“The Tree Man” is a man whose life has been defined by a rare malformation in his hands. Once dubbed for his distinctive condition, he has undergone numerous surgeries, overcoming tremendous challenges on his journey. Now, with unwavering determination and the skilled hands of medical professionals, he has reclaimed a simple yet profound joy—holding his daughter once again.
Abul Bajandar has a rare condition called ’Tree Man’ Syndrome.
Abul Bajandar, a man hailing from Bangladesh, is afflicted with an extraordinary and rare condition known as ’Tree Man’ Syndrome. This hereditary condition, though non-contagious, is unfortunately incurable, and surgical interventions offer only temporary relief. Abul is not alone in his struggle, as there are others worldwide grappling with the challenges posed by this syndrome.
This syndrome manifests through the development of wart-like skin growths that bear a striking resemblance to tree bark. These growths, while initially small, have the potential to grow significantly in size, resulting in considerable disability for those affected.
He has it from a young age.
The onset of his condition began during adolescence, with small warts appearing on his body at the age of 13-14. Regrettably, as he advanced in age, the affliction rapidly escalated, affecting various parts of his body.
After 16 surgeries he was able to hold his daughter again.
After undergoing a series of 16 surgeries between 2016 and 2017 at Dhaka Medical College Hospital in Dhaka, Bangladesh, Abul Bajandar achieved a poignant milestone—he could once again hold his daughter. The surgical procedures aimed to remove the bark-like lesions from his hands and feet, offering a glimmer of hope in his battle against Tree Man Syndrome.
Bajandar shared the profound joy he experiences spending time with his daughters, emphasizing, “If I recover from this, I want to work again, to build a small business to help my daughters in her studies and to give them a good life.” These words reflect not only his determination to overcome the challenges posed by his rare condition but also his unwavering commitment to providing a better future for his family.
Throughout Abul Bajandar’s challenging journey with Tree Man Syndrome, he draws strength from the unwavering support of his wife and mother. In the face of the condition’s recurrence, their steadfast presence provides him with comfort and encouragement. Bajandar reflects on the transformative power of fatherhood, sharing, “When my daughter was born, she brought me the hope of life again. I didn’t want to leave her as an orphan. I felt like I must live for her.”
Abul Bajandar’s condition returned but he remains hopeful.
Despite facing the disheartening recurrence of his condition, Abul Bajandar maintains a resilient sense of hope. Doctors, initially uncertain about the possibility of the condition’s return, witnessed its reappearance. Undeterred, Bajandar expresses his unwavering optimism, declaring, “My only dream is to recover from this situation and live a healthy life.”
His poignant words reflect not only the personal challenges he endures but also a universal desire for health and well-being. Bajandar’s enduring hope shines through as he states, “All I can say is that I truly believe and hope that a cure exists for this disease.” In the face of adversity, his spirit remains unbroken, embodying the strength of individuals confronting rare and challenging medical conditions.
Another person born with a rare condition has defied societal norms and emerged as a symbol of extraordinary resilience. Meet the girl affectionately referred to as “Voldemort” due to being born without a nose.
Preview photo credit Tansh / Alamy Stock Photo, ZUMA Press, Inc. / Alamy Stock Photo
I Didn’t Tell My Husband’s Family I Speak Their Language, and It Helped Me Uncover a Shocking Secret about My Child…
I thought I knew everything about my husband—until I overheard a conversation between his mother and sister that shattered my world. When Peter finally revealed the secret he had been hiding about our first child, everything I believed in crumbled, leaving me questioning our entire relationship.
Peter and I had been married for three years. Our relationship had begun during a magical summer, where everything seemed to fall into place effortlessly. He was exactly what I’d been searching for—smart, funny, and kind. When we found out I was pregnant with our first child just months after getting together, it felt like fate.
Now, we were expecting our second child, and on the surface, our life seemed perfect. But things were not as they appeared.
I’m American, and Peter is German. In the early days, the cultural differences felt exciting. When Peter’s job relocated us to Germany, we moved there with our first child, thinking it would be a fresh start. But the transition wasn’t as smooth as I had hoped.
Germany was beautiful, and Peter was overjoyed to return home. But I struggled to adjust. I missed my family and friends, and Peter’s parents, Ingrid and Klaus, were cordial but distant. They didn’t speak much English, but I understood more German than they realized.
