Nurse Barbie

“Well, you see…”

Her eyeliner was a smooth inky line with just enough smudging from a blurred tip to make her eyes look smoky and alluring. Her eyeshadow ascended from an earthy cinnamon to the tint of the sky nearest the sun at the beginning of sunset. Her black frames did nothing to hide the meticulous time and detail she spent on her makeup this morning. Perhaps her glasses were just for decoration- to make her look studious. Her pristine glossy finished bubble gum nails discredited the effect. Three dainty handpicked gold bracelets adorned her arm, well above the sleeves of the white lab coat over her scrubs.

I saw her blink and twirl her hands around as she spoke so I knew I could not be watching  model in a magazine ad. Perhaps what I was looking at was an actress portraying a character. In no part of my mind could I believe I was watching a doctor.

“… he is very sick,”

Whether it was the beginning, middle, or the end, she managed to  cram that phrase into each of her sentences like it was an excuse.

“…so that could be the cause.”

Of course, he was sick, That was why he was hospitalized. What were they doing about it? Why was he worse now than when he came in? Why would’t he wake up? What was wrong now? She did not answer any of our questions. All she knew how to say was “He’s very sick,” as if it was some sort of apology for her incompetence. A magical sentence that would fix all, or at least stop us from asking questions like “if the side effects were this drastic why was this the only option? Why was it okay for them to do this to him  and not know how to fix it, and not have a plan of action, and not even apologize for it? Why didn’t this live action barbie have the decency to look into my uncle’s condition with the same care it took her to get dressed this morning?  Or dare I say a little longer- or at all, so she could at least tell us why he was dying.

It was clear in his condition, and she couldn’t even tell us that. They sent her over to answer our questions and put us at ease, she failed in both respects just as she had clearly failed my uncle. She left us with the tart smile of an impatient superior mind talking to infants, with the smile of a student that thinks they were able to convince the teacher that she knew what she was talking about. She left us alone to lick our wounds and try to put our worlds back together as she went to perfect her messy bun. How does a world without a sun, an orbit, water, survive? How is a daughter to live without her father, a brother without his only brother, a niece without her happiest kindest uncle?

She left us to answer these questions ourselves.



Catption: My uncle Romould is in the center of the above photo with his sisters on either side of him and my parents below.



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