The doctor posted X-rays on the illuminated light box hanging on the wall and showed me and my mother that, thankfully and impressively, she had not even so much as a hairline fracture. He then stepped over to the head of the bed, and my mother gazed at him dreamily. I suspect she imagined this young doctor was my father, or more likely my father sixty years ago when they first met. The attending physician pointed out that the skin on her face was already mutating into shades of yellow, green, and purple from taking the brunt of the fall, and that the emerging rainbow was to be expected.
Unfortunately, by the time my mother was released from the hospital the next day, she had no memory of falling, the ambulance ride, or why she was there being tended to by a rotating shift of medical professionals. I explained to her numerous times what had happened, only for her to ask again each time she looked into the mirror. Immense distress overcame my mother when she examined the oversize goose egg on her forehead and the fifty shades of bruising. Touching the darkest parts of her injury, my mother fretted, loudly, over what her friends would think at next week’s bridge game. To save my mother from having to answer imaginary questions from real friends, I decorated a note card with feathers and cheap rhinestones and pinned it to her shirt. The note said, “I fell. I’m fine. Don’t ask questions.” The statement and the faux bling seemed to quell her anxiety.
“Callie,” Nurse Patty calls. I give a shy wave and stand up to follow her. No reason to answer Thomas’s one-sentence concern now. Or ever.
“Save the paper.” I point to the plexiglass leaflet holders next to the door. “I already have copies of your color-coded advice taped to my fridge,” I inform Patty as I easily mount the adjustable table. I notice how nimbly I did that and am struck with pride that there is a spring in my legs I wasn’t expecting.
“That’s great.” Patty beams. “You have no idea how many of those I find in the lobby trash.”Oh, yes, I do, Pushy Patty,I think to myself.
“Looky there,” Patty singsongs, loosening the skin-pinching cuff from my arm. “Your blood pressure is down significantly. We love to see that.”
“I aim to please others, always,” I trill back to match Nurse Patty’s chipper tone.
“Well, youshouldbe pleased with yourself. You have also dropped some weight, and I’m going to guess that your blood panels will show improvement as well.” I search the room from my paper-covered perch, looking for a basket of stickers or a treasure chest to choose a prize from, like there was when I took the boys to the pediatrician. I want hard evidence that I am a star patient, or at the very least, an improving one.
“Good morning, Callie,” Dr. Kwan greets me, breezing into the room with an authority I haven’t exuded since running the newsroom at theDaily Princetonian.
“How much?” I blurt, bypassing her salutation.
Dr. Kwan looks at me, confused. Patty taps the iPad with her index finger.
“Twelve pounds.” Dr. Kwan grins at me, drying her hands after a good scrub in the sterile sink.
“That’s it?” I yelp. In six months of rushing to the bathroom hourly to pee from consuming so much water; breathing deeply and intentionally when I’m paused at a stoplight; popping iron, Omega three, probiotics, D3, B12, magnesium and turmeric supplements like Skittles; and getting at least eight hours of sleep because I now go tobed at nine, shaving the weight of one of the smallest dumbbells at the gym is all I have to show for it? And then there is the running I was medically bullied into.
I want to tell Dr. Kwan she’s the one who made me start running and that I absolutely hate it, but damn it, I can’t. If Dr. Kwan hadn’t suggested the horrid hobby, I would not have gotten to know Daphne, the woman who holds my mother’s care in her hands, as the full and complete person she is outside of Mercy Community Care. Then there’s Maureen, the sweetest cheerleader for pushing through life a person ever wanted to punch. And Chap. While I’m still working out what he’s seeking, considering all the possible options has provided me endless entertainment with Lisa on my couch and Quinn on the phone. But all this effort and living outside my norm for only twelve pounds? I struggle to find the worth in it.
“It’s not only the pounds, Callie. It’s all the benefits that go along with that.”
“But I keep a gratitude journal now!” I ignore Dr. Kwan’s reasonable statement. “I write in it every day! Do you know how irritating it is to be grateful every day?”
“Well, that is progress, Callie.” Dr. Kwan winks at me, not taking the bait to join me in calling all the changes I’ve made by their real name: bullshit. “I hope you write that you’re finally putting your health and happiness first.”
See? Jesus. I haven’t even been doing the list right!
“And it’s awesome that you’ve picked up running. I bet that is bringing some newfound energy into your life.”
I narrow my eyes skeptically at Dr. Kwan. How does she know I wasn’t living my best life up until she ruined my soft existence, and worse, added sweating? “Good guess,” I flatly respond, wondering how she knows I run. Is she driving around spying on me? I thought that was something only concierge doctors do.
“Your worn sneakers gave it away,” Dr. Kwan answers, pointing at the plastic seat, surprising me by responding to the question I was thinking.
I look over at the chair pushed against the wall where my shoes sit atop my bunched-up running tights and long-sleeve T-shirt. I have a few errands before meeting Maureen and Daphne for a run.
“What more can I do? And please don’t say put protein powder in my smoothies. I already do that,” I whine to Dr. Kwan. I’m fixated on the fact that I have only lost twelve pounds and I am seeing Thomas for the first time since he left last spring in exactly a month.
Dr. Kwan takes my hands in hers. Her grip feels full of support and like we are in this thing calledmy lifetogether. “Callie, you do not need to do more; you just need to continue doing more of the same, because consistency is key when playing the healthy-habits long game. Look at yourself.” Dr. Kwan drops my hands, reaches to the counter to pick up a handheld mirror, and holds it up to my face.
“When you came in here six months ago, you looked exhausted. Worn. And I’m sorry, but a little lifeless.” If this is a pep talk, she sucks at it. “Now look at yourself.”
I do as she says. I look at myself. Which, if I’m being honest, I rarely do at home. I use mirrors as punishment and live in gut-coiling judgment of what I see staring back at me. I’m shaking a little.
“Your skin is full and glowing.” Her use of the wordfullfeels a bit backhanded, but there is a natural flush to my cheeks and I don’t have a stitch of makeup on. “You’re sitting up straight, holding your head high. Last time I saw you, you were in here folded in on yourself, kinda making your presence smaller, trying to disappear rather than take up space. Sound familiar?”
Maybe Dr. Kwan is a little more observant than I had given her credit for. I add to her notice of my posture: “I think I actually have some abs now to hold myself up.” Then I cringe at my lame attempt to compliment myself.
“Better ab strength and maybe a better outlook.” Dr. Kwan challenges me to admit that my improvements are not only physical but also mental.
“It’s going to be fun to see the changes in your blood work.”
