Chapter Text
Uma Victoria Mohan—part-time ballerina, avid enjoyer of Bharatantyam, sometimes swimmer, occasional ghost-editor to her mother’s research papers, proud “older sister” to the Mohan family’s beloved dachshund Tootsie, and Poly’s number one Junior—is 15 years old the first time she finds herself truly curious about the identity of the man whose sperm helped create her.
Just to clarify things, the man who she shared half her DNA with was not a deadbeat. He was a sperm donor. Just some guy who ejaculated into a cup god knows how long ago for some extra cash.
Well, that was according to Uma’s Aunt Vic, whose constant repeating of that answer every time somebody got too nosy about Uma for their own good had practically imprinted on her very impressionable brain.
Now he was some guy Uma had now become very curious about.
Her best friend, Joey Perez, perpetual victim to hearing about Uma’s hare-brained, impulsive schemes and mad scientist-esque ideas, equated her curiosity to a sniffer dog chained onto the scent of contraband drugs. The pair were complete opposites and that was what made them such good friends. After over a decade of friendship, Joey Perez was not surprised this was what Uma would hyperfixate on.
Uma’s Amma (Uma had always loved saying that, it rolled off her tongue in a way that was just so satisfying to her), the legend herself, had always been very open about telling her about how she came to be. Samira Mohan was not shy about the fact she’d used a sperm donor to give herself a child. She had wanted a baby after finishing her fellowship, quite badly actually, and she had taken things into her own hands.
And Uma Mohan took pride in that. Not every child could say they were as wanted as she was. It showed in both Samira Mohan’s words and actions.
Uma was born at the John Hopkins Hospital nine months after a successful round of intrauterine insemination using a vial of sperm bought from a sperm bank in Baltimore.
Her Auntie Vic, till this day, still likes to tell people she helped Samira bring Uma into the world via turkey baster, much to her Amma’s chagrin and the horror of everybody who had the pleasure of hearing Victoria Javadi’s very animated storytelling.
Little Uma used to find it absolutely hilarious when Victoria told that story, though the joke used to go over her head.
But Uma wasn’t a complete ignoramus as a child though. She knew where babies came from.
When she was seven years old, her Amma found her perusing through her old, very colorfully annotated copy of Langman’s Clinical Embryology (a book Samira hadn’t opened up since she was expecting Uma) while waiting for her mother to come home after she got caught up in an unexpected mass casualty incident.
Her poor baby-sitter Anushka—who was now a medical student, by the way. She was currently doing her emergency medicine rotations with Samira at the hospital nowadays— apologized to Samira profusely. She genuinely had not noticed that Uma had picked the lock of her study’s door and had gone through her books while the poor 16 year old was trying to heat the little girl up some dinner.
Samira’s reply was letting out a disbelieving little chuckle. Of course. Uma just did things like that when she was in a very decided mood.
She did apologize to Anushka, though. Reassured the girl that she was not in trouble and would continue to be employed as long as Uma needed a babysitter.
Later, the teenager was sent home, picked up by her own mother to whom Samira apologized to for the stress Uma had caused. Dr. Sharma, Anushka’s mother and a trauma surgery attending who worked quite closely with Samira, had only laughed in the driver’s seat, quite used to hearing about Uma’s antics, before driving a mortified Anushka home.
The mother and daughter later sat at the dinner table, Samira pulling out the embryology text book to explain to her seven year old what she’d seen in her mother’s old textbook. She did not sugar coat it–Uma would’ve called her out on it honestly and told her the discussion was quite boring if that was the case–but she did try her best to word it as seven year old friendly as she could.
That night was surely unforgettable.
Uma did eventually understand the whole process of her own conception and how she was brought into the world by the time she was twelve. She remembers that specific day to be one of the worst days of her life.
It happened on a Friday afternoon, because ballet for her was always scheduled on Wednesdays and Fridays.
They were in the middle of Grand Allegro, an excerpt from Minkus’ Don Quixote being played on the piano as the adolescent group of dancers prepared to chassé across the floor.