At first, I didn’t mind the language barrier. I thought it would help me learn and integrate better. But soon, I began to overhear unsettling comments.
Peter’s family visited often, especially his mother and sister, Klara. They would sit in the living room, chatting in German while I stayed busy in the kitchen or looking after our child. They seemed to forget that I could understand them.
“That dress doesn’t suit her at all,” Ingrid remarked one day, not bothering to lower her voice.
Klara smirked and added, “She’s gained so much weight with this pregnancy.”
I glanced down at my growing belly, feeling their words sting. I was pregnant, yes, but their judgment cut deep. Still, I remained silent. I didn’t want to confront them—at least not yet. I wanted to see just how far they would go.
One afternoon, though, I overheard something far more hurtful.
“She looks exhausted,” Ingrid said as she poured tea. “I wonder how she’ll manage with two kids.”
Klara leaned in and whispered, “I’m still not convinced that first baby is even Peter’s. He doesn’t look anything like him.”
I froze. They were talking about our son.
Ingrid sighed. “That red hair… it’s definitely not from our side of the family.”
Klara chuckled, “Maybe she hasn’t been completely honest with Peter.”
They both laughed softly, unaware that I had heard every word. I stood there, paralyzed. How could they even suggest something like that? I wanted to confront them, but I stayed silent, my hands trembling.
After the birth of our second baby, the tension only grew. Ingrid and Klara visited, bringing forced smiles and congratulations, but I could feel something was off. Their whispers and glances made it clear they were hiding something.
As I sat feeding the baby one afternoon, I overheard them talking in hushed tones.
“She still doesn’t know, does she?” Ingrid asked.
Klara laughed. “Of course not. Peter never told her the truth about their first baby.”
My heart stopped. What truth? What were they talking about? I felt my pulse race as panic washed over me. I had to know what they meant.
That night, I confronted Peter. I called him into the kitchen, my voice barely steady.
“Peter,” I whispered, “what haven’t you told me about our first baby?”
He froze, his face turning pale. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, with a heavy sigh, he sat down and buried his face in his hands.
“There’s something you don’t know,” he said, guilt written all over his face. “When you were pregnant with our first… my family pressured me to take a paternity test.”
I stared at him, struggling to comprehend his words. “A paternity test? Why would you need to do that?”
“They didn’t believe the baby was mine,” Peter explained, his voice breaking. “They thought the timing was too close to when you ended your previous relationship.”
My head spun. “So you took the test? Without telling me?”
Peter stood, his hands trembling. “It wasn’t because I didn’t trust you! I never doubted you. But my family wouldn’t let it go. They kept pushing me, and I didn’t know how to make them stop.”
“And what did the test say?” I demanded, my voice rising in panic.
Peter hesitated, his eyes filled with regret. “It said… I wasn’t the father.”
The room felt like it was collapsing around me. “What?” I whispered, barely able to breathe. “How could that be?”
Peter moved closer, desperate to explain. “I know you didn’t cheat on me. I know the baby is mine in every way that matters. But the test came back negative. My family didn’t believe me when I told them it had to be wrong.”
I stepped back, shaking. “So you’ve known this for years and never told me? How could you keep something like this from me, Peter?”
Peter’s face crumpled. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I knew it didn’t change anything for me. The test didn’t matter. I wanted to protect you from the pain and confusion. I didn’t want to lose you.”
Tears streamed down my face. “You should’ve trusted me,” I said, my voice trembling. “We’ve been raising him together, and you’ve been his father. We could’ve handled this together, but instead, you lied to me.”
Peter reached for my hands, but I pulled away. “I know,” he whispered. “I was scared. I didn’t want you to think I doubted you.”
I needed air. I walked outside into the cool night, hoping it would calm the storm raging inside me. How could he have kept this from me? How could he have known and said nothing?
For a few moments, I stared up at the stars, trying to make sense of it all. Despite everything, I knew Peter wasn’t a bad person. His family had pressured him, and he had made a terrible mistake. But he had always stayed by my side, and by our son’s side. He had lied, but out of fear, not malice.
After wiping away my tears, I knew I had to go back inside. We couldn’t leave things unresolved.
When I returned to the kitchen, Peter was sitting at the table, his face buried in his hands. He looked up when he heard me, his eyes red and swollen.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
It would take time for me to heal from this, but I knew we couldn’t throw away everything we’d built. We had a family, and despite the hurt, I still loved him.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said softly. “Together.”
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