In January, Mrs. Johnson experienced the onset of menopause. Initially, it didn’t bring about any major issues. There were no notorious hot flashes, night sweats, rapid heartbeat, or headaches. Her periods simply stopped, and that was it. Hello, old age! Here I am, yours!
Mrs. Johnson didn’t visit the doctor, believing she had read and heard enough to understand what was happening. Her friends often shared their experiences, saying, “You’re lucky, Mrs. Johnson. You’re going through menopause so easily!”
It seemed her friends had jinxed it. Strange things soon started happening to Mrs. Johnson. She realized these were hormonal changes that wouldn’t just pass without a trace. This likely explained her unreasonable mood swings, dizziness, and weakness.
It became increasingly difficult for Mrs. Johnson to bend down to her granddaughter Louisa, her appetite disappeared, and her back ached in a new way. Her face swelled in the mornings, and her legs would do so in the evenings. For a while, she didn’t pay much attention to these ailments. Her daughters-in-law were the first to express concern, saying, “Mum, you’ve become so pale and listless. Go see a doctor, get an ultrasound, don’t put it off, you can’t joke about things like this!”
Mrs. Johnson remained silent. Doubts that something was wrong had long settled in her mind. Her chest began to hurt so badly it felt like it was on fire, and her lower abdomen ached, keeping her from sleeping. During many sleepless nights, while her husband snored softly, Mrs. Johnson lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, quietly crying as she thought of the future and reminisced about the past.
She didn’t want to die! After all, she was only fifty-two, not even close to retirement age. She and her husband had just started looking for a cottage, planning to spend more time in nature. Her sons were doing well, with good jobs. Her daughters-in-law were respectful, not cheeky, helping her cover her grey hair and advising on clothes to hide her figure. Her only granddaughter, Louisa, was a delightful girl, a joy to behold. She was into figure skating and was starting first grade in the fall. She drew well and could already knit — grandma had taught her.
Life had flown by so quickly! To Mrs. Johnson, it felt like she hadn’t lived at all. She had just married off her youngest son and hadn’t yet seen grandchildren from him. And now, illness, cursed be it! She wiped away hot tears with the corner of the duvet, but they kept flowing down her cheeks. By morning, dark circles appeared under her eyes, her face looked sunken and darker.
Mrs. Johnson barely made it through spring and summer, and by fall, she felt utterly unwell. She had shortness of breath, unbearable back pain that almost never subsided, and excruciating abdominal pain. At last, Mrs. Johnson decided to make a doctor’s appointment and share her suffering with her husband. Almost the entire family accompanied Mrs. Johnson to her health visit. Her husband, Andrew, and their eldest son stayed in the car, while both daughters-in-law waited in the corridor.
While struggling onto the examination chair and blushing with embarrassment, Mrs. Johnson answered the doctor’s questions: when her periods stopped, when she felt unwell, and when she last had a check-up. Mrs. Johnson answered slowly, growing cold on the chair while the doctor filled out her card, washed her hands, and put on gloves. The doctor examined Mrs. Johnson thoroughly, frowning more as she went. Then she said a curt “Get dressed” and picked up the phone. With trembling hands, Mrs. Johnson pulled on her unruly skirt, listening in horror to the doctor’s conversation.
“Hospice? This is from the fifth. I have a severe patient who needs urgent consultation. Urgent! Yes, yes… Apparently, it’s the last stage. I can’t find the uterus. Fifty-two… First visit. Yes, tell me about it… They live like in the woods. You advise them, and the information is everywhere, yet they don’t find time for a doctor. Yes, yes, alright, I’m sending her.”
After finishing the call, the doctor moved to her desk to fill out more forms.
— Did you come here alone, madam?
— No, with my family, we’re in the car, — Mrs. Johnson replied quietly, her lips numb. Only now did she feel a pain so intense it took her breath away, her legs giving way, wanting to scream. Mrs. Johnson leaned against the door frame and cried. The nurse dashed into the corridor, calling:
— Who’s with Mrs. Johnson? Come in!
