Rebirth
Sitting in the waiting area outside the clinic, she looked out and saw the sky was overcast with gray clouds. Perhaps, in just a moment, raindrops would begin to fall, dispelling the oppressive heat, even though it was already summer. Never before had the summer weather been so hot and humid. Around this time last year, the city was already deep into the rainy season. There were days when she woke up to the sound of rain; she loved that moment, curling up in her blanket and lingering to listen to the rain.
Short stories byLa Thi Anh HuongJuly 18, 2026
Sitting in the waiting area outside the clinic, she looked out and saw the sky was overcast with gray clouds. Perhaps, in just a moment, raindrops would begin to fall, dispelling the oppressive heat, even though it was already summer. Never before had the summer weather been so hot and humid. Around this time last year, the city was already deep into the rainy season. There were days when she woke up to the sound of rain; she loved that moment, curling up in her blanket and lingering to listen to the rain.
For some reason, she had the feeling that the early morning rain would slow down the pace of life, making the crowds on the streets loosen up, and that thought made her feel more at ease. Around this time last year, the rows of brown flowers in front of the Rach Mieu area drooped silently, waiting for the wind to come and release their petals, a mesmerizing dance of flowers that captivated many eyes.
Around this time last year, she was so excited because the old sapodilla tree in the park she walked past every morning would be in bloom. Perhaps no one else was excited about sapodilla blossoms except her. Every time she passed by the blossoms, she slowed her pace just to inhale the delicate fragrance from the clusters of flowers nestled among the leaves high above. She was also excited because after the flowering season, the tree would bear abundant fruit, which a few days later grew large, plump, and golden yellow, falling onto the grass. She used to receive those ripe fruits with the childlike joy of receiving a gift; it seemed that autumn had arrived then.
"This time last year," she murmured to herself, trying to remember what she was doing, where she was, but certainly not in a hospital waiting room like today. Everything is impermanent; today it's one way, tomorrow it's another.
"An Nhien!" – she jumped up when she heard the nurse call her name. "Why are you so late in coming to the doctor? Hurry, do some more blood tests and then see the doctor." She had already guessed this next step, as it wasn't the first time.
Yesterday, at the hospital near her home, they told her to do a series of additional tests. The results came in the afternoon. By then, she was exhausted, hoping, as usual, that the doctor would say, "All the indicators are normal!", and then she could return to her warm room and sleep soundly. But in life, things don't always go as planned. The doctor looked at the results, pondered for a long time, then turned to her and asked with concern, "Are you still in a lot of pain?" She was suddenly touched. Was she still in a lot of pain? She didn't know, she just felt tired and wanted to lie down. The doctor paused for a long time at the ultrasound results, then said to her, "You should be transferred to another hospital! A higher-level hospital will provide better support for you!"
And she was there, sitting and watching the gray sky before it turned into heavy rain. It took almost two hours for her name to be called, but she didn't complain because the people waiting in the same row as her had all come from very far away. And today she was getting used to the next step: blood tests, color ultrasound, MRI scan…
In the chilly MRI room, the tall, imposing doctor led her from one room to another, explaining the procedures before she entered the scanning room. She closed her eyes tightly. Before pushing her inside, a warm, deep voice calmed her anxieties: "Just lie still and follow the instructions; we'll take care of everything!"
More than half an hour later, she came out, slightly unsteady on her feet. A strong arm helped her walk, accompanied by the instruction: "The results will be sent to the doctor's consultation room tomorrow morning. Just come during office hours."
She glanced at the clock; it was past 4 p.m. Outside, a rainstorm was brewing. If it weren't for these circumstances, she would have been overjoyed, for the rain would have awakened her rooftop garden. It was strange; nothing, neither water nor fertilizer, could bring them to life like the raindrops. But at this moment, her mind was in turmoil, and she couldn't think about the plants anymore. Was the MRI result the end of her life?
Sitting in a taxi amidst the afternoon rain, she wondered if life were to end, what regrets would she have? She had lived through 38 springs, springs when her parents were still alive, not joyful but not as unsettling as when they left her. There were springs when she didn't visit her parents' graves, but instead slept soundly in her room amidst the bustling streets celebrating the arrival of spring. Only in the last few years, precisely since meeting Quyen, had she and he enthusiastically prepared for a fulfilling spring, with flowers, traditional food, and spring excursions…
Quyen only returned home a few times a year, leaving her with bright plans for the future. She trusted Quyen. Lying beside him at night, she thought of children's voices. Both she and Quyen silently waited, and then both silently realized that not everything they wanted would come true. The lesson of navigating adulthood was to get used to things not going as planned. She had learned that, but this time it was different.
To be honest, there were many times when life's hardships pushed her into a negative state, and she thought, "Living is hard, but dying is easy!" It turns out that all thoughts, words, and judgments are superficial when one hasn't experienced them firsthand. She wants to live. Even though life can be monotonous at times, and she's been sick so many times she's lost her sense of self, everything eventually passes. She wants to welcome beautiful springs with Quyen in the future, or simply to be able to wake up every morning, to be busy with the daily grind of earning a living like so many others… That's all!