The ever observant Joey stopped right in her tracks, staring right at Uma’s behind with the absolute subtlety of a thirteen year old girl—almond eyes so wide Uma was they’d pop right out of her eye sockets.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” a then 12 year old Uma gritted out, whipping her head to Joey, hands ready in bras bas, pointe shoes in fifth position, ready to Grand Jéte into her favorite part of ballet class. “Joana, we’re up next, please be serious.”
She got no answer. Joey just stared at her once again in absolute horror, puzzling Uma even more. If something was wrong, why couldn’t Joey just say it? Uma didn’t mind. If there was something wrong with her, she would’ve wanted her best friend to call her out before anybody else did.
It wasn’t until their literal teacher pulled her aside that she realized what was actually going on.
Joana had gone ahead with the grand allegro combination paired up with another one of their classmates while Madame Guillem personally walked her out and brought her into the studio’s showers. Uma could feel the rest of the girls' eyes linger on her.
Uncharacteristically gentle, the usually icy instructor took Uma’s delicate, manicured hands into hers and squeezed tight. She looked at the young girl with absolute sincere concern in her eyes.
“Miss Mohan,” Madame Guillem started, taking a deep breath, preparing herself for the difficult conversation that was coming up next. “Did you not notice the blood stain on the back of your leotard?”
Poor little Uma stared at her ballet teacher dumbfounded. Blood stain on the back of her leotard? It concerned her more that she had stained her favorite powder pink Yumiko leotard, not that she probably had gotten her first period in the middle of ballet class.
“Blood stain?” Uma repeated, still confused. It showed in not just her words, but both her face and her body language. It was at moments like these that made people forget how smart she was and made them remember she was just a twelve year old who had been accelerated to eighth grade. “What do you mean? Am I bleeding? From where? Did a lot of it get on my leotard? This one’s my favorite.”
She could’ve gone on and on if her teacher hadn’t given her left hand another squeeze. Her adrenaline rushed brain, still ready to gallop across the dance studio, had not processed the fact that something had quite literally internally changed in her. It was not clicking with Uma that she had just experienced menarche and that her life was never ever going to be the same.
Madam Guillem took a deep breath before clutching Uma’s hands a bit tighter.
“Uma, my darling. You’ve just gotten your period.”
Poor Uma froze, her brain wrapping around her teacher’s words. She immediately slipped her hands out of Madame Guillem’s, quickly leaning onto the sink.
Everyone had just clicked to her now. And now that she was aware this was all happening, she started feeling everything. She could feel the ache in her lower belly–that specific ache most, if not all women felt during their time of the month–from her uterus contracting, her body slowly expelling her endometrium for the very first time in her twelve years of life.
It did not hurt as much as she thought it would. But it felt so wrong.
Of course this would happen to her. It was the most cliché scenario ever. Uma tried to hold herself up on the sink, but she went weak in the knees. She was unusually pale, skin clammy, eyes blinking rapidly, and her lips were pursed, as if she wanted to say more, but physically just couldn’t bring herself to find the words.
“Why won’t we get you changed, my dear? I’ll get you some pads and then we can call your mother to come get you.” Madam Guillem offered, turning into the mother-figure she had been to the twelve year old since she was a child. “Would that be alright?”
She just nodded, silent, still not having found the words to best fit the situation. But as she took a step towards the showers her knees wobbled. Suddenly, everything around was starting to get blurry. Her world quite literally started to spin. The slight dizziness that had manifested earlier after realizing what had just happened had gotten much worse.
Uma Mohan’s world was turning upside down in a literal and figurative sense.
The poor girl felt like she was either going to retch out all she ate for lunch or her light-headedness was going to get to her and she was going to fall flat on her face.
Her body chose the latter.
