From: Dr. Momo Hirai

To: Myoui Mina

Subject: Test Results - FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

Sent: December 29, 8:03 AM

Ms Mina,

You probably don’t remember me. My name is Dr. Momo Hirai. You were under my care at Maui Memorial in Hawaii for a few hours two months ago when you were suddenly unconscious.

I felt it was important to contact you directly. You need to know that I’ve studied your case very closely for these past few months. I'm sorry to say this but according to my examinal results toward your health, I don’t believe you have, or have ever had, SCID.

I know this must be a big shock to you. So do I. I’ve attached quite a few test results here and I recommend that you get a second (and a third) opinion.

I believe that you should get another physician besides your mother to verify my findings. Physicians should never practice on their families.

It is my medical opinion that in Hawaii last month you had an episode of myocarditis triggered by a viral infection. I believe that your immune system is especially fragile given what I could surmise about the nature of your upbringing.

Please feel free to contact me with any questions you may have. Good luck.

Best regards,

Dr. Momo Hirai.

PROTECTION

I re-read the e-mail six times before the letters form words and the words form sentences that I can understand, but, even then, the meaning of all the words taken together eludes me. I move on to the attachment showing lab test results. All my numbers are adamantly average—not too high, not too low.

Of course there’s some mistake. Of course this is not right. Dr. Momo has confused my chart with someone else’s. There’s another Myoui Mina. She’s an inexperienced doctor. The world is casually cruel. I know this ain't true.

But I have to believe all these things to be true, but still. I print the e-mail, lab test results and all. I’m not moving in slow motion. Time does not speed up or slow down.

The words on the printout are not any different than the ones on the screen, but they feel heavier, more weighty. But they can’t be true. There’s no possibility of them being true.

I spend an hour googling each test, trying to understand what they all mean. Of course the Internet can’t tell me if these results are correct, can’t tell me if I’m a perfectly average teenage girl of perfectly average health.

And I know. I know it’s a mistake. Still, my feet are taking me down the stairs and through the dining room to my mother’s home office. She’s not there, and not in the den. I head to her bedroom and knock lightly, hands shaking. She doesn’t answer. I heard a running water. She’s probably in her bathroom getting ready for bed. I knock again loudly.

“Mom..” I call out as I turn the handle.

She’s just leaving the bathroom, turning out the light when I walk in.

Her still-gaunt face breaks into a wide smile when she sees me. Her cheekbones are puffy and more soft in her round face. The dark circles that I put under her eyes seem to have become permanent. She’s not wearing any makeup and her hair hangs loosely around her shoulders. Black silk pajamas hang from her thin frame.

“Hi Mina, my sweetheart,” she says.

“Did you come for a slumber party with me honey?” Her face is so hopeful that I want to say yes.

I step farther into the room, shaking the pages.

“Mom, you see this from a doctor in Maui, the one who took the medical test for me when I passed out there.” I look for the name again even though I know it.

“Dr. Hirai Momo. Did you meet her?”

If I hadn’t been watching her so closely I might not have noticed it, but she freezes.

“Just to let you know that I met a lot of doctors in Maui, Mina.” Her voice is tight.

“Mom, I’m sorry—”

She holds up a hand telling me to stop.

“What is it, Mina ya?”

I take another step.

“This le-letter. She, Dr. Momo, thinks that I’m not sick.”

She stares at me as if I haven’t spoken. She doesn’t speak for so long that I begin to question if I had spoken after all.

“What are you talking about? What did she "think" about?”

“She says she doesn’t think I have the SCID. She doesn’t think I’ve ever had it.” I say.

She lowers herself to the edge of the bed.

“Oh, no honey. Is this why you came to see me?”

Her voice is soft, pitying. “She got your hopes up, didn’t she?”

She gestures for me to come and sit beside her. She takes the letter from my hands and wraps her arms around me.

“I’m sorry Mina-ya, but it’s not true,” she says.

I sag into her arms. She’s right. I had gotten my hopes up. I can't just believe by what the doctor thinks. I need a stronger proofs.

Her arms feel so good around me. I feel warm and protected and safe. My mom indeed.

She my hair, caressing my cheeks.

“I’m sorry you had to see this. It’s so irresponsible of a doctor like her.”

“It’s OK Mom,” I say against her shoulder.

“I knew it was a mistake. I didn’t get my hopes up.” I smile, to assure her that I'm fine.

She pulls away to look into my eyes.

“Of course it’s a mistake.”

Her eyes fill with tears and she pulls me back into her arms.

“SCID is so rare and so complicated, honey. Not everyone could understands it. There are just so many versions and every person reacts a little differently. I'm sorry that you have to go through this. I love you honey.”

She pulls away again and meets my eyes to make sure I’m listening and understanding as she kisses my forehead. Her speech slows down and her tone turns sympathetic—her doctor’s voice.

“You saw that for yourself, didn’t you? You were fine for a little while and then you were almost dead in an emergency room. Immune systems are complicated than people ever imagine.”

She frowns down at the pages in her hand.

“And this Dr. Momo doesn’t know your full medical history. She’s just seeing a tiny fraction of it. She hasn’t been with you this whole time. I know you so well baby..”

Her frown deepens. This mistake is upsetting her more than it does with me.

“Mom, it’s OK,” I say. “I didn’t really believe it anyway.”

I don’t think she hears me.

“I had to protect you,” she says.

“I know, Mom.” I don’t really want to talk about this anymore. I move back into her arms.

“I had to protect you,” she says into my hair.

And it’s that last,

“I had to protect you” that makes a part of me go quiet.

There’s an uncertainty to her voice that I don’t expect and can’t account for.

I try to pull away, to see her face, but she holds onto tightly.

“Mom,” I say, pulling her harder and closer to my body.

She lets me go, caresses my face with her free hand.

I frown at her. “Can I have those?” I ask, meaning the papers in her hand.

She looks down and seems confused about how they got there.

“You don’t need these,” she says, but gives them back to me anyway.

“Want to have a slumber party?” she asks again, patting the bed.

“I’ll feel better if you stay with me.”

But I’m not sure I will.

The truth you don’t believe, can’t believe, won’t believe: Her suspicion of her mother keeps her awake all night. She had a burgeoning suspicion that the world was laughing at her. [2015, Whittier]

IDENTITY

Sana’s barely in the door before I’m on her with the letter. She reads it and her eyes widen with each sentence.

She grips my forearm, the squirrel eyes staring straight into my eyes.

“Mina-ya? Where did you get this?”

“Just keep reading Sana,” I say. The charts and measurements will mean more to her than they did to me. She is a nurse indeed.

I watch her face and try to understand what is happening in my world. I’d expected her to dismiss the letter out of hand just as Mom did, but her reaction is … different. Something is odd within her face expressions.

“Did you shown this to your mother?”

I nod, mute.

“What did she said?”

“That it was a mistake, of course.” I’m whispering, hiding from the sound of my own vo