***
Sáng, nàng đến thật sớm nhưng đã thấy chồng hồ sơ nộp vào đầy tràn chiếc rổ nhựa hình vuông. Các cô y tá tất bật chuẩn bị công việc đầu ngày. Chỉ ít phút sau, hàng ghế ngồi chờ trước phòng hội chẩn đã kín chỗ. Đây cũng là bước cuối để lắng nghe kết quả từ bác sĩ, cùng phương án mà họ đưa ra cho căn bệnh mỗi người. Nàng đã mất ngủ đêm qua. Cũng đêm qua, Quyền gọi video cho nàng nói rằng, anh sẽ trở về với nàng trong chuyến bay sớm nhất, nàng đừng lo gì cả. “Còn công việc?” - nàng bật ra câu hỏi. Quyền trả lời dứt khoát: “Anh đang làm mọi thứ vì tương lai chúng ta, nhưng để đi đến được tương lai, chúng ta cần sức khỏe trước đã. Anh tin, em sẽ ổn!”.
Hơn 7 giờ. Công việc ở phòng khám bắt đầu “chạy” bằng tiếng loa phát gọi tên người nộp sổ đầu tiên. Nàng nghe tiếng thút thít của cô gái ngồi bên cạnh. Nàng nhìn sang, đó là cô gái còn rất trẻ. Cô ấy khóc, rồi nghe điện thoại, rồi lại khóc. Ở một cuộc điện thoại mở loa, nàng nghe đầu dây bên kia là giọng một cô gái, nói với cô ấy rằng đừng tin vào kết quả ở bệnh viện này, phải đi khám thêm ở nơi khác xem sao, rồi liệt kê ra những bệnh viện tên tuổi khác. Vừa lúc có bác sĩ đi ngang, cô gái liền tắt điện thoại.
Nhưng chỉ được một lát, điện thoại cô ấy lại đổ chuông, lần này cô ấy không nghe máy, mà quay sang nàng, chìa ra xấp giấy tờ kết quả bệnh án, giọng như khàn đi: “Chị, chị xem giúp em kết quả này, liệu còn kịp không? Hai con em còn nhỏ quá”.
Nàng nhìn đúng vào dòng chữ cô gái chỉ ngón tay vào. Căn bệnh hiểm nghèo như một bản án tử hình lơ lửng trước mặt cô ấy, quá rõ ràng, liệu nàng có thể an ủi điều gì?
“Em thấy bụng mình to gồ lên, nhưng cứ tưởng do ngồi nhiều, ăn nhiều lên cân chứ không nghĩ đến khối u. Bởi vì em bán hàng rau, ngồi cả ngày. Mà chị biết em bán rau ở đâu không? Ở ngay cổng bệnh viện này này, vậy mà em không dành ra nổi vài phút để vào thăm khám, siêu âm” – cô ấy nói như một lời tự thú muộn màng với bản thân.
Lúc này nàng mới nhìn ra bàn tay gân guốc và những móng tay cáu bẩn của cô gái. Có nét gì quen lắm ở thân hình này, giọng nói này, hoàn cảnh này. Biết bao phụ nữ khi đã có chồng, sinh con chẳng còn dành thời gian sống cho bản thân mình. Giọng cô gái tiếp tục thủ thỉ: “Em còn cha mẹ già nữa, em mà có chuyện, họ sống sao nổi, chị ơi? Mà chị bị sao? Có nguy hiểm không?”. Nàng chưa kịp nói gì thì nghe cô y tá gọi tên mình.
Trong gian phòng hội chẩn chỉ như một buồng khám, giọng của bác sĩ nam còn rất trẻ:
“Chúc mừng chị. Khối u của chị tuy có phần trăm nhỏ là ác tính nhưng chúng tôi vẫn hướng đến u lành”.
Nàng thở phào. Nhưng niềm vui ngắn chẳng tày gang.
"However..." the doctor hesitated. "Have you had enough children yet?"
She shook her head, her heart suddenly tightening. The doctor explained her medical history and proposed surgery. It was the best option for her life, but it was also the choice that would force her to give up her dream of motherhood forever. The sound of children's giggles in her dreams with Quyen suddenly vanished.
She asked the doctor for permission to go outside to call Quyen. In the hallway, she had to walk quite a distance to avoid the noise, the crying, and the nurses calling out patients' names all mixed together. She dialed the number, her hands trembling. Tears streamed down her face onto the touchscreen.
Quyền answered the phone very quickly, but the voice wasn't coming from the tiny speaker; it rang right next to her ear. She looked up, her vision blurring as she saw Quyền standing before her in flesh and blood. His clothes were still dusty from the road, and his hastily rolled suitcase was tucked into a corner of the hallway.
"I'm here. Didn't I tell you not to worry, that I'd be by your side?"
His arms wrapped around her, warm and secure. She buried her head in his chest, sobbing like a child, releasing all the pent-up emotions and fears of the past few days. Quyen tightened his embrace, gently kissed her hair, and whispered, "It's alright. All we need is for you to be safe; nothing else matters."
As she left the consultation room, she saw the vegetable vendor from earlier still weeping, her face buried in her hands. Her fate seemed a far darker path than her own. She paused for a moment, gathered all the cash she had, and pressed it into the woman's gnarled hands. She said nothing, only gently squeezed the woman's shoulder as a silent prayer, then walked away with Quyen.
A sudden downpour began. Cool summer raindrops pattered rhythmically on the streets. She held out her hand to catch the raindrops from the sky, feeling as if all the gloom and suppressed emotions she had harbored for so long were being washed away by the water. Watching the trees along the road shake off their dust and burst with new life after the rain, she understood that she had been reborn.