Uma later woke up on the bed of an exam room at Johns Hopkins Hospital’s emergency department (She recognizes the pale colored walls from being admitted here far too many times for comfort), drowsy on painkillers, her head absolutely killing her. She was in a hospital gown now too. The nurses had probably taken the liberty of changing her out of her blood-stained tights and leotard—god bless them. She also wasn’t sure if she was in a diaper or not. It sure felt like it. Another question for another time.
The sound of hospital machines beeping rang in her ears. Something was happening outside the room, as was usual in the ED. There was always something going on in the ED.
“Ouch.” Uma grumbled, clutching her throbbing forehead. Her fingers twitched at the feeling of stitching. Oh God. Did she fall flat on her face? In front of Madame Guillem? She moved her fingers lower down to her nose, checking to see if it was crooked. Thankfully it wasn’t.
“She’s finally awake.” a voice sighed, the relief in her voice very evident. “Thank fuck.”
Uma blinked, recognizing that voice almost immediately, but the pain killers were making her doubt herself. She rubbed at her eyes, blinking rapidly a few times to help clear her vision. The first thing she saw after her little fainting spell at the studio was her godmother, Victoria Javadi.
The only thing Uma could find herself saying back was, “Did I fall flat on my face? Where’s Madame Guillem? She probably saw me fall flat on my face. Jesus fucking Christ.”
The psychiatrist snorted, “Hello to you too, kutti (little one). I would usually call you out on your language, but your Amma’s not here and I can tolerate your cursing, unlike her. It’s nice to see you’re still you.”
She then added, “Oh, I talked too Madam Guillem. Sent her back to the studio. I’ll explain everything to your mother once she gets here.”
Uma’s eyes lit at the mention of her mother. Her head whipped around the room, looking for the person who she deemed missing from the current conversation. The only person she currently wanted.
“Where’s Amma?” She asked, mouth already starting to down-turn into a frown. “I want my Amma. Why isn’t she here?”
Thank God Victoria Javadi knew Uma Mohan very well. So well in fact that she also knew if Samira Mohan did not appear in the room in the next five minutes, Uma would start crying and Victoria would then have to use her Psychiatrist powers once again.
“They called the attendings to a staff meeting, babe.” Victoria tried explaining, as patient as could be. “She’s up there. Fifth floor. You know how our most beloved hospital director can get–”
Uma gave her godmother a quizzing, almost judging look. “But aren’t you an attending, Auntie Vic?”
Victoria sighed. This little fucking smart ass. “They called up the heads of departments, Umi.” she clarified. “I, thankfully, am not the head of Psych. God, I would kill myself actually.”
Uma just stared at her. Victoria didn’t know if the tween was judging her or not for what she’d just said. “Okay, don’t follow my example. Just–don’t kill yourself!”
The tween, now satisfied at having shaken Victoria up a little, had a thoughtful look on her face, as if she’d accepted the answer. But Victoria knew the truth. Uma was probably thinking of another question to ask her. Of course.
“Did they not page her?” Uma questioned. “It’s an emergency, Aunt Vic. It’s ME. I think she’d insist they let her come down from the staff meeting if they knew her daughter had been brought to the ER.”
Victoria Javadi–The great Dr. J herself–had been rendered speechless. She could think of no more answers for her goddaughter. So she just didn’t say anything back. Some people just knew where their limits were. Victoria was one of those people.
But Uma wasn’t wrong though. Samira Mohan would always come running if it was Uma.
God, she wished that stupid fucking meeting would end and Samira would float back down to the emergency room to answer her darling daughter’s questions herself. She loved Uma, but the girl had a mouth on her. She could go on and on and on with question after question if nobody stopped her.
Thankfully, the curtains slid open at just the right moment to reveal a frantic Samira Mohan, finally out from the staff meeting. Speak of the devil and she shall appear.
She had probably just finished quizzing the poor med students who were there when they brought Uma in. Dayshift’s junior attending, Doctor Tsai had probably also been questioned quite thoroughly, as he’d been the doctor to personally handle Uma at his own insistence.
