Alice In Her Own Land

Alice M. Kay

5 June 2024

The moment our General practitioner, whom I’d know since birth, advised my mother see a specialised oncologist for her failing health, was the exact point at which my world stood still. My mother’s symptoms came separately at first within a steady pace. Loss of energy, dizzy spells, blood loss, weaning appetite and more. Spaced far and few these symptoms weren’t entirely cause for concern, however, once they barrelled atop one another in rapid succession our worry mounted. 

Seeing my mother, a woman so often the picture of health that not even the most life altering viruses could rattle her cemented sensibilities, decidedly down for the count was entirely disarming. Left feeling utterly helpless as my tried and true bag of holistic remedies and salves couldn’t compete against whatever ailed her, nor could over-the-counter pharmaceuticals combat against the war ongoing inside her. We were left no choice but to consult with our physician of 30 long years, for any and all answers. 

Seeing as my mother was far too weak to even show face at his practice, and the coronavirus made way for virtual consultations, it took mere minutes for him to unintentionally pull the rug from under us. In his medical opinion, her symptoms all pointed to a very particular type of cancer. My ears rang out, the blood in my veins ran cold, my breathing shallowed as my heart rate sky rocketed, besting even my worst panic attacks to date. Our GP referred her to a specialised oncologist that would either confirm or dispel his suspicions. 

The drive to the specialist was painstakingly silent. None of us could get behind the wheel, thankfully our Uber driver gave us the grace of silence, allowing our minds to run rampant with the unthinkable horrors of what our futures might look like should the results of this biopsy choose to go against us. In the forefront of my mind was hope. Hope that this was an incredibly detailed lucid dream that held no truth or fact in our reality, hope that this anxiety and fear was part of some delirium and hope that my mother was not sick enough for her days to end at the young age of 53.

The hospital visit was cold as movement continued in an unconscionable blur. What was far more instantaneous than the biopsy results was the prejudiced energy of my mother’s doctor. His calloused attitude toward our worry, his dismissal of possible alternate diagnosis and his general blasé tone, almost as if she had asked for this, asked to possibly have cancer, asked to possibly be at death’s door, was all a slap to the face.  As if her pain and discomfort meant nothing to him because regardless of the outcome, he’d be getting paid and it wasn’t him at the other end of that consultation table.

As I’ve now come to understand, my mother should have been admitted into the hospital’s care after the consult to monitor, not only her physical well being but her mental health and prescribe her medication in the interim. None of which had been done. We left that building with even more questions and qualms than we had entered with. Broken and confused, the 35-minute drive home was uncomfortably spent discussing a morbid future I could not fathom without my mother, without my best friend. My anger at the entire predicament had me resenting the world. How dare everyone continue on with their day, how dare the sun gleam whilst the birds sang and children played merrily together. How could time continue to pass when this amazing light in my life was being dimmed all too damn soon?

3.5 weeks! 3.5 weeks of waiting for those results. 3 weeks of having to call a hospital that promised to call us and keep us up to date with the results. 3 weeks of my mother resigning herself to her “fate”. 3 weeks of me researching alternative conditions that her doctor had forgone to mention. 3 weeks of wavering hope and despair. That’s how long we’d had to wait before our lives were changed forever… The call to come into the hospital inferred the worst case had come to fruition, her results were positive, however, once there we were told the opposite. The results came back negative! Explained away as a fluke of causes (causes I’d already concluded through my research in those 3 weeks passed). My mother’s sickness was benign and treatable. 

Finally, that hope I felt at the start of this nightmare came triumphantly blaring throughout our once somber home. I was free to make plans with my mother once again as she was free to dream of blissful retirement and grandchildren, and we were free of this unforgiving pause in our lives at long last! 

As the incredible outcome of our situation began to settle in, so did the malpractice and obvious racism of the specialised oncologist’s conduct. His blatant refusal  to admit my mother into proper care for her condition, the unnecessarily long wait period for her biopsied results, the omission of pertinent information that cancelled out my mother as a possible cancer patient, and the misdiagnosis of her sickness in its entirety all screamed micro-aggressive misconduct. Tallying up these criminal accounts amongst others, solidified our concerns of the medical profession; A black woman’s ailments matter less to doctors because “she can handle more pain” . That was a heartbreaking realisation to fully grasp and understand in its entirety. 

Needless to say our visits to that hospital won’t be repeated. Thankfully I won’t need to die alongside my mother anytime soon either. That was my hidden plan of action had we received the worst outcome because a life without my mother is a fate far worse than death. This experience brought on a new lease on life and its wonders we’ve yet to experience. As I know our experience is a widely shared one, we are grateful for the outcome and wish nothing but the best for others in similar situations. A life full of gleaming sunshine, singing songbirds and a big family filled with generations of grandchildren playing together. That is a life she and I both deserve to live through. We deserve a life full of passion, excitement and sans regret. With my mother beside me to laugh and dream contentedly, that is how we live each day, together.