Joan Is Okay(23)

My sister-in-law was a committed shopper and knower of name brands. Her only policy for herself was to never buy anything on sale or visit outlet malls where crowds of Asian women gathered, looking for deals. If you couldn’t afford luxury products at full price, Tami believed, you shouldn’t be buying them at all. But sometimes I wondered if in steering herself away from one stereotype, she’d steered herself straight into another.

My mother added that not only did all women like to shop, but they liked to shop together.

I couldn’t say that I agreed.

Well, have you ever tried? Have you asked Tami to take you with her?

The only time I’d gone with her into a store, we were quickly and immediately ushered into a private room. When I asked what kind of place was this, both Tami and the salesclerk blinked at me: You’ve never been inside a Tiffany’s? Who’s Tiffany? I’d asked, and neither of them seemed to know or care. We were in that private room for the better half of a day, admiring shiny pieces on velvet trays, while mannequin-like men in black suits kept bringing us champagne.

And you didn’t like that? my mother asked. Drinking free champagne at a jewelry store?

I said I didn’t like jewelry. The champagne was all right.

My mother said nothing. There was just silence on the other end. We moved on and spoke about something else.

But I could tell that she was disturbed or at least put off, and after we counted to three and hung up, I went outside for a quick walk. I strolled along Morningside Drive and to the hospital, where out in front were two calm nurses smoking on a bench next to an ambulance that had driven up the curb.

A man, biologically, has one X chromosome and one Y. A woman has two X. The X chromosome is much bigger than the Y, has more genes on it, more variations, etc. A woman is XX, a genetic fact that has always read to me like math. Let X be a random variable, an unknown. What’s X? I’d never felt particularly womanly nor did I seem to know what being one entailed. Did it require liking certain things? Shopping, jewelry, children. And if none of that interested you, was it like three strikes and you’re out? The Yankees had no women.

At the end of my walk, I remembered that I liked flowers. No sunflowers or roses, but dried flowers, wildflowers, ferns, and succulents. Hydrangeas especially, their petals, with the blue color seeming to lift off them as if evaporating into thin air. Chocolate of all kinds, from bittersweet baking blocks to chocolate-covered strawberries. But did liking both flowers and chocolate make the woman a woman, or did that make her a girl?



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COMING BACK FROM HIS own meeting with the director, Reese was in a bad mood. He went straight to the back of the office, to the refreshments station, where there was now a bin of foam stress balls thanks to another HR woman, but not the same ones who gave the seminars. Reese picked up three balls and started to juggle them in front of me.

My universal advice to patients is best to never know your doctors personally. Best never to hear them emote or confess their love for someone. At this point, I could never in good faith allow Reese to provide me care. I would never be able to sign the waiver.

From balls, he said while juggling, you can graduate to rings or clubs. In quick succession, he threw the three foam balls at me, none of which I caught as I was unprepared and he had aimed them mostly overhead.

You have to reach, Joan. You have to reach your arm out and catch, like so. He demonstrated, then he flexed. Now throw them back. Come on. Throw them back like I threw them to you.

Months ago, before my father died, Reese, out of the blue, asked Madeline and me if we thought he would make a good dad. She and I looked at each other to decide how we were going to handle this, and before we could respond, he said he thought he would. Which was why he wanted to become one, because he knew that he would do a good job of it once given the chance. Two tasks that he considered exceptionally fatherly were teaching the child how to ride a bike and teaching the child how to throw. Things his father had taught him that he was now ready to pass on. A nice moment in the office in which I knew Reese was being vulnerable and I didn’t want to ruin it by saying that my father taught me neither and that you could probably be a good enough dad without having to. Kids don’t really know any better and can be happy with very little.

Because Reese wasn’t my father, I declined throwing the stress balls back to him and placed them in a row on my desk.

He finally calmed down and sat, lacing his hands behind his head. He asked if I thought he made a good doctor, and it was a question that I didn’t want to answer anymore since I’d already answered it last year and the year before. The same answer being that he was neither the best nor the worst, which is where all of us were. Moving into a shared office has taught me that some people required more encouragement, water, and sun. Some people were just like plants.

Instead, I said Why, had the director reprimanded him?

No, not quite. But he hadn’t said anything positive.

No news is good news, I reminded him, and that excess praise could stunt a person.

For once, Reese was quiet and staring up at the ceiling, straight into the fluorescent lights. These lights were strong, and I feared that if he stared long enough, he would burn through his retina and blind himself like one of those tragic heroes, like Icarus.

Hey, Reese? Reese, look over here please.

Fun fact, he said, not looking over and continuing to blanch his eyeballs. I’m still a hundred thou in debt, accruing sixty dollars of interest a day. What I really need is a raise, and I’m happy about yours—the director brought it up, actually, kept mentioning your schedule this month and last as exemplary—but it’s not like I haven’t been working. I’ve worked all of my shifts, except for the one that we traded, that you didn’t want me to pay you back for. Outside of national holidays, when do I ever shirk duties? I don’t do nights because I need my sleep, and I’m far too senior to be working shifts reserved for newcomers or people who function well at night. After I explained all this to the director, he still didn’t seem too convinced. I said he could force me to work nights, but it truly wouldn’t be in the best interest of the patients. I’m not Joan, I said, nor do I try to be. I’m my own person and at peace with what works best for me. But should that mean that I go unrecognized? Does that mean I should keep getting passed over?