#john garfinkel

'Sasha's dad is like the nicest guy ever, but he still had to yell at a doctor today because they were too busy to give Sasha the oxygen mask he needed. I get that we're just supposed to be the loved ones and they're supposed to be the doctors, but it's really frustrating when doctors won't do their jobs.' 'They're very busy,' Dad says. 'I am so tired of that excuse. Were they very busy when they were told me for a year that nothing was wrong with me? No, they were lazy, and they were writing me off because of assumptions they made about me based on my age and my gender and probably my religion.And a lot of those things apply to Sasha, too, and they apply to every single person here, and I'm not saying all doctors are bad; I'm just saying...why do you guys keep acting so *** bad? We're really frustrated, and we get to be, because you treat us like we're lying, all the time, like I'm trying to get high off you running another blood test or some ***. It's ridiculous. They can't stand being wrong, because it threatens their egos, so they just keep insisting they're right even when they know they screwed up, because they know there's nothing you can do about it.' 'Well, hang on--' 'No,' I say. 'You guys are messing up a lot of people, and that's just what it comes down to, and I am sick of having to worship doctors when all they do is tell me I'm okay when I tell them I feel terrible and tell me to lose weight and sign a prescription pad, and they won't give my boyfriend a *** oxygen mask. You want us to do our jobs as loved ones, or as patients? You have to do your jobs so we don't *** have to do them for you.'

'Y'know, one thing I've noticed is when people get some kind of crisis like this, they tend to think they need to turn into a special crisis version of themselves. Someone who's more capable, more logical, more serious.' 'And then they wear themselves out,' I say. I've heard this lesson before. 'Well, that,' he says. 'And also, it's not who the people in the crisis want.' 'Hmm.' He says, 'When something bad happens, you want the people who love you to be around you, and you want them to be acting like themselves, to be familiar, to be all the beautiful and strange things that are the reason that they're in your life. It doesn't really make sense to not act like yourself when something's wrong with someone who loves you, because probably the only thing they really want is the people that make them happy every day. You have to be the same person to remind them that they're still the same person.'

'It just feels like there's nothing I can do that's right. I feel bad right now that I'm not with him, but I also feel stupid that I've been sitting there mostly just watching him sleep all day. I don't know what I'm doing. And you'd think that since I volunteer here I would have some idea, but...' 'It's different,' my dad says. 'When it's someone you care about, it's different.'

'That's my girl. So glad the tests were good! I knew they would be. I love you.' 'Love you, too.' I get to the Ditmars subway station, or, at least, to the stairs in front of it, and look up at the people rushing up and down the metal steps. My phone is still in my hand, and I duck underneath the elevated tracks and call Sasha. 'My test results were really good,' I say. 'Everything came back normal.' He sighs. 'Well, that's really frustrating.' And just like that, I'm crying. 'Y-yeah. It is.' 'Deep breaths, honey. I'm here.' I look up at the train and stick my arm in the air for a cab.

'Sed rate was normal. CRP was fine.' 'Munchin, that's great!' 'He told me if my knees keep hurting I should try losing weight.' 'Want me to come over there and beat him up?' I laugh a little. 'It's fine.'

I can’t tell if he’s honestly confused or if he’s playing dumb. I can’t read him. I know my dad doesn’t think of me as a sick person. Why should he? I’m out living life. I’m not coughing up blood or fainting. He’d acknowledge that I have pain, sure, but sick? Sick is a whole different thing. When he reads my column, he skips any mention of Sick Girl. HE doesn’t get it, so he pretends it doesn’t exist, and we don’t talk about it anymore. And the thing is, it’s good. That he doesn’t think that of me. He’s’ a doctor, so there’s always a risk that he’d look at me and see me as a diagnosis instead of a person, and he doesn’t. He sees his daughter. He thinks I’m strong and don’t need to be insulated because I have a condition. And he spends his whole day around sick people, so he knows what sick looks like, so it’s not as if his option isn’t valid here. It’s just as valid as mine, and he doesn’t think I’m sick. It’s a good thing. But it puts me in a very awkward position if I ever accidentally say I’m sick in front of him.

‘What’s he like?’ He jokes about everything, and his hair is like ink, and he sleeps a lot, and his wrists are skinny, and his eyes disappear when he smiles. ‘He’s nice.’ ‘Is he sick?’ I find the necklace and work on the clasp. ‘I don’t know how to answer that.’ ‘I’m just looking out for you, Ibby. You know that.’ ‘He’s not going to drop dead in the middle of our…whatever.’ ‘Date.’ ‘It’s not a date.’ He sighs. ‘I knew this day would come. I knew having a daughter who didn’t date was too good to be true.’ ‘We’re just hanging out,’ I say. ‘It would be nice to have a friend who’s…’ ‘A boy,’ he says. ‘No. Who’s like me.’