Deadline

by Zaheera Walker

  ***

  The next day, they boarded a bus into the city. From there, a taxi whizzed them to Addington Hospital. There was no medical aid. They could not afford it. Her mother was at the mercy of the state.

  They went through to the oncology ward. It was crowded. Sick patients milled everywhere. The smell of death permeated the air. Doctors and nurses moved from bed to bed. They checked blood results, patients were asked how they felt and new scripts for medication were scribbled in files. It was hectic. It was horrible.

  “Good morning, Mrs Adam. I’m Sister Daniels. Call me Sally. Everyone does. I have admitted you to Ward C2. Come, let me take you through.” She turned to Feriyal.

  “Sorry dear. Are you a relative?”

  “I’m her daughter. Feriyal.”

  “That’s a pretty name.” She peeled off her rubber glove and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but my patients come first. Their comfort is very important to me. You can come along. Stay with your mum for as long as you want. Help her settle in.”

  “You weren’t rude, Sister Daniels. I mean Sally. Glad to hear that my mother is in good hands. I’m pleased she has someone like you to look after her.”

  State hospitals were often under the spotlight in her newspaper. The newspaper that no longer needed her. Now, with a personal experience, she was amazed by the warmth of the staff. She saw doctors sitting at the edge of patients’ beds, joking about the results from last night’s soccer match and debating the financial future of the country, or asking about their families. The nursing sisters were the ones who added the comfort. They held fragile hands, hugged those who were alone and wiped away tears that fell from pained eyes. This was a new view for her.

  Her mother settled in. Feriyal filled out the forms. She asked her mother to shed light on a few things. The details had to be accurate. The paperwork was complete.

  “Mrs Adam, I need to explain a few things. The ward policy allows only immediate family to visit. In the morning, visiting hours are from 10am to 11:30am. In the evening, family is allowed to visit from 7pm to 8:30pm. You’ll need basic toiletries like a toothbrush, toothpaste and a bar of soap. Feel free to bring other items that will make you a bit more comfortable.” Sister Daniels spoke with a sense of calm, in the voice of an experienced woman. She saw the fear in Mrs Adam’s eyes. Mother and daughter could do with some space. She left them for a while. A long bonding while.

  “What are you thinking, Ma? You seem so far away. Everything will be fine. I’m going to walk this journey with you.” Feriyal reminded her mother that hospitals and specialists were more advanced than twenty years ago. They were going to heal her mother in record time. Anne had mentioned this. She believed it. She had to believe it.

  “I’m not worried about me. Just wondering why this is happening to us. Your father died when you were so young. I lost my friend, my husband. We had a difficult life, Feri.

  You never complained. Now all this. Why? Why is this happening?” Feriyal’s mother started coughing. A barking, wet cough. She struggled. Her face became taut. The forehead creased.

  Sister Daniels returned to check on her patient and take some blood samples. “Now that you’re all settled, I’m going to take some blood samples and put up a drip. It’s quick. You’ll feel a slight pin prick. Then I’m done.” She explained the blood was going to be sent to the lab to check the haemoglobin, platelets and renal function. “Sorry about this. Most patients cringe when they see needles, but it’ll be over quick. If the results are abnormal, you may need to have a blood transfusion before we start treatment. If you’re not sure about anything, please ask. Don’t be afraid.” She told Mrs Adam that a doctor would be in to explain the treatment procedure. Before leaving, she asked if she could bring them tea or coffee. Mother and daughter were wound like a clock. They did not feel like having anything at that time. Maybe later.

  A big round timer stared at them. Two hours had passed since Sister Daniels left them. Where was the doctor? Feriyal paced up and down. Frustrated. Afraid of the unknown. Her mother tossed and turned in her sleep. Death hovering above. Waiting to take charge.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Dr Harris. How are you, Mrs Adam? Ready for the treatment tomorrow?” There was no response. He stopped. “You must be the daughter. Look a lot like her.” He slipped on his spectacles and looked at the file. He looked like a kind man with gentle eyes.