(As much as Samira valued her medical students and interns, Tsai knew in his gut that their senior attending would rather have him stitch Uma’s forehead back up.)
“Amma!” Uma sniffed, reaching out for her mother. “Amma, I got my period! I fell flat on my face! And when I woke up, I realized they put me in a diaper when I was unconscious!”
Samira immediately sat down on the edge of her daughter’s hospital bed, cupping Uma’s face in her hands, assessing her from head to toe, immediately noticing the stitches at her hairline. Victoria had silently slipped out of the room, giving the mother and daughter some privacy. She had all the time in the world to explain everything to Samira later.
“Oh, Uma.” Samira cooed, pulling her daughter closer to her. Uma immediately curled into Samira’s embrace, burying her face into her mother’s chest, relishing in her warmth that she had so desperately been looking for.
The poor little girl was trying her best to make it seem like she had just missed her mother, trying so hard to be strong–but Samira knew she was terrified. The shaking and the tears that wet Samira’s scrubs gave Uma away. “I know, chellam (darling). I know. It’s all going to be okay. We’re going to figure this out. Together.”
Hearing that made Uma cry even harder in Samira’s arms. She’d forgotten all about the stained leotards and the cracked foreheads. Uma Mohan’s life had irrevocably changed (for the worst) and was going to continue to after this day. And Samira, as her mother, was going to try her best to help her child navigate this terrifying new phase of her life.
They had Uma stay for a little while longer. A consultation from Neuro was coming down to check on her and Samira was going to have to deal with Uma’s bills and call up their insurance company.
Aunt Vic of course found way back to her darling goddaughter in ED bearing Uma’s favorite snacks (some chips and a can of Coke) and reassurances that she’d be out of here in no time. Uma’s whole body lit up at the whisper of a proposition of a girls’ day with just herself and Aunt Vic.
The rest of the ER staff would also poke their heads into her room on multiple occasions under the guise of checking on the patient (a.k.a Uma). Uma had practically grown up in this ED and she was honestly such a regular fixture here that everybody knew her name (except for the occasional new arrival). They were all worried when she was brought in and they showed their concern by making her stay as comfortable as possible.
Their charge nurse, who Uma called ‘Tita (aunt) Kathleen’ at the older woman’s request, had personally come in to explain to Uma that they had changed her stained underwear while she was unconscious to a pair of mesh ones with a longer pad, hence the diaper-like feeling. Tita Kathleen also came with promises of making her banana pudding, which made the girl feel a lot better.
Anushka, now an intern here, and the rest of the other newer residents who Uma still wasn’t quite familiar with, had snuck her in a few chocolate bars, KitKats specifically, because Anushka remembered her enjoying them so much as a little girl.
Lastly, of course Doctor Tsai had discharged Uma himself (well he was kinda required to) and promised her that the stitches would fade in no time (after three weeks, realistically) and that there wouldn’t be visible scarring because he was just that good, making Uma snort and give him the tightest hug.
“Thanks, Doctor Tsai.” She said, muffled from the hug. “I’ll still be pretty thanks to you.”
Tsai, first name Matthew, let out a laugh before returning the hug, much to Uma’s surprise. He didn’t seem like the most physically affectionate person. He was quite nonchalant actually. And in the four years that Uma had known him, he seemed more like a person who would do nice things for you if he really liked you. For example, he always got her gifts for Christmas and her birthdays. And he helped Samira look for the whole collection of Babysitter’s Club books after she’d off-handedly mentioned Uma wanting them two years ago.
“It really isn’t a big deal, kiddo. It’s kinda my job.” He shrugged, very nonchalant.
Samira, stood at the door with her arms crossed, silently watching her daughter and co-attending’s interaction, had a wry smile on her face, rolling her eyes. “Just take the goddamn compliment, Tsai.”
Matthew sighed, playfully narrowing his eyes at Samira before turning back to Uma. “You’re very welcome, Miss Mohan. I am very glad my services have benefited you greatly.” He tells her , making her giggle, before making his way out of the room.
