In January, menopause arrived for Margaret Smith. At first, it didn’t cause any significant issues. She didn’t experience the notorious hot flashes, sweating, rapid heartbeat, or headaches. Her periods just stopped, and that was it—hello, old age, here I am!
Margaret didn’t visit a doctor since she had read so much and was aware of what it entailed. Besides, her friends often shared their experiences, saying, “You’re lucky, Margaret, you’re handling menopause so easily!”
As if they jinxed her, strange things soon began happening. She understood these were hormonal changes that wouldn’t pass unnoticed. Perhaps that’s why her mood changed for no reason, she felt dizzy and weak.
It became increasingly difficult for Margaret to bend down to her granddaughter, Lily. She lost her appetite and her back began to hurt in a new way. Her face often swelled in the mornings and her legs in the evenings. For a while, Margaret didn’t pay much attention to her ailments. Her daughters-in-law were the first to sound the alarm: “You’ve grown so pale and weak, Mom. Go see a doctor, do a scan, don’t delay, these things are not to be joked with!”
Margaret remained silent. The doubts that something was wrong had long settled in her soul. Then her chest began to hurt terribly, like it was on fire, with a pull in her lower abdomen that kept her from sleeping. Often, during sleepless nights, with her husband softly snoring, Margaret would lie on her back, staring at the ceiling, quietly weeping, pondering the future and reminiscing the past.
She didn’t want to die! She was only fifty-two, not even close to retirement. They had just started looking for a country house to spend more time in nature. Her sons had great jobs, and her daughters-in-law were respectful, helping cover her gray hair and advising on what clothes to hide her fullness. Her only granddaughter, Lily, was such a golden girl, and she took joy in her. Lily was into figure skating and would start first grade in the autumn. She drew beautifully and already knew how to knit—thanks to her grandma’s teaching.
How swiftly life flies by! It seemed to Margaret that she hadn’t truly lived yet. She had just married off her youngest son and was waiting for grandchildren from him, but then this blasted illness! She wiped her tears with the edge of her duvet, though they continued to stream down her cheeks. Mornings brought dark circles under her eyes, and her face grew gaunt.
Margaret barely survived spring and summer, but by autumn, she became seriously unwell. Breathlessness, unbearable back pain, and severe abdominal pain persisted. Finally, she resolved to schedule a doctor’s appointment and share her suffering with her husband.
The whole family nearly accompanied her to the clinic. Her husband, Andrew, and their eldest son waited in the car, while her daughters-in-law waited in the hallway.
With difficulty, Margaret climbed onto the exam table, blushing from awkwardness, and answered the doctor’s questions: when her period ceased, when she felt unwell, and when she last had check-ups. She answered slowly, even getting cold on the table while the doctor filled out forms, washed hands, and donned gloves.
The doctor inspected thoroughly, increasingly frowning and uneasy. Then she uttered a brief “Get dressed” and moved to the phone. Margaret listened in horror as the doctor spoke.
“Is this the cancer center?” the doctor shouted into the phone. “This is from Clinic Five. I have a seriously ill patient in need of immediate consultation. Immediate! Yes… Apparently, the last stage. I can’t locate the uterus. Fifty-two… First consultation. Yes, unbelievable… You teach and teach them, information is everywhere, yet no time for a doctor visit. Yes, fine, sending her now.”
Finishing the call, the doctor returned to the desk, handling paperwork. “Are you here alone?”
“No, with my husband, with the children, we came by car,” Margaret replied softly. Only now did she feel immense pain throughout her body. The ache stole her breath, and her legs weakened. She wanted to scream. Margaret leaned against the doorframe and began to cry. A nurse dashed into the corridor, shouting:
“Is anyone here with Margaret? Step in!”
The daughters-in-law hurried inside. Seeing their mother-in-law, they immediately understood. Margaret wept and writhed in agony, barely hearing the doctor’s instructions: urgently, first hospital, oncology, second floor, doctor on duty waiting… Here’s the referral, here’s the card… It’s very late, I’m sorry… Why delay, especially when educated?