  Feriyal squeezed her mother’s arm. “The doctor is here, Ma. He’s going to explain how the treatment works. You can ask him some questions too.”

  Dr Harris shook Mrs Adam’s hand. “I have your blood results. It shows that you’re anaemic. You will need a blood transfusion. The good news is your kidneys are in a fine condition.” He scribbled a few notes in the file. “I’ll start your chemotherapy tomorrow. It will be done in two ways. One is intravenous. This means the medication will be fed through this drip.” He pointed to the one Sister Daniels had put up.

  “The other way is to take tablets. This treatment will destroy the cancer cells. Sorry, but I have to warn you it’s not specific. It will also destroy normal cells.” He stopped for a bit. He saw Mrs Adam cringe. “It’s going to be fine.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you every day. Discuss the progress with you. If you don’t understand anything, just ask.” He looked at the file again. “The transfusion will start after lunch. It should last about four hours. Try not to stay up too late tonight. You need the rest. The chemotherapy will begin at 8am.” Dr Harris said he was going back to his consulting room to prepare for the next day.

  Feriyal traced his steps and they stopped in the corridor.

  “Is my mother going to be fine, Doctor? Please tell me the truth.” She wrung her hands. The sign of feeling helpless. She wanted to experience the pain her mother was feeling.

  “I’m not going to lie, Miss Adam. Chemotherapy is tough on the body. It has benefits, but there are side effects too. Your mother will experience nausea; she’ll vomit. There will be diarrhoea and abdominal pain as well. The picture doesn’t look good with what I’m telling you and I’m sorry. Perhaps more blood transfusions will become necessary.”

  He stopped to let it all sink in for her. “But all of this can be treated and I’m going to do my best to make her comfortable. You must remember that each case is different. The treatment helps to bring some patients into remission. I say some, because a small percentage does not take well to it.” He didn’t have the heart to leave her alone, but there wasmore work to do. “Are you going to be all right? Should I call someone?”

  “I’ll be okay. This has been a shock. Just wasn’t prepared for it. That’s all.” She reassured him that it was all good with her.

  Feriyal went back to her mother. The one who was stirring in hersleep. Her lips were moving. What was she saying? “What is it, Ma? Areyou in pain; must I call someone?” She went closer. Her eyes flooded with tears.

  Her ailing mother was praying to Allah. Pleading with Him. Begging Him to watch over her daughter. How could a suffering woman concern herself with the safety of another person? However, that was justlike her mother: kind and gentle.

  Visiting hours had ended a while ago and the matron asked Feriyal to leave the ward. Her thoughts were polluted with fear; she hadn’t considered that she had to return to a deserted flat.

  “Please can I stay with her? I can’t bear to leave her alone.”

  Sister Daniels was leaving the hospital when she heard this. She took pity on the scared young woman; the one who didn’t want to be away from her mother. “I’ll sort this out, Matron. Leave it to me.” She led Feriyal down the hallway. “We don’t allow overnight stays, but I’m going to do you a favour. The waiting room has a couch. It’s not comfortable, but you can sleep there tonight.”

  Feriyal was grateful. “Thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means.”

  The night was long. Patients left their beds and walked to the end of the corridor to steal a few puffs
of smoke. Others cried out in pain when the medication in their systems wore out. Some cursed the staff for taking too long with the bedpan. A machine stopped beeping and loud wails followed. Someone had lost the battle. What does it feel like when someone close to you dies? Terror and unease covered her like a blanket. She drifted off.

  ***

  Unfamiliar noise permeated the waiting room walls. It was pitch-black outside. Patients were roused from their sleep. Feriyal looked at her reliable wrist watch. It was 5am. The night staff was on cue administering medication. They did routine observations and finalised notes to hand over to the next shift.

  Feriyal wiped the sleep from her eyes. She wondered if her mother was awake. The patients’ bathroom was her only option to freshen up.

  Her breath was stale. The taste in her mouth was sour like sorghum beer. She ran to the toilet on the far end. First a quick pee. It felt like heaven to empty her bladder after a long night. Then a splash of cold water on her face. The make-up bag was a blessing. She brushed her frizzed hair and patted moisturiser on her face. A coat of lip gloss wenton last. She chewed cinnamon-flavoured gum to disguise the stench inher mouth. All done. Time to visit her mother.

