panic attacks

It was 15 minutes past eleven in the evening. The blank hospital wall faced me while I sat on one of the empty benches outside the clinic of an obstetrics-gynecologist who was attending me. My last name was not called yet. Many were waiting for their names to be called too. Every time the assistant opened the door, all eyes would stare at who would enter or walk out of the clinic. It was the only clinic available for consultations as it was almost midnight. The first time I was there, the assistant told me they would accommodate all enlisted patients for the day even if it meant working late hours. I thought it was more of 'magis'- a genuine service for others; walking the extra mile, sometimes even skipping meals just to attend to others' needs. A professional fee can never compensate that.

Most of the awaiting patients kept silent while others befriended the person next to them and talked about ovarian complications and myoma and cists.

I brought a magazine with me to kill the time productively. I was waiting for six hours now, still the doctor's assistant did not come out. I have already consumed all the pages of the magazine but kept on reading all over again. Then I looked up and stared on the blank wall.

I thought of things I should have been doing when I was not there waiting for another check-up. I was supposed to be at home replaying my favorite movies or on bed in a sound sleep. Or maybe I should have been going out with my friends drinking coffee or beer or frappes or smoothies.

I felt my eyes were teary that I could not look down because tears might fall fast and I would be like sobbing desperately. And all the people could hear me because the hallways were empty, no busy feet passing through except for nurses on duty and visitors that had to buy medicines and food. I got too emotional, so I closed my eyes for a while.

I had to go to the clinic every other day from Monday to Friday for a suppository. The doctor said I had cervical inflammation that resulted from urinary tract infection. I was given oral antibiotics, anti-inflammatory medicines.

I thought hard about it. I told myself maybe I should have been more careful with my health. I should have eaten the right food, slept earlier and exercise as often as I could with less sweets and pantyliners. When I did a brief research, cervical inflammation or cervicitis was considered a common disease among women but not for self-diagnose and even difficult or impossible to get pregnant or deliver a healthy baby.

I am only 25. I am afraid. My mother died because of cancer of the liver about seven years ago. In 1992, my father passed away because of cancer of the spinal column. Even if my mother underwent chemotherapy, she did not make it. The only family left with me were my two sisters and now my two-year-old nephew. Those times were the hardest for me. I was always crying when I prayed to God.

I still want to live the next 25 years of my life. I fear if this will lead to different complications and then cervical cancer then I would not know what to do. I have never been married and I have not even saved much to cover all the anticipated expenses. I still want to travel to different places. I have not fully paid my loaned appliances. I am still struggling to pay my monthly dues on my digital camera. I have not checked how much were my monthly past dues for government health insurance.

“Alba,” called the assistant. It was a relief I was called at last. I would not know where all my worries would lead me. I stood up and entered the clinic.