“What do you want to be when you grow up? Can you tell the doctor?”
I asked a young girl who came to see me with her mother.
“I want to be a judge,” she answered and smiled at me shyly.
“Why?” Sometimes, the question “Why?” is asked not so much out of curiosity but to continue the conversation. But for this little girl, I genuinely wanted to know her reason for wanting to be a judge.
………………….
Usually, when someone comes to me with an unplanned pregnancy, I often see a woman coming in with a troubled face, mostly alone, or with someone a friend brought along. Often, it’s a mother bringing her daughter in to ask for help with an abortion.
“The child needs to study, doctor.” I hear this often.
“She’s still so young, doctor.” This is also common.
“She can’t even take care of herself, how can she take care of a child, doctor?” I’m very familiar with this one.
But this time, I was very interested in this mother and daughter.
“Doctor, I’m pregnant. A nurse recommended I see you. She said you could help.” I was interested because the person with the unplanned pregnancy wanting an abortion was the mother. She came with her teenage daughter sitting beside her.
“Why?” I quickly set aside my surprise and began the questioning process.
“We have no money, doctor. We’re really struggling,” she replied. I noticed both of them avoided eye contact.
“Can you tell me your story?”
“There are a lot of family problems at home, doctor. I have to work to support the family alone. Selling miscellaneous items brings in about three hundred, on good days five hundred, but it’s still not enough.”
“And your husband?” I asked.
“In and out of jail. When he’s out, he doesn’t work and is aggressive, often hurting me and the child.”
I turned to look at the little girl. She was listening to the conversation between the doctor and her mother.
“Does your father hit you?” I wondered. She nodded.
“She gets caught in the crossfire when trying to stop her father from hitting me, doctor,” the mother said softly.
“And how do you solve these problems?” I always feel uncomfortable when I hear about domestic violence.
“We run away, go to my mother’s house.”
“And he doesn’t follow?”
“No, my mother’s neighborhood doesn’t let him in. So now my daughter and I are staying at my mother’s house.”
The mother’s tears began to well up, and I handed her a tissue.
“How old are you?”
I turned to ask the daughter, believing her mother might not be ready to answer.
“16 years old.”
“Grade 11, right?” I calculated based on my own daughter’s age. She smiled and nodded in agreement.
“You know your mother is pregnant, right?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you think about it?” It was quite brave to ask such a question.
“I don’t want her to do it,” she replied.
“Why not?” I continued.
“I’m afraid my mother will sin.” Ah, so that’s the story. This little one is adorable. She’s afraid her mother will sin because she doesn’t want her mother to sin. She loves her mother.
“And do you know how your mother feels right now?” This question was an assessment of the daughter.
“She’s suffering. I see her cry every day. She says she doesn’t want to get rid of it, but we can’t afford to raise another child.” At this point, I prepared another tissue, but there were no tears to be seen.
“Okay, can I ask you one more thing?” Actually, it’s not just a little thing because each question so far, someone who has never had an unplanned pregnancy or been abused by family members might not be able to answer.
“What do you think about your mother’s current income?”
“It’s not much, doctor. Some weeks, my grandmother has to give me money instead of my mother.”
“That’s right, three hundred baht a day is almost not enough.”
“How many people does your mother have to support?” I still hadn’t asked the mother.
“There’s me, my brother. He doesn’t go to school anymore, doctor. He has a wife and a child and lives with us. He doesn’t work.” The answer came with the doctor’s imagination of the family’s situation she was experiencing.
“So, your mother supports five people, including herself.” I became a mathematician.
“Yes.”
I let the room fall silent for a moment. It’s a technique I feel is good. It allows for reflection and some relaxation.
“Do you think it’s enough?” She shook her head.
“And if there’s another child, how will the family manage during the late pregnancy, during childbirth, and when the baby is born and needs to eat? We all need money.”
“It would be very difficult.”
Her voice remained steady, unlike the mother, who still needed more tissues.
“And if your mother asks the doctor for an abortion, would you be angry with her?” I thought this question might help ease many things.
“I wouldn’t be angry, doctor. It’s necessary.” Then she reached out and held her mother’s hand.
“Problems are solved one step at a time, right? Another question for you.” This time I turned to the mother.
“Would you like the doctor to provide birth control as well?” The mother nodded.
