Little do you know

 Little Do You Know 

DYRRE 

Short Fiction 

Intended Audience: Young Adult and Older

22 Years Ago 

Love. 

I absolutely loved my students. 

Sure they could be a handful at times, but at the end of the day they were like my children. Although I knew that they were excited to leave and finally enter high school, I couldn’t help but feel dejected. I had helped them grow into the fine young men and women they were today, but to them I was just another annoyance. I was just another teacher who gave tests and demanded homework and handled grades. It was highly unlikely that they would grow older and remember my name. 

“Mrs. Pahlavi?” A soft voice called my name, pulling me out of my reverie. I tucked my hair back into my hijab and turned to face my student. She beamed up at me, blue eyes twinkling, and I was suddenly reminded that I was responsible for her, that no matter how small, I would always have an impact on her. 

“Yes, Amara?” I asked. On the last day of school, everyone was playing board games across the classroom, but here she was, keeping me company. I knew there was a reason she was my favorite. 

“I’m going to miss you,” she said sincerely. The five words brought tears to my eyes. 

“Oh Amara, I’m going to miss you too,” I said, my voice thick as I leaned forward to hug her. She was very much a child to me and I hoped that if I had a daughter, she would grow up to be as smart and caring as Amara. 

“Is that your husband?” She asked, pulling away from me and pointing at the wall next to my desk. I rarely mentioned him in class and no one else had noticed. 

I nodded. “Yes, his name is Zachariah.”

“When did you get married?” She asked again, rather hesitantly. 

I smiled at her reassuringly before answering. “We were married about a year ago. Our first anniversary was actually just two weeks ago.” 

“Really? I didn’t even know you were married! Why didn’t you mention it?” 

“Because it wasn’t important! And I didn’t think anyone would care.” 

Amara frowned. “You think we all hate you, but I can assure you many of us see you as a friend or even an older sister.” 

I blushed. “I doubt that, but thank you for telling me. I appreciate it.” 

She smiled warmly at me. “Stop being so hard on yourself,” she said, taking my hand in hers. “You have to accept the compliment. It’s just the way it is.” 

Allah made it the way it is. 

*** 

13 Years Ago 

Ambition. 

My ambitions drove me. I realized that I didn’t want to stop at teaching. My ambitions went further than that. I realized that as I taught the same biology course over and over again, that I could do something more. I loved biology and I wanted to help as many people as possible. Teaching wasn’t enough for me. I decided to become a doctor.

It led to many late nights and a whole lot of stress as I tried to finish up all my studies. Zachariah could not have been more supportive as he helped me study for tests and took on more hours since I wasn’t working. He even helped me get a job at an orphanage on the side to keep me occupied. 

The sound of the train doors opening snapped me out of thoughts and had me running out so I didn’t miss my stop. I made my way to my doctor’s office to go over the tests that I had taken about two days ago. I smiled at the receptionist as I checked in. She ushered me into the doctor’s office and closed the door behind me. I turned to greet my doctor who only smiled tightly at me. I frowned as I took my seat in front of her. 

“So what did the tests reveal?” I asked hesitantly. I had a feeling it wasn’t something good, especially with the expression on Dr. Nemy’s face. 

“I know you’ve been having trouble trying to get pregnant, which is why these tests were done. We found other symptoms too of course. Your hair is thinning but you’re growing hair on your face and you’ve been gaining weight fast. This indicates androgen levels in your body. You’re also having irregular periods. So with all that in mind, we sent your blood to a lab,” she said slowly. 

I nodded. “I know, but what does that all mean? What were the results?” 

“Do you know what PCOS is?” 

I shook my head. “No. But I’m assuming that it’s not a good thing.” 

Dr. Nemy smiled at me. “PCOS stands for Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. It’s a hormonal disorder which causes many women to have enlarged ovaries with cysts on the outer edges. It would explain why all your hormone levels are too high or too low. And it would explain the larger than normal ovaries I saw a few days ago in the sonogram I conducted.”

I blinked at her a few times. “W-what? There’s something wrong with me?” My voice cracked at the end. How would I tell Zach? 