The car ride was silent. Andrew wiped tears with the back of his hand, sniffing openly. The son focused intently on the road, squeezing the steering wheel tightly.
In the backseat, the daughters-in-law supported the frail Margaret, weakened to the core. Margaret groaned, and when the pain became unbearable, she screamed aloud, causing Andrew to burst into new fits of sobbing.
Sometimes the pain subsided briefly, allowing Margaret to see withered tree crowns passing by outside. She silently bid farewell to them, to the children, to Andrew, and to Lily. No more would she spoil her with tasty pies. Who would lead her to first grade, meet her after lessons? Who would firmly hug and kiss her, and admire her early achievements?
At the cancer center, they didn’t wait long. Margaret was admitted immediately. The family stood in a concerned cluster by the window, too anxious to sit. Andrew stopped crying, staring lost and helpless at one point. The daughters-in-law twisted handkerchiefs in their hands, while the son rocked silently from side to side.
Something distressing seemed to happen inside the exam room. A nurse dashed out, face flushed, running to the end of the corridor. Shortly thereafter, a senior doctor in scrubs entered briskly, followed by several other doctors at a quick pace.
A noise from the corridor made everyone instinctively turn their heads. The flushed nurse and two orderlies hurriedly wheeled a rattling stretcher for patient transport. As it vanished behind the wide door, the family knew it was over. Andrew clutched his head and groaned, as the daughters-in-law rummaged through their bags for heart drops, and a nervous twitch appeared on the son’s cheek.
Suddenly, the door swung open. A stretcher carrying Margaret, draped with a white sheet, was pushed by six or seven people, all flushed and sweaty. Margaret’s pallid face was exposed. Her swollen eyes mirrored sheer terror. Pushing past the daughters-in-law, Andrew rushed to his wife.
“I’m the husband, I’m the husband,” Andrew shouted after the vanishing stretcher. “Let me say goodbye. My dear Meg, how could this happen—we wanted to leave together…”
“You’ve already left,” the nurse said, locking the wide door. “Don’t disrupt us, dear sir, and hush. She’s about to give birth. The head is crowned…”
In the delivery room, there were two mothers-to-be: Margaret and another, a very young girl, likely a student. Both cried out simultaneously and then calmed between contractions. Around each hovered midwives and doctors. The senior professor strolled calmly between tables, offering guidance.
“What are we suffering for?” the professor inquired during a brief pause.
“For that cursed drink, it’s to blame,” the student groaned.
“And you, madam?” he asked Margaret, patting her thick, bare thigh.
Margaret, after a pause, whispered faintly, having no strength left, “For love, probably. What else? We celebrated my birthday like any other. Fifty-two. We indulged a bit…”
“Quite indulgently, I must say,” the professor chuckled. “Really didn’t notice anything?”
“Oh, doctor! If I’d known, if I’d even imagined!… What shame! I’ve been a grandma for ages! I’ve been overweight since childhood, due to which nobody used my name from twenty onwards, only my title… I was sure it was menopause and cancer, to boot. They said the uterus dissolved, last-stage cancer…”
“You’ve a case of mistaken identity, not cancer,” the professor retorted irritably. “We all make mistakes, doctor’s errors still exist. But enough chat. Push, lady, push. Your little mistake wants to see daylight!”
The midwife emerged from the delivery room, beaming with importance and satisfaction, ready to tell her friends—grannies giving birth isn’t everyday news.
“Margaret Smith. Any family here?”
“Yes,” the family replied in unison, stepping forward.
“Congratulations,” said the midwife, eyeing the men with open curiosity. “Who’s the father then?”
“I am,” Andrew croaked, scarcely believing the situation.
“He is,” the daughters-in-law chorused, nodding at their father-in-law.
“Unbelievable,” the midwife laughed, now with clear respect. “It’s a boy. Seven pounds, twenty inches. Time to celebrate, Dad. Just an hour more, and who knows… Just in time for the delivery. Marvelous! Though, why bring her to oncology, I wonder…”