  Wide awake. Drinking tea in bed. Five Roses. A beautiful sight to start the day. “Salaams, Ma. Did you sleep well?” She walked to the bedside to kiss her. Gentle kisses.

  “Wasalaam. You’re here early, Feri. Was everything okay at home last night?” Her mother was too disorientated to know Feriyal had slept only a few metres away from her. “It’s nice that you’re here.” She patted the side of the bed. “Come sit.”

  “I’m a big girl, Ma. You must stop worrying about me. I was safe behind locked doors. Focus on yourself now. I want to take you home soon.” She lied again. She did not want her mother to feel guilty about the sleeping arrangements.

  “Today is the big day.” Her chest rattled as she leant sideways to pour a bit more tea. “I’m scared. So scared of the unknown, Feri. What will happen if I don’t come right? I didn’t prepare myself for this. Will you have enough to eat? Who will cook when you work late?” She closedher eyes to brush out the tears preparing to roll down her cheeks. Notin front of her daughter.

  “Stop it now, Ma. Pay attention to yourself. Listen to your body. Please get better. Work with the treatment. Do not reject it. Please, Ma.”

  Feriyal stayed with her for a long time. Then it became too much. She ran to the bathroom to cry a river of tears. To beg the Higher Power for more time. More time with her precious mother. He was still a cruel God, but she had to try to tug at His heartstrings.

  Sister Daniels cleared away the tea service. She checked the blood pressure, temperature and heart rate. She was very thorough. Everything was noted in the file. Ready for the doctor.

  Dr Harris arrived a little before eight. “How’s my patient this morning?”

  He looked at the notes. Next, he warmed the diaphragm on his stethoscope. It was used to listen to her chest; her heart. “Everything appears fine. We’ll start the treatment in a few minutes.” He spoke to Sister Daniels before leaving to see his next patient.

  “Now that the doctor is done with you, I’ll begin the chemo. Give me just a moment. Have to fetch the medication. It will be fed through the drip. Into your system,” Sister Daniels said.

  ***

  It was time for the treatment that was going to make Feriyal’s mother better. Or worse. Only time would tell.

  Squeak. Squeak. The sound of the rubber soles kissing the hospital floor tiles. Sister Daniels returned with a stainless steel tray in her hands. On it was a medicine bottle. “We’re ready to begin. I’m going to feed this medicine through the drip. It will circulate to the bloodstream.

  To all the areas where the cancer cells are.” While doing the treatment, she winked at Feriyal. Her ‘lady with the lamp’ way of checking to see if everything was all right. “Okay. Everything on track. I’m going back to the nurses’ station. Someone will check on you at intervals until the treatment is over.”

  At 11am, the treatment was complete. All went well. Feriyal and her mother were satisfied with the progress.

  “I’m hungry. Hope lunch will be served soon. You must eat something with me please, Feri.” She stroked her cheeks. The worst was over.

  It seemed that way.

  “Oh Ma, it’s good to see you this way. I told you nothing is forever. We’ll eat together. Always.”

  Hospital food tasted bland. Feriyal looked in the phone book for an Indian restaurant. She placed an order for malai tikka, paneer, butter chicken and parathas. Bombay crush was an added bonus. Lunch was delivered to the ward on time. Mother and daughter feasted on precious memories and fine food. They invited Sister Daniels to join them, but she was swamped with new patients.

  It was a long, rewarding day. Feriyal kissed her mother before leaving at 4pm. She boarded a bus into the heart of the city. The second bus to her flat. She kicked off her soft moccasins and went straight to bed.

  She slept like a baby. The worst was over. It seemed. Her mother was feeling better. With regular treatment, the cancer was going to be killed off. Life was great. It was only going to be better.

  All the troubles that fell into her life were making an exit. Once her mother was on the road to health again, Feriyal was going to focus on her career. Not just any old position. She was setting high standards going forward.