“No, honey, no. Don’t think it’s your fault. We still don’t know what causes it.” 

“Which means it could’ve been me!” My voice rose as my panic built. Hormonal problems? What if I couldn’t get pregnant? Why hadn’t I been more concerned earlier? Why was I so stupid? 

“Kyda, I’m going to need you to calm down. Please take a few deep breaths. I’m here to help you, not let you wallow in guilt and self hate.” 

I did as she instructed until I calmed down enough to have a conversation. 

“Does,” I licked my lips. “Does that mean I can’t have children?” 

Dr. Nemy avoided my eyes before looking at me stoically. “Not impossible, but improbable.” 

A broken cry tore out of my throat. I spent my whole life talking about how many kids I want and what I would name them. My mother had already been breathing down my neck about giving her a grandchild and I know Zach’s parents wanted them too, not to mention Zach himself. 

What would I say to them? 

Dr. Nemy seemed to notice me start panicking again because she called out to me again and pulled me out of my thoughts. I stared up at her, praying to Allah that there would be a solution to my problem. 

“I can prescribe you birth control pills to help balance out your hormones along with Letrozole to stimulate your hormones and get your menstruation back on track. We can hopefully map out a schedule for your diet and exercise to help you lose weight and it will greatly decrease your symptoms.” 

“What about having kids?” I asked her.

“You can continue to try and see if you can. But after about 6 months if you can’t, I’m going to have to say that you’re infertile. I’m sorry. It might be best for you to start looking into other options for a child.” 

I looked down, tears stinging my throat. “Like what?” 

Dr. Nemy’s voice was gentle as if I was a scared animal who would run at something loud. “Adoption. Maybe an egg donor or surrogate mother. You have options, Kyda.” 

I shook my head, a tear dropping my left eye. “No, I don’t. I can’t do that in my religion.” 

If the baby wasn’t ours, as in made from Zach and I and birthed from me, we would never be considered the child’s true guardians. She would always have to cover up in front of my husband and I would have to cover up in front of my son. Why. Why why why why did this have to happen to me? I wasn’t asking for much. Just a child of my own flesh and blood. Why did Allah have to make it like this? After I left the office with my prescription, I completely broke down on the curb. So many negative thoughts circled in my head. What do I have? What do I have left? This is all my fault. I should’ve taken better care of myself. How will my parents look at me when they find out? How would Zach look at me, knowing I would never give him a child? How could I do anything knowing that my life would always be so meaningless and empty? 

*** 

8 Years Ago 

Pain. 

It was the only thing that registered in my head. Pain like never before. Such overwhelming pain as I realized that it was coming from my uterus. 

Please not again. Not my baby. Allah, please don’t let this happen to me.

Yet even as I prayed, I knew that it was already done. My baby was gone. All those years spent trying to get pregnant, and my pregnancy had ended just like that. 

Blood roared in my ears as the panic set in. My vision blurred from the tears and my head spun. My throat burned from the crying. There was something around my neck, God, what was choking me? Please let me breathe. This can’t be happening. Not again, please no. 

“KYDA? Kyda, open the door!” Rapid knocks sounded against the door. I didn’t move from my place on the floor. 

“Kyda, if you don’t open the door, I’m going to kick it down.” After getting no response from me, a loud noise sounded as the door was knocked down. My husband stared down at me from the doorway. The words he was about to say died on his lips, just like my hopes of having a family. Blood stained my pants and the floor beneath me. 

My baby. 

“Kyda? Oh God,” Zachariah whispered, his panic evident in his voice but even as he continued to speak, I couldn’t hear him. I saw him taking his phone out to call an ambulance but I simply couldn’t focus on anything around me. There was a ringing in my ears as I blankly stared forward, the tears still falling. Why did it have to be me? 

*** 

5 Years Ago 

Lost. 

I had never been so lost.

I had gotten pregnant twice and had thought that maybe, just maybe, PCOS wouldn’t affect my fertility. I had convinced myself that it would be okay. All that worrying was for nothing. 

What an amazing lie that was. 