(He would later get a long thank you text and some doordashed Thai food from Samira.)
Later that evening, once the two Mohan girls found themselves back in the Baltimore townhouse–Tootsie barking up a storm the moment they stepped foot in the house–Uma’s shoulders finally relaxed. A long silence followed.
Uma found herself on the couch. She’d flopped onto it the moment it came into close proximity. She was currently mindlessly scrolling through channels.
Samira, on the other hand, immediately made her way to the kitchen.
She needed a bit of privacy to first of all, schedule a much needed—especially after today—therapy session. The mother and daughter were very much open with each other, but Samira had tried her absolute best to never ever burden the heavier emotions she felt onto her child.
According to Uma’s therapist’s observations, they had a very healthy relationship, and that was certainly an ego boost to Samira. Especially after everything that went down between she and her own mother. Samira did not want to ruin what she had with her girl. She had a therapist for a reason. She did not want Uma worrying about her even more, not after the overwhelming day the girl had already had.
(For those curious, Uma had bi-monthly scheduled therapy sessions. Her first one of the month was at the end of the week, hence Samira not booking one for her child.)
Second was to get her and Uma some dinner. Uma usually loved to cook for both of them. She beat Samira in the cooking skills department. It had always been more of a game to her than a chore. But Samira liked to assume that one would just like to relax after getting her period in public, fainting, cracking her forehead open, and then landing herself in the ER–so she ordered enough food to probably feed a family of 6 from their favorite local Indian place.
And lastly, to take a fucking breather. She needed to clear her mind and calm herself down because tonight was the night she would be giving Uma an extended version of the dreaded talk.
Samira Mohan had always made sure that Uma Mohan knew what being a woman and having a body like theirs was like and what it entailed. Uma (as previously mentioned) had pretty much sleuthed her way into learning about how babies were made, Samira later explaining it to her in a little more detail once she actually started learning about it at school.
But now it was a totally different thing. The changes in the female body Samira and Uma had discussed all those years ago were currently happening to Uma’s body. But learning about something and experiencing it first hand were two very different things. Getting one’s first period was bound to happen for an adolescent girl eventually. It was inevitable. Samira of course knew this–but she just wishes Uma had more time.
(She also wishes she herself had more time to prepare herself for the talk she was going to give Uma later. )
Samira had spent Uma’s whole life preparing for this very day, but even now she still didn’t feel even remotely ready for it. Her whole body felt heavy, like an extra weight had been added to her shoulders. Her face was contorted into an expression that could only be described as one of worry–she rubbed her temples with her fingers, attempting to self-soothe, but nothing seemed to be working now. Samira was going to have to take a paracetamol before dinner or else she wouldn’t be able to mask the stress on her face.
Tonight, dinner at the Mohan house was eaten in partial silence. Partially because Tootsie barked whenever she felt neglected (which was when her girls stopped dropping down pieces of chicken to the floor for her to eat) and there was also the occasional request to pass a napkin or for some more water, but aside from that Samira and Uma were quiet. Incredibly out of character for the mother and daughter so close they could make a conversation topic about literally anything under the sun.
Another reason Samira ordered out was that she just knew Uma wouldn’t be in the mood to do the dishes, which usually was her assigned chore. Who would want to do dishes after the shitshow of a day she just had?
“Go shower.” Samira murmured, breaking the silence. She kissed the top of Uma’s head whilst taking the disposable containers and cutlery from in front of her. Uma—who had made a habit of cleaning the table and putting away the dishes every after they finished dinner—stared up at her mother, mouth slightly agape, very much taken aback by her actions. “I’ll clean up.”
Uma wanted to argue. “But Amma.” she started. “It’s my job to clean up after dinner. You’ve had a long day–”
Samira merely smiled back at her from the sink as she washed the lunchboxes and tumblers the both of them used at school and work respectively. “You’ve had an even longer one.” she retorted back, tone leaving no room for argument. “Go take a nice, warm shower. Then once you’re done, come back down so we can talk. Okay?”
