How to Be an American Housewife - Margaret Dilloway [51]
“No bother you?” I asked.
Charlie dabbed at the spit-up on Mike’s chin. “Of course it bothers me. But I knew you had boyfriends before me. I knew about your other Americans. But I can’t do anything about it now. What is it you say, tokidoki?”
I nodded.
“So let’s not talk about it anymore.” Charlie stood.
“How can do this?” I still couldn’t understand.
Charlie squished his eyes closed. He spoke next in a low, authoritative voice, the sort I had not heard him use. “I never want to hear about it again, do you understand?”
I drew in my breath and nodded. “Yes. Never.”
Mike began crying. “Come on, big guy. Time for bed.” Charlie hummed a lullaby, carrying him out of the room.
I exhaled. How lucky I was.
DR. CUNNINGHAM KEPT SAYING, “We’ll see, we’ll see,” whenever I asked him about the surgery. This morning when he came in, saying, “Knock, knock,” before he entered, as he always did, I asked him if I was too old to have the operation.
“It’s not that,” he said, hesitantly. “If we can get your blood pressure up, we’ll be fine.”
Always “we,” as if we were a team that could control my body. “How about monkey heart?” I asked.
He grinned, but I wasn’t kidding. “We’ll do our best, Shoko, that much I can promise.” Then he touched my foot. “I’ll get you another blanket. You’re freezing.” He always said this. Although I always felt fine.
“I been here a week,” I said, pouting. “When I get out?”
“We’re moving you to Navajo Hospital,” Dr. Cunningham said. “They have a special cardiology unit.”
Charlie looked concerned. “Does the military insurance cover that?”
“You bet, if we order it.” Dr. Cunningham frowned at Charlie, as though he thought Charlie would want to pay no matter what. But you never knew which benefits the government would cut, even though Charlie wouldn’t have stayed in the damn military for over twenty years if he hadn’t been promised so much when he retired.
I sighed. “You better tell everybody.” I looked up at Dr. Cunningham’s concerned, handsome face. At least Sue would get to meet him. I pulled the covers up to my chin and smiled despite myself.
AT NAVAJO, my new cardiologist was Dr. Jenkins, a thin man in his sixties whose bald head shone.
“If I him,” I said to Charlie, “I wear wig. Easter egg head.”
Charlie laughed so hard he snorted. This made me laugh.
Dr. Jenkins came in, looking at his notes. “As soon as the blood pressure is stabilized,” he said to the machine behind me, “we can get moving on the procedure.”
“Who you talking to, the wall?” I said. Charlie had told me lots of good doctors had horrible manners, but I didn’t care. “You going do it or what? No can wait forever.”
“Dr. Su performs this particular procedure.” Dr. Jenkins finally managed to lower his gaze to mine. His eyes were brown and tired.
I held out my hands. “Where Dr. Su?”
“When you’re a suitable candidate, he will see you.” Dr. Jenkins turned on his heel to go.
Charlie picked up my hand from where it lay limp on the scratchy white bedsheets. I turned it over and showed him my palm.
“Look here. Life line going away.” To me it appeared to be fading, smoothing out.
He pursed his lips and said nothing.
“What, don’t you think I be okay?”
“Yeah.”
I took my hand back. “Help up. I wanna go bathroom.”
“I’ll get the bedpan.”
I shook my head. I would have to prove to them I could handle the surgery or they’d give up on me, saying my blood pressure wasn’t good enough or I was too weak. I could see it happening already. Transfer her there. Give her to this doctor. Wait and wait some more. They wanted to let me die.
“My feet not so swollen. Come on.”
Charlie unhooked me from the monitors and put his arm around me. I swung my legs out of bed. His feet slipped a bit.
“Careful,” I said.
“You’re too weak,” he said, out of breath, losing his grip. I started to fall and gripped the metal bed rail.
He caught me. “Sorry.”
“Watch what doing.” Slowly, carting the IV bag, we made it to the bathroom. He helped me raise my gown and sit on