I lost both of my babies in the later stage of my pregnancy. I was stupid to even think that I had a shot at everything I wanted. It had been five years since my doctor told me that I would be unable to have children. 

I don’t think the hole in my heart will ever go away. 

Zachariah tried to cheer me up, even though I knew he was grieving too. He brought home a kitten so that we could raise him together. It wasn’t the same as having a living, breathing child of my own, but it was at least something. Even as I cared for my cat, I couldn’t stop looking at the pictures from my ultrasound and think of what could’ve been. To keep my thoughts from getting too negative, I threw myself into my studies. I studied as hard as I could to do well on my MCAT and worked myself to death in medical school. I spent 

more time in the orphanage to distract myself from my pain. I had been drifting along in life for five years, surviving because I had to. 

The baby’s cries sounded in the room, making me rush over to her. She let out another cry, her hands reaching up as she tried to struggle out of the blankets I had bundled her up in. Her face was pink from the strain of her cries and her midnight blue eyes sparkled with intelligence. I picked her up and rocked her carefully, cooing ever so often to make sure she calmed down. 

Would my baby have been like her? Maybe Allah let her into my life because of the babies I had lost? 

I forced the thought out of my head. Allah had a reason for everything that happened, so even if I didn’t know what it was now, one day that realization would come to me. It was an honor for me to look after and take care of the children here, and I couldn’t help but be attached to the little one. She was the

youngest here, only 7 months old and had come in at 4 months old. Her parents had been killed in a car crash and they had no other family that could take in the baby. 

I would have loved to take her in as my own, but I knew that my husband would never be considered her real guardian. So I learned to love her from afar. It would be short-lived though, because I knew a couple was coming in to adopt her today, and I would never see her again. 

It felt like I was losing a baby all over again. 

*** 

Present Day 

Acceptance. 

I had to accept that sometimes, you didn’t get everything you wanted. It was hard, but maybe, I would work myself up to it one day. Even through my grief, I had finished my studies and become a well known pediatrician. I found a way to surround myself with kids even when I couldn’t have my own. 

And yet, there was something about one of my newer patients that I just couldn’t get out of my head. It was the midnight blue of her eyes and the shape of her mother’s face that pulled at a memory so old that I sometimes thought I was just imagining it. 

I couldn’t keep my mouth shut at the next appointment. 

“Caroline, sweetheart, thank you for being such a good girl,” I reached into my pocket and gave her a lollipop. She grinned up at me and happily snatched the candy from me, quietly thanking me. 

I looked up at her mother. “Could I talk to you? Alone?”

She looked caught off guard. “Yes, of course.” She ushered her daughter out of the room to her father in the waiting room. 

“Yes, Dr. Pahlavi? Is something wrong?” She asked hesitantly. 

“Please don't take this the wrong way, but is Caroline adopted?” The only thing I could think about was the baby I used to always hold in my arms. 

She furrowed her eyebrows. “Yes, she is.” 

When I named the orphanage, her eyebrows shot up. “How did you know?” She asked suspiciously. 

I let out a relieved laugh. “I work at that orphanage. I used to take care of her before a couple took her in. I’m assuming it’s you.” 

She smiled. “We really do live in a small world.” 

I smiled back. “You remind me of one of my old students. You look very much alike.” 

She cocked her head. “I’m surprised you didn't make the connection earlier. You don’t remember me, Mrs. Pahlavi?” 

It was the way she said it that conjured my memory. “Amara. Amara Forbes, is that really you?” She laughed and leaned in for a hug. “It’s so nice to see you.” 

“Wow, I would’ve never thought this would happen,” I said as I hugged her back. What had originally supposed to be a 5 minute conversation turned into a 20 minute conversation between old friends. 

“Why did you end up adopting? If you don’t mind me asking?” I said slowly.

She smiled back at me. “I wanted to help someone at an orphanage. I have another older boy, but I always wanted to adopt, give someone else a chance at a good life. 

