Deen Queens

sixteen [layla]

LAYLA

Layla's day was dragging.

Dark eyes flickered over the hospital walls repetitively, as though the faded cartoon animals would suddenly morph into something far more interesting but the family of ducks remained as yellow as they always had been. She'd almost wished she had bought her school textbooks with her; perhaps the dull emergency hospital visit could have been brightened up with some exam preparation.

She'd had a fever the previous night and as any medical professional would tell you, a unexplained temperature for an oncology patient was never a good sign. It was only when Layla was admitted overnight for observation - as she always was every time she had a fever - and bloods were taken that they determined her red blood cell count was low. Hence the blood transfusion.

She'd had plenty of them since first being diagnosed and so, watching the monotonous ticking as the crimson pushed through the plastic tubes and into her skin was no big deal. It barely meant anything to her anymore.

But it must have been a big deal to Asiya.

She still couldn't believe Asiya had seen her, had seen the name band wrapped around her hands as her fingers rested on the drip stand filling her vessels back with the blood that she needed. Asiya now knew and yet, she hadn't treated Layla any differently. It was as though her friend knew that there was nothing in the world she feared more than everyone walking on eggshells around her. She wanted life to continue the way it always had, the way her loved ones had made it so.

However, even though she knew her family and friends tried, it was very difficult for them to avoid treating her differently. Only her brother had managed to do so perfectly, only mentioning the dreaded C word when necessary.

But even Mohammad had been not-quite-normal recently.

The other day he had stormed through their front door with a blank expression, fingers tugging on the hem of his tshirt in what she assumed was frustration. But more importantly, he had snapped at both her and mama. Mohammad never snapped, that much anyone could tell you. She wanted to ask, wanted to probe and see what was wrong but she knew her older brother enough to be able to read between the lines. He needed to be left alone.  And so, she did.

There was a part of her that wanted to ask Becky if anything had happened, surely she would know. But she couldn't bring herself to do so, struggling between wanting to know and knowing she had no business knowing. She had other things to concentrate on: her fathers plan to get an engagement - a nikkah - rolling between Mohammad and Maria; a pair that still left a bitter taste between her lips. And also her own health.

She sighed, her fingers slowly pushing the bell attached to the wall to alert the nurses. She hated bothering them when they were so overworked but her blood transfusion had finished and was beeping obnoxiously. Niamh, the short Irish nurse with the pixie cut hair and a mouth that could make a sailor blush, soon bustled in, gloves on and thermometer in hand. They had been checking her temperature regularly, every fifteen minutes at the beginning of the transfusion to make sure she wasn't having a reaction to the foreign body being forced in her veins. It was protocol and Layla knew the protocols by heart at this stage.

"All finished then, love, eh?"

Layla nodded, a small smile plastered on as she was disconnected from the tubing she knew inside out. "How far along are they in ward round?"

She wanted to be seen as soon as possible in order to be given the green light to leave but not long ago, she had heard the dreaded crash bell. The noise of it was splintering, as though it tore the air apart when it rang, screaming for help. The minute any staff member heard the sound, they bolted, sprinting in their uniform with stethoscopes flinging around their necks until they found the room it came from.

It was the call of emergencies, something that seemed never ending. And she could tell from the solemn faces of the anaesthetists who rushed to the ward that it wasn't going very well. She'd seen relatives stand back in bewilderment, seen sobbing mothers walk backwards as though they couldn't bare to watch, seen nurses wipe eyes dry in the shadows, seen other children around the ward stop still as if they knew something was happening.

"They're still at the beginning but don't worry, I'll grab hold of the reg and get 'im to give you a quick glance over. Hopefully your gas will be fine and you can be discharged. I know you're always in a rush to make a run for it, love."

Layla laughed, although it sounded hollow to her own ears. "Just wanna get on with life, Niamh, that's all."

She could still hear the crash bell ringing in her mind, pulling her under a wave of deep thought. When it would come to her time to leave this world, would she too cause chaos in these very rooms? Would her life end surrounded by blank faces and resuscitation fluids, signalled by an alarm bell - calling out for her the way the Angel of Death would?

She wanted to be at home, even if home wasn't quite the home she had always known. She wanted her mama's hand to stroke her forehead, wiping the sweat away the way only a mother could. She wanted baba to be holding her hand, whispering every prayer he could think of, his voice soothing her fear away. She wanted Mohammad to be pulling ugly faces or making stupid jokes; anything he could to make her laugh one final time.

Although she very greatly admired the medical and nursing staff she had gotten to known very well, all she really wanted on her last day was to be surrounded by the love only family could bring.

And she was scared; fuck, Layla was terrified of dying even though she never showed it. But somehow, she knew it would be okay in the end. She had accepted it, knowing she would live life as much as she could until she couldn't any more.

She wanted to make it worth it but most of all, she wanted freedom.