In January, Mrs. Anderson experienced the onset of menopause. Initially, it didn’t bring on any major issues. There were no notorious hot flashes, sweats, palpitations, or headaches. Her periods just stopped, marking a hello to old age.
Mrs. Anderson didn’t visit a doctor; she’d read plenty and knew what to expect. Plus, her friends often shared their experiences and reassured her. “Consider yourself lucky, Mrs. Anderson,” they would say, “You’re handling menopause with ease!”
But it seemed like they’d jinxed her. Soon, unusual things began to happen. Mrs. Anderson knew these were hormonal changes that wouldn’t go unnoticed. Perhaps that was why she had unexplainable mood swings, dizziness, and weakness.
It became increasingly painful for Mrs. Anderson to crouch down to her granddaughter Lizzie. She lost her appetite, and her back started to hurt in a new way. Her face often swelled in the mornings, followed by her legs in the evenings. For some time, Mrs. Anderson paid little notice to these ailments. It was her daughters-in-law who rang the alarm first: “Mum, you’re looking quite pale and weary. See a doctor, have an ultrasound, don’t delay!”
Mrs. Anderson stayed silent. She had long felt something wasn’t right. Then her chest began to hurt intensely, as if it were on fire. Her lower abdomen ached, making sleep elusive. On countless sleepless nights, while her husband softly snored beside her, Mrs. Anderson lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, tears silently streaming as she contemplated the future and reminisced the past.
She didn’t want to die! At fifty-two, she hadn’t even reached retirement. They were planning to buy a country house to enjoy nature more. Her sons had grown into wonderful men with good careers. Her daughters-in-law were respectful, helped cover her grey hairs, and advised on clothing to conceal her weight. Her only granddaughter, Lizzie, was simply a treasure. She was into figure skating and was starting first grade in the fall. She drew beautifully and could already knit – a skill grandmother taught her.
How quickly life had flown by! Mrs. Anderson felt she hadn’t truly lived yet. She had just married off her youngest son and hadn’t yet seen grandchildren from him, only to be confronted with illness! Hot tears ran endlessly down her cheeks as her mornings greeted her with dark circles under her eyes and a face drawn and weary.
Mrs. Anderson barely made it through spring and summer, worsening by autumn. She had shortness of breath, unbearable back pain, and her stomach ached intensely. She finally decided to make a doctor’s appointment and confide in her husband.
Mrs. Anderson was accompanied by almost the entire family to the clinic. Her husband Richard and eldest son waited in the car, while her daughters-in-law stayed in the hallway.
Climbing with difficulty onto the examination chair, blushing with awkwardness, Mrs. Anderson answered the doctor’s questions: when her periods ceased, when she started feeling unwell, and when she last had a checkup. She took a while to respond, even growing cold on the chair as the doctor filled out papers, washed her hands, and put on rubber gloves.
The doctor examined her thoroughly, frowning and getting more anxious. Then she curtly said, “Get dressed,” and dialed a phone number. With trembling hands, Mrs. Anderson struggled to pull on her skirt, horrified by the doctor’s conversation.
“Is this the cancer clinic?” the doctor shouted into the phone. “This is from the fifth. I have a critically ill patient who urgently needs consultation. Urgent! Yes, yes… Likely the last stage. I can’t ascertain the uterus. Fifty-two… First presentation. Indeed, how they live like this… You teach them, the information is everywhere, but they don’t take the time to visit a doctor. Yes, yes, alright, sending her over.”
Finishing the call, the doctor began to prepare some documents.
“Did you come alone, ma’am?”
“No, my husband and children are with me in the car,” Mrs. Anderson quietly replied, her lips numb with shock. Suddenly, she felt a more profound pain consuming her body, making it hard to breathe, her legs giving way; she wanted to scream. She leaned on the doorframe and wept as the midwife shouted into the corridor, “Who’s here with Anderson? Come in!”
Her daughters-in-law rushed into the room, understanding everything at first glance. Mrs. Anderson cried and writhed in pain, catching fragments of the doctor’s instructions: immediately, urgently, first hospital, oncology, second floor, the on-call doctor is waiting… Here’s the referral, here’s the chart… It’s very late, I’m sorry… How could you delay it, educated as you are…
They drove in silence. Richard sniffed openly, periodically wiping tears with the back of his hand. Their son focused tensely on the road, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
In the back seat, the daughters-in-law supported Mrs. Anderson, whose strength was waning. Mrs. Anderson moaned, and when the pain got unbearable, she screamed aloud, causing Richard to break into fresh sobs.