Her daughters-in-law jumped up and hurried into the room. Seeing Mrs. Johnson, they understood instantly. Mrs. Johnson cried and writhed in pain, overhearing fragments of the doctor’s directives: immediately, urgently, main hospital, oncology, second floor, the duty doctor is waiting… Here are the papers… Very late, I’m sorry… Why did you delay, you’re educated people…
In the car, everyone was silent. Andrew sniffled unabashed, intermittently wiping tears with the back of his hand. The son focused intently on the road, gripping the steering wheel until his fingers hurt. In the back seat, the daughters-in-law supported Mrs. Johnson from either side as her strength waned. Mrs. Johnson moaned, and when the pain became too unbearable, she cried out, triggering new bouts of weeping from Andrew.
Sometimes the pain would subside for a few seconds, and Mrs. Johnson managed to catch glimpses of the yellowing treetops passing by the window. Saying her farewells to them, Mrs. Johnson mentally bid goodbye to her children, her husband, and her granddaughter Louisa. No more treats of delicious pies. Who would take her to class, who would meet her after school? Who would hug her tightly, kiss her, and marvel at her first achievements?
At the hospice, they didn’t have to wait long. Mrs. Johnson was seen immediately, with the family scared and huddled near the window, not daring to sit. Andrew no longer cried, instead looking lost and helpless at a single point. The daughters-in-law clutched their handkerchiefs, while the son silently swayed back and forth.
Inside the examination room, something frightening seemed to be happening. First, a nurse with a flushed face hurried out towards the end of the corridor. Then an older doctor in surgical attire entered the room briskly. Upon hearing a clatter, the family instinctively turned their heads to the noise: the flushed nurse and two orderlies were quickly wheeling a rattling gurney for transporting bedridden patients. As soon as the gurney disappeared into the room, the family understood it was the end. Andrew clasped his head and groaned, the daughters-in-law scrambled for heart drops in their bags, and a nerve twitched treacherously on the son’s cheek.
Suddenly, the door of the examination room swung open again. They were pushing a gurney with Mrs. Johnson, covered with a white sheet, and it seemed six or seven people were involved, all flushed and sweaty. Mrs. Johnson’s pale face was visible, terror frozen in her swollen eyes. Shaking off the daughters-in-law, Andrew ran towards his wife. An older doctor blocked his path.
“I’m her husband, let me say goodbye. My darling, how did this happen? We wanted to go together…”
“You’ve gone far enough,” the nurse said, closing the door firmly. “Don’t make a scene, Grandpa. She’s giving birth. The baby’s head is just about to appear…
In the delivery room, there were two women in labor: Mrs. Johnson and another very young woman, likely a student. Both shouted simultaneously and, as if on cue, quieted between contractions. Around them, midwives and doctors bustled. The senior doctor walked calmly between the tables, giving instructions.
— Why are we suffering? — he asked during a lull.
— Because of that damned booze, it’s always to blame, — groaned the student.
— And you, madam? — the professor asked Mrs. Johnson, patting her bare thigh.
Mrs. Johnson paused to think, then whispered weakly, lacking the energy to speak up:
— Maybe for love. What else? It was my birthday, we celebrated with my husband. Fifty-two. We had a little fun…
— Quite a bit of fun, I’d say, — chuckled the professor. — Surely you noticed something or are you playing coy?
— Doctor, if I had known, if I had even thought it… What a disgrace! I’m a grandmother for ages. I’ve been heavy my whole life, from twenty no one called me by name, just by surname… I was sure it was menopause and cancer too. They couldn’t even find my womb, said it was cancer, final stage…
— You’ve got ‘cancer of the dance’, not cancer, — scoffed the professor. — We’re all human, and unfortunately, mistakes happen, even in medicine. But enough talk. Push, madam, your mistake is eager to see the light!
The midwife emerged from the delivery room, satisfied and filled with importance. She’d have quite the story for her friends; grandmothers don’t give birth every day.
— Mrs. Elizabeth Johnson, any relatives?
— Here, — the family responded in unison, stepping forward.
— Congratulations, — said the midwife, studying the family’s male members with open curiosity. — And who’s the father?
— I am, — Andrew whispered hoarsely, still not believing any of it.
— He is, — the daughters-in-law echoed, gesturing to their father-in-law.
“Well, I’ll be,” the midwife couldn’t hold back her emotions and added with newfound respect. — You’ve got a boy. Seven pounds eleven ounces, twenty inches tall. Set the table, Dad. Just in time for the birth. Quite the miracle! Why they rushed to oncology, I’ll never understand…