“I never got to thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Dr. Pahlavi. Thank you for inspiring me, your words have stuck with me since I was fourteen. You helped me realize my passion for writing and it really encouraged me to become a full time author and publish novels. Thank you for putting so much energy and love into your students. I know that you still inspire a lot of other people today.” 

Her words brought tears to my eyes. “It was no problem. I enjoyed teaching you and that experience has stayed with me forever.” 

As we hugged, I finally found my acceptance and my closure. 

Yes, I couldn’t have a baby and it took some part of perfect life fantasy away from. Little did I know that during my whole life, Allah had had everything planned and found a way for me to fill that part of my life. I had inspired children to live their best lives and taught them skills they would need later in life. I had taken care of kids when they were so young they could barely open their eyes. And now, I cared for children and did everything I could to make sure they were healthy. I saw two girls I had a very large hand in raising and they had grown up to be absolutely beautiful. I went the distance and was shown that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. 

So yes, maybe I couldn’t have children. But I had persevered through all my negative thoughts, and Allah had shown me the benefits. I had experienced more than I ever would have if I had actual children. Allah had shown me that even if things looked bad at one point, if I had trusted Him and everything he did, then I would turn out fine. 

Allah made it the way it is.

Written Statement 

When couples are trying for children, sometimes they have trouble. Sometimes, they have miscarriages before getting pregnant and end up actually having a baby later on in life. Other times, this isn’t possible. For women with PCOS, sometimes it isn’t possible to be fertile in the first place. PCOS is very common in women but isn’t addressed enough in today’s media. 

I had no idea what PCOS was until last year. I have a lot of symptoms of PCOS like growth of excess hair which led to doctors testing me for the syndrome. Although testing hasn’t finished because I haven’t gone back in a while, I have a feeling that I will be officially diagnosed with it, and I’m having trouble accepting it. There’s a risk that I will never get to have children of my own. With that risk it’s important to have other options open. I’ve spent a lot of time researching what exactly PCOS is and decided that if my character had it too, it would allow me to explore what could essentially happen to me one day. Kyda could not adopt a child because she would not be mahram to the baby. It would apply to my situation too. I would have to find that satisfaction of caring and loving a child from somewhere else. However, I always remember that I would not have been put on this path if I couldn’t handle it. Allah has his plan and until I can see it through, I will continue to trust Him because I know He is all-knowing and will only want the best for me. 

My character’s names hold some significance to the story. Zachariah is the Biblical name of prophet Zakariya. The prophet’s wife was barren and they couldn’t have children until Zakariya prayed to Allah for a child. Allah performed a miracle and even though they were both old and she was barren, they had a son. This foreshadows my character’s infertility. In both instances, Zachariah has a wife that can’t have children. Even though the prophet eventually did, Zachariah Pahlavi in my story had a wife that fulfilled her want for children in different ways, even taking in a kitten to care for. The name Kyda is of Arabic origin and means perseverance and strength. Kyda is both of those things. She works through all her trouble with her chin held high. She works hard to become a teacher and then a doctor. She also finds happiness even though she didn’t have the life she always envisioned for herself. She is strong through both of her miscarriages and continues

to live, finding other ways to replace the baby she lost. She actually ends up helping many children and having a hand in the way they grow up. 

The theme is very evident in this story. Kyda very much has to trust the process. She is dejected when she finds out she has PCOS, which is the first instance of her being pushed back a step. She is then pushed back again after she loses her babies the both times she gets pregnant. This does not even account for all the times that she tried over the years and all the testing and treatment she had to go through to even make those two pregnancies possible. She tries to replace her loss by caring for Caroline, the baby in the orphanage, treating her as if she was her own. The baby gets adopted and she is again left with nothing. She is ready to call it quits. She may never find her happiness. There was no point of thinking everything would get better. It was only the appearance of Amara that showed Kyda that everything she went through was worth it. She impacted many people throughout her life, the same way she would’ve done her children. She found solace in the kids that she helped raise. She was reminded that it was Allah that made it possible. She was reminded that even though everything had seemed so bad at one point that it couldn’t get worse, Allah had showed her that he had a plan and that trusting the process was an important part of being a Muslim.