Occasionally, the pain subsided for a few moments, allowing Mrs. Anderson to glimpse the golden tree leaves passing by outside the car window. She mentally said goodbye to them and to her children, her husband, and her granddaughter Lizzie. She wouldn’t be able to spoil her with delicious pies anymore. Who would take her to her first class, greet her after school? Who would hug her tightly, kiss her, and admire her first achievements?
At the clinic, they didn’t have to wait long. Mrs. Anderson was seen immediately. The family stood huddled by the window, too stunned to sit. Richard no longer cried, staring blankly at one spot. The daughters-in-law clutched their tissues, while the son rocked silently from side to side.
In the room where Mrs. Anderson was taken, something momentous seemed to be happening. First, a flushed nurse rushed out to the end of the hallway. Then an elderly doctor in surgical scrubs walked briskly into the room, followed by several other doctors almost running in.
When a rumble echoed down the hallway, the family instinctively turned towards the noise: the flushed nurse and two attendants were quickly transporting a rattling gurney. Once the gurney disappeared behind the wide doors of the room, the family knew it was the end. Richard buried his head in his hands and moaned, the daughters-in-law rummaged through their bags for heart drops, and a nervous tick appeared on the son’s cheek.
Suddenly, the room’s doors flew open again. The gurney with Mrs. Anderson, covered by a white sheet, was pushed by six or seven people, all rosy and sweating. Mrs. Anderson’s pale face was uncovered, horror frozen in her puffy eyes. Shoving the daughters-in-law aside, Richard rushed to his wife. An older doctor blocked his way.
“I’m her husband,” Richard shouted after the departing gurney. “Let me say goodbye! Darling, my dear, how could it be, we wanted to go together…”
“It seems your wishes came true,” a nurse remarked, closing the room’s door. “Step back, old man, and don’t shout. She’s giving birth. The baby’s head will appear in a moment…”
In the delivery room, there were two women in labor: Mrs. Anderson and another young woman, likely a student. Both screamed simultaneously, calming simultaneously between contractions. Midwives and doctors bustled around them. An elderly professor moved leisurely between tables, giving instructions.
“Why are we suffering?” he asked the laboring women during a pause.
“For cursed alcohol; it’s all its fault,” the student groaned.
“And you, mother?” the professor asked Mrs. Anderson, tapping her exposed thigh.
Mrs. Anderson paused, thinking for a moment, and then quietly, having no strength left, whispered: “For love, probably. What else? We celebrated my birthday with my husband. Fifty-two. Had a little fun…”
“Quite a bit of fun, I must say,” the professor chuckled. “Really didn’t notice anything or are you playing sly?”
“Oh doctor, if I’d known, if I’d even imagined!.. It’s such a shame! I’ve been a grandmother for ages and always been plump. They haven’t used my first name since I was twenty, only Mrs… I was sure it was menopause with cancer on top. Even at the consultation, they couldn’t find the uterus, said it’d dissolved, cancer, the last stage…”
“It’s all imagination, not cancer,” the professor dismissed with a wave. “We’re all human, and unfortunately, medical errors occur sometimes. But enough talking. Push, mother, push. Your little mistake wants to see the light!”
The midwife exited the delivery room, filled with satisfaction and importance. She would have quite the tale for her friends—not every day does one witness grandmothers giving birth.
“Mrs. Anderson. Any family here?”
“We’re here,” the family responded in unison, stepping forward.
“Congratulations,” the midwife said, eyeing the men in the family with curiosity. “Who’s the father?”
“I am,” Richard whispered hoarsely, still disbelieving.
“He is,” the daughters-in-law simultaneously replied, pointing at their father-in-law.
“Remarkable,” the midwife couldn’t help but exclaim with respect. “It’s a boy. Seven pounds, twenty inches. Throw a party, dad. Just an hour later, who knows what could have happened… You made it just in time for the birth. What wonders! Why they took her to oncology, I can’t understand…”