The younger Mohan’s head tilted in curiosity. Her face was scrunched up oh so slightly into an expression of somebody overthinking a statement–eyebrows pressed together, a slight pout on her lips–which Uma currently was doing internally. “Okay?” she agreed, hesitance in her voice. “What are you gonna talk to me about, Amma? Why don’t you just tell me now?”
Stubborn, Samira thought, shaking her head and smiling as she rinsed the dish soap off their tupperwares. She thankfully was not facing Uma, or her girl would’ve gotten very upset (and when she got upset, she started getting whiny) that her mouth was laughing at her “suffering” (in Uma’s words).
“Just go shower, Uma.” Samira insisted, a half smile written on her lips whilst she leaned on the sink with a hand on her hips. “I’ll tell you all about it once you’re done showering. Now go.”
Uma, much to Samira’s surprise, listened and went upstairs to their bathroom to shower. A miracle.
But she froze once she reached the top of the stairs. Samira from the sink raised an eyebrow, her face starting to etch with concern. “You okay, Uma-kutti?” Samira asked, looking up at her beloved child.
Uma shook her head, not looking her mother in the eyes.
“Amma…” Uma mumbled, looking down at the floorboards shyly. “I don’t know how to put a pad on properly…”
Oh. Samira thought, mind clearing, a smile returning on her face. She had the warmest and most loving expression on her face. So obviously full of love for this child, even if she left her exasperated and at a loss for words half the time. Of course she doesn’t know how to put on a pad properly.
“You want me to come help, baby?” Samira offered softly, voice ever so soft as she wiped her hands dry.
Uma gave a small, timid nod, as if asking her own mother for help was something to be shy about. God, of course Samira wanted to help. Uma was growing up faster than Samira wanted her to and was becoming more and more independent every day. As much as she wanted to insert herself and interfere with Uma’s life, she actively stopped herself nowadays, requiring an immense amount of self control.
But this just made her chest hurt. No more how big or how tall or how smart Uma got, she would always need her Amma.
And Samira would —for as long as she is able to do so—come if Uma so much as vaguely hinted that she wanted her Amma by her side..
“Alright, chellam.” Samira hummed, making her way towards her daughter. Uma immediately relaxed. “I’ll teach you. You don’t have to worry at all. I’m actually a bit of an expert at these things, seeing as I’ve had a menstrual cycle for the past three decades.”
She made an expression of mixed disbelief and disgust after that, looking bad at all the years she’d gotten her period. That made Uma giggle. The girl raised an eyebrow at her mother as the older woman ascended the stairs, “But aren’t you menopausal, Amma?”
That made Samira stop in her tracks, “Excuse you, young lady!” she gasped, placing a hand to chest in mock offense. She did not know whether she was going to laugh or genuinely start feeling offended. “I am not menopausal!”
Uma snickered, “Perimenopausal, probably.”
Samira scoffed, but internally she was just happy Uma was distracted from the stress of getting one’s first period. Even if it came at the expense of the status of her reproductive system. (Uma was correct about the fact that Samira was perimenopausal, though. She was 46 years old. The hot flashes and mood swings she got were horrible. This predicament she found herself in wasn’t one of her choosing).
“I thought I was supposed to be teaching you how to put on a pad properly, Uma Victoria Mohan.” she said, raising an eyebrow and redirecting the conversation, not wanting to talk about the current state of her uterus anymore. She was now atop the stairs. “Let’s talk about all this menopause and period stuff after you finish showering, capisce?”
The twelve year old now had the cheekiest smile on her face. There she is, Samira thought to herself as her own smile grew wider unconsciously. “Capisce, Amma.” Uma agreed. “We’ll talk about it later. I’ll hold you to it.”
Samira Mohan, who had seen the worst of things working as an Emergency Medicine Doctor, found herself completely disarmed by this twelve year old with a smart mouth and an even bigger personality to go with it.
Tonight was going to be a long night.