I walked through softly murmuring hospital aisle of Obstetrics department, I went to the reception and asked for my blood test reports. “Name ?”, she asked without looking at me, to shuffle through the tad of reports she had lying on her organized desk. Her skilled, back and forth moving fingers stopped at one. She looked at me and said your case has been transferred to Oncology, please take an appointment to see Oncology Surgeon.
For a moment I did not know what she was talking to me. I opened my reports, those dark bolded numbers had my heart sink into an unknown icy grip. Everything around me blurred out, a dark circle called fear, closed down encircling me. I did not take any appointment neither met my doctor. It was 5 minutes’ walk from my home to hospital but it took me an age to walk back home. The hot dry gale whizzing around was unaware of the gust that was swooshing down in my head.
Three months back I was tested positive for pregnancy. It was joy.
Life plays such crude jokes at a time when its all like a dream it sends a dream-shaker and throws you spiraling down in a reality vault.
I was diagnosed with a large hemorrhagic ovarian cyst which was swaying its tentacles right next to where my baby was growing. If my blood report was anything to go by it was malignant. What we casually call as cancerous. It still had to be ascertained by carrying out number of other tests.
I had two lives growing inside me, one was inter-lacing dreams between his slowly forming fingers and other was spreading its roots to stifle and snuff out every other life. One had to win.
But this is not about my medical history or a recount of each harrowing day I lived through to make it to the day I would see you in my arms. My son Ali, this is about you. If you will ever read this. And I am sure you will read this one day.
That battle was not fought alone by your father or me. You fought that too. You provided me the courage to look into the eye of storm flinging towards me. I don’t know how hard and struggle full was that for you to wriggle into life from just being a clot. It happens all the while, after the crossover from that life to this life. We have to wriggle back to life many a times. When struggles, defeats, disappointments and heartbreaks clamp us down. You know the art of wriggling back to life.
Somebody was calling out my name as if pulling me out from a deep dark hole. I opened my eyes slowly. Surgery was carried out. The cyst was removed. The first thing that I asked doctor was how was the baby inside. “Is he ok ?”. Doctor smiled and said, “Yes, absolutely fine.”
‘Are you ok ?’, remains the most important question till date. It will continue to be so even when I am not around. Its important for me to know how you fared after every scar, every push, every suffocating chamber like situation in life. You should be ok at the end. How you come out of it all will remain important. I would ask you, are you kind now, are you more grateful, are your more insightful and clairvoyant, strongly believe in love and giving out the best of you, are you more caring….are you charging forward and not tired.
When I walked into the hospital, it was decorated with frills and dangling golden and silver stars. A lush green Christmas tree was at the lounge with miniatures candies, shoes, gift boxes hanging along side colorful balls and stars. Yeah! that was the day you were born. Its said that there is light at the end of tunnel. So it was for you and me. Life changes and makes you dwell in two contrasting sides of it. Dark and Light. Defeats and Wins. When you came into my arms swaddled like a cocoon in white piece, you were the most beautiful person I had ever laid my eyes upon. You were way more handsome than your father.
To this day when you are reading this, know you are the handsomest person for me.
I am asking you “Are you wriggling back to life every time it clamps you down?”
“Are you ok ?”
Lovingly yours – Mumma