Asymmetry

Stranded in Parallel [Chapter 1]

Have you ever imagined living another life? Like, growing up in a different town, state, a whole other country, even? Maybe a world completely different than this one? Some people probably have imagined being a different person entirely, one without the problems they currently have. I think you’d just end up with brand-new problems, no matter who you were. Everyone has problems.

Like, I get sick a lot. More than other people. I probably spent more days out of school than in it. My last three years at Middle School, I’ve been a little bit better, but I still get sick more than my fair share of the time. So that’s my problem.

My mom’s problem is that she has to worry about me being sick. And when she worries, she lets stuff not get done. When she gets less done, my dad then has to worry about picking up the slack on top of all the work he normally does. My mom and dad would probably say otherwise, but all of my family’s problems and worries are probably my fault.

If I could be someone else, I would be someone who gets sick less. My mom probably wished she were someone who didn’t give birth to someone so sickly like me. My dad probably just wished that he had married someone else, or that he could have settled down somewhere else and had an entirely different life. I think that’s what he decided to seek out after that day.

My parents didn’t really fight, but because of the stuff I said before, they weren’t good at working together either. At least until it came to me. I had missed almost an entire trimester of school at that point and generally felt like garbage, unable to leave the house. They both agreed something needed to change. Along came a new doctor, new tests, and new questions needing to be asked. And it seemed like things had finally been figured out. Which is when things went downhill.

I actually don’t know what was worse: all the annoying tests, or my parents’ reaction to their results. Mom curled up and cried with me on the couch when we got back from the doctor’s office that day. I don’t think I cried then. I didn’t understand it yet. I had heard the word diagnosis so many times before that it didn’t even seem like a word anymore. Dad came home early from work after getting the call from my mom. He leaned down and hugged me and held me on my other side. He didn’t cry. He eventually sat back in his chair across from us and stared at the floor with his hands intertwined.

“The doctors said that this is treatable, Natalie,” said my mom between sniffles, her chin draped over my shoulder. “We’re going to do what they say and get you all better.”

Dad spoke up a little while later. “And what do they say to do?”

Mom pulled herself away from me and pulled the stack of papers out of her purse. They had been crumpled and rolled up to fit inside. “Grand Forks has a care facility they said. The doctor set us up with a… what was it?”

“A consultation?”

“Yeah, that’s it. A consultation. Next week.”

Dad nodded. “They can’t do anything at the hospital here?”

Mom clicked her tongue. “It needs a… specialist. Just to go over the test results and confirm the… diagnosis. Yeah. Don’t worry, they’ve already said the hospital there will accept the tribal insurance.”

“I figured so. But Grand Forks is a long drive.”

Mom clicked her tongue. “We’ve driven up that way before.”

Dad shrugged. “I’ve driven us up that way. It is just the interstate most of the way but… do you know how to get to the hospital there?”

“I’ll print something off the computer. Natalie can read off the directions.”

“If she’s feeling up to it,” Dad said, letting his eyes wander to me.

“We can leave early just in case. We’ll just have to pull you out of school that day, hon,” said Mom, stroking my hair before finally letting me go.

“That wouldn’t be any different than usual,” I muttered. Freed from my mom’s unrelenting grasp, I was able to sit up and hug my knees there beside her on the couch.

Dad sighed. “I’ll trust you with that, then. I’ll fill up your tank on Monday morning before I go to work. Not many places to stop between here and there.”

Mom nodded. “Doctor Lansa said that there are a few more tests… some monitoring… before they can move onto a treatment plan.”

Dad huffed lowly. “How often does that need to happen?”

“I think they said… I don’t know. Once a week? Maybe every two? Depending on what they find out, we might be up to Grand Forks a few times a month… before this evens out.”

Dad nodded and swallowed. “You should take the truck. This first trip, at least.”

“Huh. What? Why? Don’t you need it for your work? All your tools?”

Dad shrugged. “It’s less likely to break down. That’s four hours round-trip from here to Grand Forks. I’ll make sure your car gets looked at before next time.”

“Yeah, but…”

“I’ll figure out something with my tools.”

Dad stood up after that, which meant he didn’t want to discuss it anymore. That tactic always worked with Mom. He shifted off in the direction of the front door. We saw him shortly after through the front window, out on the driveway, pacing around his truck and looking up and down the bed at his toolboxes.

Mom sucked in a long breath before standing. “Well, might as well get a start on dinner.”

I stood up after her. “I’ll help.”

“No,” she almost huffed. I had never heard her turn down my help except when I was bedridden. “Uh, just relax. It’s been a long day. Getting blood drawn, standing in front of scanners and stuff. Your body needs all the rest it can get during this sort of thing.”

---

Next Wednesday, I skipped school and took the drive with my mom. Dad’s truck didn’t have a working radio. It creaked and rattled. It was dirty too. Well-used. The seats and doors, and floor mats were coated with old mud and oil. It kind of smelled like smoke, too, even though Dad had said he had quit. All that aside, he had insisted it was more likely to make it than my mom’s little sedan.

After that, I just remember waiting. Waiting for the city to come into view. Waiting in the clinic’s lobby, where other sick people waited, wondering if they were better or worse than the others there. Waiting in the exam room, atop the table lined with crinkling paper. Waiting with held breath for more of my blood to be drawn as rubbing alcohol wafted up into my nostrils. Waiting more while people fumbled around outside the door, doing what they needed to do with that blood of mine.

An actual doctor eventually came. He was a native man like me and my mom. He sat down on his stool, a small stack of papers balanced between his hands. “Good morning, or should I say, afternoon,” he said, smiling at the wall clock, me, then my mom. “Natalie Howakhan, I presume? Test results are good. Basically, what your family doctor back at home told us. I imagine you were sick a lot when you were younger. Well, we might be on top of the cause here. Now, plain and simple… and you might have been told this already, but medical science currently doesn’t have a cure. But that doesn’t mean we can’t keep up with this thing and keep your quality of life as it is. A diagnosis like this, especially for someone your age, might make it seem like the world is ending, but I can assure you it is not.”

I hadn’t thought about it as my world ending thus far, but the thought came to my mind in that moment. Even so, it was just another diagnosis. After all, I couldn’t do much besides sit there and listen. Listen while the doctor explained what needed to happen. Listen while mom jotted down endless notes on the pad against her knee, pen scribbling and paper flipping.

Those notes ended up in my hands after the doctor left and we departed the exam room. We waited more, talking to the nice lady in her blue-green nurse outfit with tied-back hair while we scheduled the first of many further appointments. It was luckily after school got out for the summer, not that it mattered.

My mom and I didn’t waste any time turning back for the long drive home. I looked at the front page of notes my mom had written down. I could barely read them. Part of that was how fast they were scribbled down, the other part just being Mom’s handwriting.

“We can get the supplements they told us about back at the drugstore near home. And to see if they have a face mask, like doctors and surgeons wear. It will look funny, but you have to wear it. You can just tell people… well, I don’t know what to tell people, but they’ll understand. We can ask your dad for a few comebacks for any bullies that want to make comments…”

I zoned out as my Mom’s suggestions became less and less helpful. The next thing I remember was being shaken awake, my cheek glued to the seatbelt, and the view of our front yard outside the car window.

Dad was at home already, and he greeted us at the front door. “Drive okay?”

Mom nodded. “No problems. I’m… going to get washed up and get dinner on.”

Dad sighed and nodded. “I’m going to sort some of my tools down at the shop. Don’t wait up for me if I’m late. You, too, kiddo. I hope they can get you feeling better.”

He stroked the top of my head as he passed me and my mom out the door. And that’s the last time we saw him.