CHAPTER 20 — BOOK III
Diagnosis
The word arrived without ceremony.
It was delivered in a small room that smelled faintly of disinfectant and coffee, where chairs were arranged for conversation rather than comfort. The doctor spoke carefully, as if precision might soften impact.
Leukaemia.
Embong heard it and nodded once, registering sound before meaning. Geoffrey felt it land somewhere lower—behind the ribs, beneath language. He watched Embong’s face instead of the doctor’s mouth, looking for panic and finding only attention.
They asked practical questions. What came next. What would change. What would not.
Tests followed quickly. Paperwork accumulated. Time contracted into appointments and waiting. When Embong was admitted, the ward received him with practiced efficiency, beds prepared, routines explained, expectations outlined without embellishment.
Geoffrey stayed.
He did not announce the decision. He sat, held a bag when asked, learned the rhythms of the place. When Embong rested, Geoffrey watched the rise and fall of his chest, counting breaths only long enough to reassure himself they continued.
Family arrived in stages.
Delima moved through the ward with quiet authority, asking the right questions, listening carefully to the answers. Hijau’s composure lasted until she saw Embong properly—paler, thinner, undeniably unwell. She held herself together until she reached his bedside, then pressed her forehead briefly to his hand.
Awan arrived last, slower than before, the year in Singapore still visible in his gait. He did not speak at first. He stood, hand resting lightly on the bed rail, absorbing what had to be absorbed.
Prayer came without instruction.
Not performative. Not desperate. Just present.
Chemotherapy began. The days blurred. Embong learned how quickly energy could drain and how unpredictably it returned. Some mornings he spoke easily. Some afternoons he slept through visiting hours. Some evenings he was irritable, the world too loud, the effort of being polite too great.
Geoffrey learned when to speak and when not to.
He learned that comfort did not require solutions. It required consistency. Showing up at the same time. Sitting in the same chair. Leaving when rest demanded it.
Visitors came carefully.
Hijau brought friends who understood how to keep conversation light. Lachlan lingered at the edges, attentive without crowding. Antonio arrived one afternoon, listened, and left before fatigue turned the visit into a burden.
Embong slept better on those nights.
There were moments when fear surfaced unexpectedly—between tests, during long silences, in the half-light before dawn. Geoffrey felt it then, sharp and immediate. He pressed it down without denying it, understanding that fear was not the enemy. Panic was.
They moved forward as instructed. One day at a time. One phase at a time.
No one spoke about outcomes.
They spoke about what needed doing next.
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