Chapter 6

“She is now receiving chemotherapy, a treatment that will kill her cancer cells. We’ve given her a combination of daunorubicin and cytarabine for seven days. This is for the first course of her chemotherapy. Upon receiving the chemotherapy for seven days, she’ll have to wait for three more weeks for the next course. For now, we’re hoping that the chemotherapy will kill most of her cancer cells and bring her to remission. A remission is a period of time whereby the number of cancer cells is too low to pose a danger to your mother. If your mother stays in remission for more than five years, she is considered ‘cured’ from cancer.”

“Will she recover from leukaemia if the chemotherapy works?” Terry cut in.

“What we can do now is to bring her to a remission period and hope that she will not get a relapse. I’m afraid there is no guarantee of anything, Mr. Tan.”

I laid back on the chair, shaking my head a little. Ever since I was a kid, television dramas had portrayed to us that cancers are death sentences. Yet, now, this doctor here had just told us that there might be a cure? Cure for cancer; cure for leukaemia? Remission? Why had I not heard of that word in Channel 8 melodramatic dramas before?

“Of course, the best course of treatment for leukaemia is usually a bone marrow transplant. However, given her age and condition now, we will not recommend a transplant.”

I nodded.

“Mrs. Tan, we’re doing the best we can for her. There’s something I’m curious about. She does not seem depressed upon hearing the news. Do you know why?”

I looked up at the doctor and, then, looked around the room. The nurse stood up and Doctor Tee jerked a little. She stayed in that position for a few seconds before settling down on her seat again. Doctor Tee straightened his shirt and eyed me. Everyone was waiting for my answer.

“I don’t know.”

There was silence again. Terry stroked my hands up and down, as if trying to warm me up. I was taking in deep breaths.

“I’ll send someone to talk to her. She’ll be fine.” Doctor Tee said.

“How long, Doctor Tee? If the chemotherapy fails? How many more months or weeks does she have?”

“Mrs. Tan, do look on the-”

“Just give me a number, Doctor Tee.”

Doctor Tee took a deep breath, sat up straight and said in a measured tone, “Three to six months.”

“Oh.” I said. “Oh, bloody hell.” I clenched my hands, pressed them against my thighs and said, “You’ll better cure my mother, Doctor Tee. Because I’m her daughter.” I dropped back on the seat and closed my eyes.

“Sorry.” I said, and three pairs of hands stroked my shoulders. They were Terry’s, Doctor Tee’s and, surprisingly, the young nurse’s. She must have a hard time trying not to eavesdrop into our conversation.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When I was seven, my mother found a job at a nearby coffee-shop. She would always go off to work at five in the morning. I had to take the school bus alone every morning to reach my school.

“Where’s your maid?” I remembered on one of the days, one of my schoolmates in the school bus asked me.

“Elle doesn’t have a maid. Elle has a mother.”

“I got a mother and a maid and a father and a brother. My maid takes me to school.” The schoolmate said, “She’s cool. Better than my mother. You should get a maid instead of a mother. A maid’s cool. My maid is always with me, but my mother is never with me.”

That day, when I reached school, I realized that I had forgotten to put my spelling exercise book into my bag. I had left it at my table! My mother had just tested me yesterday night! I started to sweat profusely. We had to sing the National Anthem soon and I would not have enough time to run back home.

I started to think of all the excuses that I could invent. I could say that it was my mother’s fault. I could tell the teacher that my mother accidentally threw it away, or that my mother wetted it.

“Ah girl!”

I looked up. Someone was calling me. I gawked at the gates. My mother, wearing a pouch on her waist, was shouting at me. Her chest was shuddering up and down. I stood up and ran towards her.

Beams of sweats dripped down her forehead. She was holding my spelling exercise book. I yelled out in delight as I grabbed it. “Mama! Elle got spelling today!”

“Yeah, and you forgot to bring your spelling exercise book to school. Luckily I went home to take something and saw the book on your table.”

“Thank you, mama.” I turned and was about to rush off.

“Ah girl, how to spell… ‘shoulder’?”

“Shoulder?” I turned back to her. “S…S-H-U… go back, mama! Elle knows her spelling!”

“You sure?”

“Yes, go back! Go back! Go back!”

“Okay. Ah girl, I’ll not always be here to pass you your spelling book if you forget again. Remember, I’ll not always be here. Someday, I’ll have played my part-”

“Go back!” I yelled and ran back to my queue. There were five more minutes before the National Anthem.

“Your mother, Elle?” one of my classmates asked.

I stole a quick look at the gates. My mother was backing off from the gates slowly. After about ten steps, she halted, turned to face me and waved. I waved back. Then, she started to scurry towards the bus stop.

“No. Elle’s maid.” I said. My mother had reached the bus stop and was constantly looking at her watch. “Maid is cool.”

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