number of delays at the request of Zaid’s doctors, who were worried he would not survive the trip, continued to push the departure date and worry Ali. “It’s a 14-hour flight… he could survive that,” Ali said. “He could not survive staying in Iraq.”

Here in Seattle, a team from the ̽����ѡ (̽����ѡ) and the Refugee Health Promotion Project (RHPP) were preparing for the family’s arrival. RHPP is funded by the Office of Refugee Resettlement and is a partnership between health care providers, non-profit organizations, and government agencies: Lutheran Community Services Northwest, Harborview Medical Center, Public Health Seattle-King County, the five refugee resettlement agencies in King County, Washington State Dept. of Social and Health Services, and Washington State Dept. of Health. 

RHPP is an innovative health outreach and case management program which connects newly-arrived refugees who have complex health concerns with quality healthcare. RHPP is able to connect refugee patients with healthcare teams prior to arrival in the U.S. This program allowed ̽����ѡ caseworkers and medical staff from Harborview and Seattle Children’s Hospital to streamline Zaid’s care before he arrived.

Doctor Beth Dawson-Hahn played a special role helping coordinate pre-admittance to Seattle Children’s Hospital, a tricky task without access to Zaid’s proper medical records. Due to the urgency and severity of Zaid’s case, ̽����ѡ arranged an ambulance to meet the family upon arrival at SeaTac Airport. Dr. Dawson-Hahn ensured there was a pediatric kidney specialist on duty when they finally arrived at Seattle Children’s.

The precautions were justified. Doctor Anisa Ibrahim, who would become the children’s primary care doctor, described the seriousness of Zaid’s condition on his arrival. Zaid had received the wrong kind of dialysis and contracted a deadly infection during his treatment. “When people see him,” she says, “they forget how sick he is, because he has this bright look on his face. But if that travel ban had happened before he was able to get here I have not a lot of hope that he would have survived overseas.”

Six weeks after landing in Seattle, Zaid was finally ready to leave the hospital. The family had rented an apartment in Auburn to be near Ali’s father, but needed to be closer to Seattle Children’s Hospital so they could make the five-hour dialysis sessions Zaid required each week. The community at Saint Joseph Parish on Capitol Hill stepped up to support the family at this critical time by offering free, temporary housing. An attorney from the Northwest Justice Project, part of Seattle Children’s Medical-Legal Partnership, helped extricate them from their lease and the family moved across the street from the church on March 31.

Through all of the changes the family have moved with grace and humility. They’ve been warmly welcomed into the community of St. Joseph’s. Zaid talks about the friends he’s made at school – provided tuition-free by the church – and the family regularly joins community functions with church members. A group of volunteers from the church helps address a number of the family’s needs, helping them navigate their many appointments, and working on English language skills with them.

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It’s now six months after the family’s arrival in the U.S. and the family heads out for an afternoon at a playground on Capitol Hill. Zaid sits on a bench with crossed arms and a very seven-year-old scowl on his face. Little brother Alhassan had been knocked over as he walked in front of the swing set. Zaid, protective of his younger sibling, shouted at the group of boys riding the swing and the boys, in turn, called him a name. Kid stuff. But kid stuff hurts.

One of the boys’ fathers, down on one knee, tries to talk Zaid out of his funk: “In America, we have a saying, ‘shake it off’… see?” And he shakes Zaid gently by the shoulder. The English words are spoken too quickly to fully comprehend and the situation is confusing. Neither party is quite sure how to respond, so they simply look at one another and smile – a look that crosses cultures.

There’s a lot to get used to here. A lot to learn. Since arriving a just a few short months ago, the family’s navigated countless new systems, grown their language skills, and figured out how to live in a completely new environment. For years, all other concerns had been eclipsed by the singular goal of making it somewhere where the family would be safe and where Zaid could have a fighting chance. They’re here now, and Zaid’s body grows stronger every day. They’re on the list and waiting for a kidney donor. And while they wait, they’re making friends, building a community, and finding home.


Written by ̽����ѡ Volunteer, Marty Penner