Image credits: The Pin Up Rebels
As I lay on the examination table waiting for it to start, her head popped from behind the curtain. I recognise that expression anywhere in any lifetime. The tight pursed lips and slight furrow of her brows betrayed the worry she was trying to hide. She glanced at the technician and then locked eyes with me.
“Mummy?”
I blinked and she disappeared.
My turn to scrunch my brows as I bit the insides of my lips in an attempt to hold back the tears welling up. I must be hallucinating.
Get it together Baby.
I turned my head upwards cautiously like a timid child towards the technician. While no one had actually sat me down and explicitly explain what an ultrasound is like, I’d assumed it’ll be exactly what an ultrasound for a baby is from watching TV. She’ll slap on some lube, then move around a cold thingamajig, and voilà a baby pops up on the screen. Except of course in my case, you’ll substitute a womb for my left breast and a bundle of joy for potentially a harbinger of death. A tad dramatic (blame it on the Leo in me) but one thing’s for sure, in both scenarios life will never be the same again.
I glanced back down at my right foot and peered into the vast expanse of the fluorescent-lit room. Nope, all empty – just me and the technician who’s still fiddling around with her machine.
Well of course she’s not there. Mummy’s dead.
Ok baby, take a deep breath. That’s no way to talk to yourself. You’re just scared. It’s ok, everything is going to be alright.
“Are you ready? Sorry it will be a bit cold,” the technician turned towards me as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
The sensation of the petroleum jelly spreading across my breast was ironically not unfamiliar. I tried to stifle a wry smile as my mind wandered back to all the other times my boobs were lubed up under less grim circumstances and more welcoming pairs of hands.
Almost immediately I felt the weight of the metal thingamajig press down on my breast and slide around in slow deliberate strokes. Mmm, ok so it’s not as cold or heavy as I thought it would be. It actually felt quite comforting as the metal glided across my flesh while stopping every now and then for a second before she carried on.
“Mmm…” the technician paused with a questioning tone.
My eyes opened and I tilted my head up ever so slowly despite my inner monologue wanting to jerk up and scream “What’s wrong??” She forgot I was there for a moment as I strained my head further towards the monitor in an attempt to see what was the source of that puzzled pause.
I’d no fucking idea what I was looking at.
As my eyes adjusted to the screen, it was dark save for a dense grey sponge-like subterrain. There I saw three solid misshapen blobs that were glowing in white. They seemed tiny enough but it was clear that they were not suppose to be part of this landscape. I felt the blood rise to my head and my heart sinking for a split second.
“Are those lumps?” I uttered in my practised deeper calm voice. Again, a foil to the real shrill shriek I had in my head.
“Oh don’t worry, it’s a new machine. Your breast is very hard to see and find. I’m suppose to take some pictures if I see something bad. Let me take them and check with the doctor,” she replied in her cheerful lilt.
Something ‘bad’? Oh you know, no big deal. She just needs to step out and call the doctor. No big deal at all.
I turned my head away from the monitor and stared right up at the ceiling as I heard her shuffle out the door. I closed my eyes and in an instant, I’m back in a different hospital a lifetime ago.
It was 8 am and I was the only person in the lobby. It was a Tuesday, day 2 of Mummy’s hospital stay. The family was still in the dark about what was ailing her although we suspect it was her breasts and cancer. The secret was by her design and the fact that she had so many tests yet no one would come to speak to us and tell us what’s wrong yet. All I know is that the day before she was admitted to the hospital, she pulled me aside, shoved a stack of $50 bills and gave me the number of the Muslim funeral director.
I remember her measured tone as she calmly and confidently laid out her last wishes for her funeral. It will cost exactly $3000, no more no less. She doesn’t want her body to be bathed at home, instead it should be done at the mosque. Don’t make it a big deal. Just call this number and tell them you are anak Puan Juraidah. She’s spoken to them and they’ll know what to do.
So on the night of Day 1, when the nurse called me to arrange for a meeting with the doctors before visiting hours, I knew it only meant one thing. A meeting that early meant my mother wasn’t being dramatic about her last wishes – we were about to compete against time.
“Miss Noorindah? This way please.” I got up from my seat and made my way towards where the nurse gestured, a group of doctors standing in the hallway.
