Would you fake-date a popstar to get into Harvard? Sara Wang travels from New York City to Shanghai before her senior year to take a class in Eastern Medicine. Her parents think she's there to buff up her college application, but she's actually ther...
Fang is back early Thursday morning, even though his appointment is scheduled for Friday. This time, Dr. Su is with him. Fang looks even more withdrawn than usual. He's sitting in one of the chairs in a private room and staring at the wall. I can't tell what he's thinking under his sunglasses, or even if he's awake, but he is making a point of directing his line of gaze to the chipped paint on the wall.
"Is Dr. Chen around?" Dr. Su asks cheerfully.
"No, she's busy with the little boy with the dropped foot. He has a standing appointment with her every morning now."
"Let's go find her," Dr. Su says, jumping up. He glances back at Fang from the door. "Stay here."
Fang barely lifts a gloved finger to wave in acknowledgment. I follow Dr. Su down the hallway to the Pediatric section.
"What's wrong with him?" I ask after we are out of earshot. I shove my hands deep into the pockets of my jean jacket. I hope she doesn't notice that I haven't even had time to change out of my street clothes.
"He got some bad news about his vocal cords," Dr. Su says, finally dropping the overly cheerful demeanor. "I think we all knew that he was never going to sound the same. In my opinion, I think he has recovered perfectly fine. He doesn't think so. I'm not much of a music expert, and neither are my colleagues, but he hears an octave off here and there. Now, he's threatening to jump off the skywalk on the Jin Mao tower if I don't do something about his headaches."
"Why don't you give him something? If not for his pain, then at least give him something for his depression."
"I have tried everything," Dr. Su sighs exasperatedly and rolls his eyes. "Don't you think for someone like Fang, we've already tried every narcotic, muscle relaxant, SSRI, in the book? Nothing helps. His problem isn't in his nerves or his voice; it's here," Dr. Su taps his temple.
"Therapy?"
"No, we've tried that. He's too stubborn to let the therapist help him. Who can blame him? He doesn't want to hear some middle-aged psychiatrist lecture him about changing his thought process. In a way, I can't say he's completely unreasonable. With a career like his, the slight deviation in his singing voice, in his appearance, can be catastrophic. You have to believe that we tried everything. We flew in experts from all over the world. After all these months, the situation is what it is."
"So you're just giving up?"
"No, it's not giving up. Your family is in medicine. You must know how these things go. It isn't giving up; it's about an adjustment of expectations."
"I don't think he'll see it that way," I say with a sigh. Dr. Su is correct; I do understand. Medicine isn't about playing God. Sometimes, it's about facilitating a painless transition to another way of life. "I think his problem is that he's all alone. His girlfriend doesn't even know that he's suffering. I think he's afraid to tell her because he's scared she'll leave him. For someone who seems to have everything — all the money, the fame, and looks — he's very sad."
I say the word "sad" in Chinese instead of English — kělián, even though we've been having this conversation in English this whole time. I guess Dr. Su only tries to force me into speaking Chinese when he's in the mood to mess with me. Today, he's too preoccupied with Fang's treatment. I wish I could be more of a help than standing here like some gawker who requires subtitles to understand the situation fully.
We continue walking in silence, and I decide to liven things up with a peace offering.
"I hung out with a boy this week who isn't Calvin Suzuki," I blurt out.
"Oh?" Dr. Su asks, raising an eyebrow. He looks interested, or at least he's kind enough to pretend to be amused by my comparatively small relationship drama. "Was he nice? How did you meet him?"
"He's a boy I knew back when I was a kid, before I went to America," I continue nervously. "He still lives in the same apartment that he did before I left. I visited him last night. He made fun of my Chinese."
Dr. Su laughs at that and pats me on the shoulder.
"That happens. It's good that you're getting out and exploring the city. Not everyone gets an opportunity like this to live in a foreign city. Don't waste it."
"Foreign city? I thought you said this was my home."
"I was teasing you; you're a big city girl. You shouldn't believe everything you hear," Dr. Su chuckles at my annoyed expression. "I'm glad you're feeling more at home here. Now, if only Fang would take my advice so readily."
"What advice did you give him?"
"To find some meaning in his life other than his career."
"Did he take that well?"
"Heck, no," Dr. Su chuckles. "Have you heard the saying Sài Wēng shī mǎ, yān zhī fēi fú?"
I shake my head. "Sometime about losing a horse?"
"A man lost his horse, but it all turns out for the best," Dr. Su explains, with a pained expression on his face at my lack of cultural knowledge. "Maybe, Fang will see that this prolonged period of healing was also a blessing in disguise. Or, maybe he won't, and he'll jump off the Jin Mao. Let's hope Dr. Chen can help him make it through this week."
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