Onika, a single mother, is desperate to find a cure for her daughter's mysterious illness. Just as hope fades, she meets Dr. Beyoncé Knowles, a determined doctor who refuses to give up.
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Onika Maraj Queens, New York Waiting Room
I had my face buried in my hands, my leg bouncing without even realizing it. My phone buzzed on the table, and I grabbed it, the bright screen showing 3:30 p.m.
Time had been moving in weird, slow-motion ever since we got here. I glanced around at everyone in the room, exhausted but sticking around. The silence was deafening.
"You guys don't have to stay if you're tired," I said quietly, not really expecting anyone to leave, but feeling like I had to say something. My voice came out shaky, not at all like how I wanted it to sound.
Solange shook her head, her voice steady and firm. "We're not leaving."
I nodded, rubbing my hands on my legs to keep them from shaking. The waiting was unbearable. I didn't know what was taking so long, and every minute that passed made my chest tighter.
I kept looking at the door, hoping someone would walk through and just give me something—anything.
My stomach was in knots, and no matter how much I tried to distract myself, I couldn't stop thinking about the worst possibilities.
Ten minutes passed. Felt like forever. And then, finally, I saw Dr. Vanessa Day walking toward us, with a nurse beside her. My heart stopped. Everyone stood up with me, but I couldn't even think straight anymore.
Her face was completely unreadable. Not good, not bad—just blank, like she didn't want to give anything away before she spoke.
I felt my heart start racing, my palms sweaty again. What did that mean? No one said a word, but I could feel all of us holding our breath, waiting for whatever she was about to say.
I just stood there, my legs weak, my mind racing, trying to prepare myself for whatever was coming. My chest tightened even more as she got closer, and I could barely breathe.
Where's Beyoncé?
I would've thought she would be the one telling me this, and comforting me.
Dr. Day finally approached, her face unreadable. She stopped in front of me, sighed, and I felt my stomach drop. Doctors don't sigh like that when it's good news.
"The tumor was successfully removed during surgery," she began, her voice professional, but there was a heaviness to it. "However, we encountered significant swelling in Amora's brain. While the procedure relieved some of the pressure, she remains unconscious."
"Wait, what" I interrupted, my voice cracking. I couldn't help it.
The panic surged up inside me, like a dam about to break. My legs felt like jelly beneath me.
My mother grabbed my arm gently, steadying me, her fingers squeezing my wrist softly, trying to keep me grounded.
Dr. Day continued, her tone measured but sympathetic. "At this point, her condition is stable, but the next phase is critical. The swelling needs time to reduce, and right now, we have her in a medically induced coma to assist with that process. The truth is, her recovery largely depends on how her body responds in the coming hours and days. It's up to Amora to regain consciousness as the swelling subsides."