As I stood next to them, one, two or maybe three – I can’t remember anymore, I couldn’t help but think how we must have made a funny sight to an observer. Our group’s attention was transfixed on the giant screen before us as we nodded and pointed away as though admiring a piece of art in a gallery.
Mounted right before us was the grey silhouette of a body, just like those you’ll see in an anatomy chart, with massive glowing white orbs present where the chest would be and then smaller scattered grains dotting the rest of its lungs and liver. Except it wasn’t just any body, it was my Mummy.
“Fuck,” I blurted, “ Are those her tumours?”
Oh Mummy. I bit my lip and tasted blood. I’m back again in real life.
The technician was back in the room with the doctor, although she wasn’t the original one I’d been assigned to on my first visit. She wasn’t wearing a lab coat so I assumed she was the one generally in charge of all this. She gave me a quick smile as she stood next to me while the technician briefed her on how she’d came across these small pieces on screen but she can’t be sure, and if the good doctor can please check and make sure she’s doing it correctly?
Remembering I’m still there and probably noticing the mild panic in my eyes, the matronly doctor turned to me and told me not to worry as it’s just a new machine. The technician lubed me up again for the doctor to take over the thingamajig and glide it across the same spots they’ve been fixated on.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her again. This time she was honing her gaze directly on me. The doctor and technician were of course oblivious to my dead mother standing just a few steps behind them next to the curtains. While there was still a hint of trepidation on her face, her lips were more relaxed with a comforting smile.
I furrowed my brows and blinked. She was still there. I was strangely grateful she decided to stay.
“Mummy?”
“It’s ok Baby, Baby kan strong. Jangan takut. Better Baby check now, don’t worry Mummy’s here.“ (It’s ok Baby, you are strong. Don’t be scared.)
Her lips didn’t move but her steadfast voice echoed in my head.
“I’m sorrry Mummy,” I answered her.
“Why? Baby sorry for what?”
“That it should have been Mummy here, not Baby. It should have been Mummy first.” I stifled a sob.
The doctor’s voice broke through my conversation with my dead mother.
“Yes, it’s these three. You can take these frames and send them over,” she was taking off her gloves and preparing to leave. I tilted my head towards her and piqued up, “So what is it?”
She looked down at me and with the tiniest hesitation, murmured “Well we have spotted these growths but I am uncomfortable to confirm what they are until we take a closer look. Your doctor will advise you. I hope you understand..”
“Ok,” I turned to look for Mummy. She wasn’t there anymore.
As the doctor left the room, I stared right back up at the ceiling while the technician droned on about how troublesome this new machine was and how difficult my breasts were to spot them. Yeah yeah yeah, I get it. My boobs are challenging, life is hard. I started to fade out. I just wanted to go home.
Eons later, she was done and proceeded to wipe the lube off my left breast as I lay still on the examination table like a baby getting changed.
“Ok, you can get dressed and just wait for the doctor to see you.”
I took my hospital gown off and pulled my t-shirt over my head, “Oh? How long is the wait? I thought the doctor will call me in a few weeks with the results? I have an appointment later.”
“I don’t know Mam, you just have to wait.”
I went outside to the waiting room where I was just an hour ago. This was a separate waiting room from the spacious and welcoming one on my first visit to the clinic. I’d labelled it the ‘inner waiting room’ in my head as it was at the end of the passageway past all the consultation and examination rooms. This was the real waiting room, a space that’s smaller, narrower and just a corridor long with only patients allowed inside. I wasn’t a fan.
Perhaps it was the angular layout, the hard plastic seats you’ll get in an older clinic, or the general malaise in the air. It was the most depressing place I’ve ever been in. The only consolation was the makeshift pantry with a selection of instant hot drinks and typical hospital snacks at the corner next to the receptionist. I strolled over and made myself a cup of milo and grabbed a graham cracker pack even though I had no appetite. It was the only way I could keep my gaze straight and my strides cool as I walked past the other ladies in the waiting room – another instinctive mask I put on to protect myself. Because as soon as I plopped myself down in the chair at the end of the room, I had to take deep full breaths so I wouldn’t cry.
“You’re gonna be ok Baby, remember you’re so strong,” I told myself.
