Marilyn Peake - The Other

I got up and paced around my room for a while. Today had been so emotional, I didn’t know if I could handle anything more.

Finally, I sat back down and opened the message.

There it was: the information I had asked for. The message conveyed Hannah’s excitement: I have great news for you, Jade. Your biological mother, Cora Frost, is a college professor. She has a doctorate degree in Clinical Psychology and works as a college professor. She’s currently doing field research with a professor from the Anthropology Department at her school. They’re studying a cult in Roswell, New Mexico.

She listed the name of the college, the college address and phone number, the name and location of the cult and Cora’s cell phone number.

I typed back: My goodness, how did you ever get so much information so quickly?

Hannah replied: I have my ways. She added a smiley emoji.

I thanked her and asked if I owed her any kind of payment.

She said: No. I don’t charge for my services. It makes me feel good to help people who are in the same kind of situation I was in a while back. You can donate money to an organization that helps orphans, if you’d like. I have a number of great ones on my website. Also, you can pay this experience forward by helping someone else out who’s in need of support.

I didn’t know what to say. I typed: Thank you so much! You’re very kind. I added a couple of heart emojis and a flower bouquet one.

Hannah sent back an animated heart sticker that beat. Then she typed: Let me add one more thing. If you decide not to go through with contacting your biological mother, that’s fine. This is a big step, one that will change your life forever. Don’t feel obligated to contact her if you don’t want to. I find information for people on their biological parents, but it’s totally up to each person to make the decision about what to do with it. I wish you well, no matter what you decide. If you want to talk anything over with me, just private message me here or use the email on my website.

I felt comforted by that. The decision was mine and I had someone to talk to. I thanked her again. Then I copied-and-pasted all the information she’d given me into a Word document.

I sat staring at the page for a while. Cora Frost, Ph.D. That sounded pretty good. It should be safe enough to contact a college professor. Before I lost my courage, I typed a text message to her with my cell phone: Hello. My name is Jade Whitaker. Could we meet sometime? I’ve just found out that you’re my biological mother. I’m having some health issues and would like to know something about my family genetics. I deleted I’m having some health issues . That might scare her off if she thought I wanted actual help with that.

Then I pressed Send.

That night, I slept fitfully and miserably. I had dreams that Cora Frost turned out to be a witch with the power of freezing spells. She agreed to meet with me. Suddenly extending her arms and hands toward me, she shot snow, frost and ice from her fingertips. She froze me solid. Then she took me to Siberia and buried me beneath the permafrost. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I woke up, gasping for air and trembling. It took me a while to calm down.

I hopped onto my computer and played Dragon Age: Origins to take my mind off reality.

Falling back asleep later that night, I woke up with the worst pain in my stomach I’d ever experienced in my entire life in the same spot that kept flaring up. I decided right then and there that I’d take the week off like Andy had suggested.

In the morning, I made an appointment with our family doctor. When they heard how much pain I was in, they scheduled me for that day, late in the afternoon.

The waiting room drove me crazy. The pain flickered on and off. It was low level and intermittent, but it had me on edge. A baby kept crying. An old man kept coughing. The phone kept ringing. I wanted to scream.

Finally, the nurse came to the door and called my name. I grabbed the backpack I used as a purse and followed her into the examination room. She gave me one of those crispy, crackling pieces of paper they call a gown to put on. Ugh.

After I’d taken everything off but my socks and put on the crunchy tablecloth with arm holes, I climbed up onto the examination table and waited. And waited.

Finally, Dr. Rutherford knocked on the door and entered the room.

I explained my symptoms. She asked me to lie down. I had been told to put the gown on so that it opened in front. Folding the right side of it back, she pressed on my abdomen. I didn’t mean to, but I let out a horrible scream. The pain had been unleashed. I kept moaning. I rolled over and pulled my legs up to my chin.

Dr. Rutherford said, “Let me get an ultrasound of the area.” She sounded serious.

A technician rolled in the ultrasound machine and waited until I could straighten my body. I begged him not to press too hard.

He applied cold gel to the wand. I held my breath as he moved it around.

Glancing at the monitor, I saw a weird shape, but I had no idea what it meant. Was this normal? Abnormal? If so, what was it?

The technician gave me no clue. He looked at the screen, moved the instrument over the area, took lots of pictures, then left.

When the doctor came back, she had a serious look on her face. She said, “Why don’t you get dressed and then meet me in my office?” She wasn’t smiling.

I peeled off the crackly gown, got dressed and found my way to her office.

Dr. Rutherford’s eyes were filled with concern. She said, “There’s something on your ovary, Jade.”

The memories of my mom’s illness washed over me like a tsunami. I put my face in my hands and wept. I had cancer, I just knew it.

Dr. Rutherford said, “I know this is scary, but we don’t know what it is. You’re young. It’s probably benign, whatever it is. I want you to see this specialist.” She handed me a slip of paper with the name and address of a gynecologic surgeon. She also gave me a prescription for pain medicine. She told me to take it as needed. I took both papers from her hand, feeling numb and in shock. She said, “We’ll call and make an appointment for you.”

They’d never made an appointment for me before. I knew I had cancer. I just knew it.

By the time I got home, I’d made up my mind. I was going to find my birth mother. It was now or never. I was going to fight this monster inside me with every treatment available. I wanted to know if I had a family history of cancer, if anyone had survived it and, if so, what treatment had worked for them.

The doctor’s office called. I had an appointment with the specialist the next day.

I texted Cora Frost again that night. It was a brief request: I’d really like to meet you. Thanks.

The next day, I went to the specialist. Another tech, a young woman with black-framed glasses, used a fancier ultrasound that produced more detailed images. She clicked, marked places on the images, saved pictures. Then I met with the specialist, Dr. Barbara Moulton.

I had some kind of growth. They couldn’t be sure what it was until they did surgery.

Surgery! My life hadn’t even started. I finally had my first real job. And I was going to die.

I asked to put the surgery off for two weeks. Dr. Moulton scheduled the surgery for me at the reception desk. She said, “The nurse will give you the instructions for how to prepare and where to show up. You’ll need someone to drive you.” With a warm look in her eyes, she said, “Try not to worry too much. At your age, whatever we find will most likely be benign. You’ll feel better after it’s removed.”

I thanked her, took the instruction sheet from the nurse and went to my car to cry. On my way home, I knew exactly what I would do next: schedule a plane flight to Roswell. What did I have to lose?