“Are you confused about why the doctor wants your mother to use birth control when she’s separated from your father?”
She shook her head, which is very interesting why a Grade 11 student tries to understand such matters.
“It’s my mother’s business, adult matters. Life is my mother’s.” At this point, I understood why my patient brought her daughter along for consultation on such a major life issue.
“Alright, I understand your problem, but my problem now is that I can’t perform the abortion for you. I’ll refer you to another doctor who can help you with this matter.” Then I wrote a referral letter for her to receive services from another doctor who could handle this well.
…………….
I haven’t gone running for about two weeks due to laziness. Laziness is powerful; it can justify itself to us. It might rain (though in reality, I hardly see any clouds in the sky).
Today, I was tired from work (sometimes tired, sometimes not). I wanted to practice playing the trumpet (this is true, and true to the point I feel sorry for the neighbors). I wanted to change my run to early morning (haha, early morning my foot, barely awake before 7, and after peeing, I have to get ready to take the kid to school). I wanted to drink beer (this is an excuse, but if I actually drink, my wife would want a sip too, which is nice in a way). See, it’s all probably due to pure laziness, but tonight I actually went running. I started playing John Mayer’s music and tucked the earphones in my ears.
I confess
Actually, I wanted to run tonight because I read the book “The Book That Steps,” which writes about “Toon.”
In the book, it says that when Toon starts running practice, he listens to John Mayer’s music throughout. I wanted to be like Toon, Bodyslam, so I played this music and went running.
How about that?
The first kilometer was almost heart-stopping because I hadn’t run for a while. I guess John Mayer couldn’t make me Toon, Bodyslam. I could only be “Pae, Bodysluggish.” I decided to switch to my personal playlist.
“Log” was the first song that came up randomly. Energy started to come because I listened, ran, and hummed (but couldn’t sing, still panting). I thought to myself, tonight I’ll aim for four kilometers. When I got motivated, my legs moved, and the song changed to “Lingering, Not Forgetting, Singing, Still Resisting..” Alright, four kilometers it is.
Running smoothly, I passed the sixth kilometer, feeling confident. It should end at eight kilometers, right?
“Doctor, how many rounds have you run?” A familiar aunt cycling past greeted me as usual.
“Eight kilometers.” At that moment, I slowed down to prepare to switch to walking.
“You’re so good. I haven’t seen you for a while, still fit as ever.” Then the aunt cycled past me, leaving the tired person to walk, feeling puffed up like a toad.
Haha, I’m still fit.
Of course, I used to run regularly.
Feeling cheerful, I hummed “Oh Oh” by P’Jae as I walked into the house.
Then I saw two black bags placed at the door.
They were garbage bags placed in a way that I couldn’t claim not to see them. I felt annoyed immediately.
“I’m tired, damn it,” I thought of yelling at my wife when I got inside.
“Hey, who told you to go running?” I argued with myself.
“Why didn’t you throw them away yourself?” Right, placing them at the front door like this.
“You went running yourself, and now you just have to carry them out, two bags, that’s nothing.” I continued to argue with myself relentlessly.
“Fine.” Then I picked up both bags and walked out to the front of the village.
“This is clearly domestic violence.” I was still fuming inside.
“Where’s the violence?” I was trying to justify myself in defying my wife’s orders.
“…” Couldn’t think of anything, couldn’t think fast enough, didn’t dare to think.
For a moment, I thought of that mother and daughter. Their domestic violence was real. Mine was “nothing.” It was just my wife placing garbage bags for me to take out myself. As I walked, the anger began to fade.
Walking and reflecting, I thought of that little girl.
“Why do you want to be a judge?” I asked, and I didn’t get an answer from her. She just smiled, and there was something I felt was “so fitting.”
I lifted the garbage bags, lifting them up and down alternately like someone doing weight training.
One, two, one, two
Justice, injustice
Abortion, no abortion, endless debate
One person doesn’t continue, five others get to stay
“Professor, the case you sent has 2 bags, it might be twins.” The voice on the other end echoed in my mind.
Thanaphan Chuboon let his mind wander with the trumpet
June 19, 2019
Story by: Asst. Prof. Dr. Thanaphan Chuboon
Source:
https://web.facebook.com/100001116121950/posts/2279517768762072?s=100001234000912&sfns=mo&_rdc=1&_rdr