West London, UK – It was a rainy evening, and my mother and I were at home watching a Bollywood comedy when I received a call from the hospital.After months of medical appointments and misdiagnoses, part of me wanted to ignore it. Instead, I went upstairs to answer. The doctor was calling to say my mother’s bone marrow results were back, and we had to go into the hospital the next day.The call left me anxious, but when I told my mother about the appointment, I tried to be reassuring. “Don’t worry, Mum, it’ll be clear, nothing serious,” I said.The next morning, the hospital waiting area was quiet. No patients. Just the hum of the building. We sat side by side, facing the wall.When my mother’s name was called, we entered a small room with stark white walls, two chairs, and barely any space to breathe. The doctor calmly explained that the results showed myeloma, a rare blood cancer. Treatment had to start immediately.I sat there frozen as my mother began asking questions.My mother, then 72, would start with weekly chemotherapy sessions for two months. The doctor handed me a sheet listing the side effects – nausea, fatigue, weakness, and weight loss. Chemotherapy would drain my mother, who was alrea …