  Something would steer her in the right direction.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The melancholic coat of winter was nearing its end. Soon, nature was going to give birth to new life. New hope. New beginnings.

  Feriyal felt strange being all alone in the flat. What would it be like to be on her own in this big world, she wondered? Think positive. The power of positive thinking reaps rewards. The bad times had passed.

  She stretched the last batch of laziness out of her body. “I feel great today. About time too.”

  Knock, knock, knock. There was someone at the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

  “Who is it?” Feriyal did not want company.

  “How’s your mother doing, Beti? We were worried when we didn’t see her come back with you yesterday.” The old granny from next door was concerned. She wanted to make breakfast for Feriyal and cook something special for her mother. There was an offer to help with the chores as well. You know. Looking out for one another.

  “Morning, Auntie. She’s fine. The doctor wanted to keep her for a bit. Just to make sure she was going to be all right.” Feriyal shouted to her without opening the door. She didn’t want the neighbours to know about the cancer or chemotherapy. “I’m going to take a bath now. Leave for the hospital. Will tell my mother you asked about her.”

  “Okay, then. If you need anything, just come straight to me. See you later. Take care of yourself.”

  Feriyal jumped into the bath. She scrubbed her body with a loofah and poured a jug of water over herself to wash away the soap suds. More water to remove all traces of soap. All done. That was how people in her community took a bath. Showers were not common at the time.

  ***

  On time. A bus was roaring like a lion up to the shelter where she stood. There was a bus every hour on the hour that passed her stop.

  She jumped on. Passengers looked ahead. Blank zombie looks. There in the front, a middle-aged man looked straight ahead. Where was he going? What was he thinking? Two young children huddled close to their mother. Feriyal wanted to tell them to lighten up and be content. Life was beautiful.

  The bus jerked and screeched to a halt. She alighted. It was time for the next part of her journey. A second short taxi ride and she was just in time for the morning visit.

  She stepped into the lift with other visitors. Up, up, she went. Greenlights flashed three times. Time to make her exit. To run to her mother.

  Desperate cries grew louder. The sound of vomiting echoed down the passage. Someone was going through excruciating pain. Who could it be? Then she saw her. Ma! Rolling like
a tumbleweed. Dried tears washed away by fresh ones. The picture of health from the day before was gone.

  “What’s going on? Why is my mother so sick?” Feriyal wanted answers.

  She could not understand why this was happening. One moment, her mother was in good health. Now this. Through all this misery, a phlebotomist was taking more blood from her. More blood for more tests. Blood and tests. No cure. No solutions. Why was this happening?

  It was a pathetic sight. The sisters tried to stop her from witnessing it. It was too traumatic for someone who was not accustomed to suffering souls. Too painful for the families.

  “Where’s the doctor? Has he seen my mother yet?” Feriyal was growing desperate.

  Just then, Sister Daniels appeared. A guardian angel. She always appeared at the right time. “Hush, dear.” She put her arms around Feriyal.

  “There. There. This happens sometimes. Patients seem to cope well with the chemo. Then it changes in an instant. We see it all the time.” She took Feriyal to the waiting room. “Can I get you some tea?”

  “No thanks.” Her arms crossed in front of her and she leant back on the sofa. “My mother didn’t seem to notice me at all. She looked disorientated. Is this normal?” Feriyal was calm now. She remembered her conversation with the doctor. He had explained the treatment could go either way. Each case was different, he had told her.

  “Your mother took ill last night. The night staff checked her vitals at 10pm. Then the problems started. Vomiting; nausea; hot flushes. It was late, so the staff didn’t want to call you.”

  It took a few hours for the side effects to calm down. Visiting hours were over, but the matron allowed Feriyal to stay in the ward. She sat on the wooden bench next to the bed.

  Calm filled the space shared by mother and daughter.

  Frail and down-trodden, she fell into a deep sleep, too tired to face the day and too tired to fight the cancer. Feriyal stayed close. Like a watchdog. More days to go. Repeat chemotherapy sessions. More vomiting. More fatigue. More pain. When was it going to be enough?