I sipped my Milo gingerly as I peered around to take in my surroundings. There must have been about nine other ladies in there, all waiting for different reasons but we’re all bound by the fact that we’ve been betrayed by our breasts in one way or another. I was the youngest in the room that day and as I discreetly scanned the rest of the older middle-aged aunties, I kept thinking the same motif: That could have been Mum.
I took my phone out from my tote bag and glanced at the time. Ok, I still have three hours to go before my next appointment. I can make it for the Zoom. I put my phone away and waited. And waited. And waited.
The inner waiting room was starting to look like musical chairs with each lady shuffling out when a name was called but no one new came in to take her spot. I’d flipped through the old fashion magazines to study them and took snapshots of pretty bags on my phone despite having no real desire to actually buy them. I was just trying to distract myself. An hour has whizzed by and I was wondering what the hell was going on. So I waited. And waited.
Another half hour. Then another. The waiting room was down to two people by now and my fear was starting to turn into agitation. Shit, I’m about to be late. I got up and strode over to the counter, “Hi, can I check when will the doctor see me? I’ve another appointment to go to.” I smiled but pleaded in a firm tone. I just really wanted to leave this place.
“Oh, hang on ya let me check. Miss Noorindah right?”
“Yes, please check. Thank you.”
I went back to my spot as the last waiting lady shuffled out of the space. I’m the sole winner of the musical chairs in the empty waiting room as I listlessly fidget in my chair wondering if I should just cancel my next appointment.
“Miss Noorindah?” Her voiced boomed through the empty room.
Finally, I thought as I grabbed my belongings but my agitation turned back to cold fear in an instant. What is the doctor going to say?
I went over to the counter and she passed me my MC. “Ok that’s it, the doctor will give you a call with the results on X date.”
“Huh? I thought she wanted to see me?”
“No, the results are not ready yet, she will only call you on X. Do you need to reschedule the call?”
“No, I don’t need to reschedule the call. Wait, I don’t understand. I was told to wait here because the doctor wants to talk to me?“
“Oh sorry, I’m not sure about that. But you can go home now. She will call you soon.”
I didn’t know whether to scream in anger or to cry out of frustration.
So I shrugged and left.
Fast forward a few weeks later.
My doctor was slated to call me that afternoon at 4pm.
My palms had been sweaty since the morning as I sat at my office desk trying to clear out my work and drown the anxiety in my chest. I’d already told my colleagues about my health scare to preempt that I might potentially have to take time off or disappear for doctors’ visits every once in a while. That was the afternoon that I would take a half day so I can get on my call in privacy.
My silent phone flashed in front of me to signal an incoming call from an unknown number. I paused my typing and glanced at the time: it’s 12pm. I wonder who it could be as I picked up my phone.
“Hello, Noorindah? This is Dr X calling about your results.”
Wait, what? My heart lurched from my chest, through my throat, to my mouth. I pushed my seat back with a jerk and automatically stood up to head towards the back door.
No, no, no, no, no, it’s not 4pm yet I’m not ready I’m still at work Doctors never ask to see you ahead of your appointment unless it’s bad news and they’re racing against time….
“Hi Doctor, yes?” I took a deep breath as I forcefully push open the back door and stormed out, while the rest of my colleagues pop their heads up from their monitors like curious meerkats. “I thought our call was for 4pm?”
“Oh yes, but I’m on my lunch break now and had some free time so I decided to call you earlier.”
I stopped in my tracks and almost hurled my phone off the third floor. My face softened and my steps slowed down as I walked down the corridor away from the office and to the stairwell. I sat down on the steps.
“OK, yes I’m free to talk.”
“So as you know, the ultrasound did pick up some growths in your left breast. Since we can’t determine what they are yet, you’ll need to come in for a biopsy.”
My ears started ringing as my breathing quickened. “A biopsy? What’s that?”
“A biopsy is just a procedure where we’ll take some samples out and test if they’re benign or not. My assistant will call you later to arrange for an appointment.”
“Oh, ok. Thank you. I’ll wait for her call.”
I put the phone down, stood up, walked towards the ladies, stepped into the cubicle at the far end, lifted up the toilet seat, sat down, took a deep breath and bawled.
My shoulders jerked up and down as I took in gulps of air with my hot tears mixed with snot down my face.
“Mummy…”
We’ll pause here till next week for the final Part Three…