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Yolanda Garcia is scared of doctors. She genuinely hates them, starting from the moment she had to visit one for her grade school’s required medical appointment, so that she could be permitted to join an educational field trip, and how the doctor berated her for being dehydrated, sleeping too late, and having an unbalanced diet.
Yet she now stands here in PTMC as a surgeon. Her friends chuckle whenever she mentions her supposed fear of being checked on by a physician. It was ironic, they say. But to her, it seems like only fellow doctors are the only ones who can see through the cracks that she had so carefully tried to hide, even if it was just in the sense of her health. It’s not that she demanded perfection upon herself because to her, that’s just idiotic; no one’s actually perfect, but she hated the fact that in a doctor’s clinic, she was so easily read and dissected.
You will never catch her in a therapist’s office.
So she decided to be a doctor one day and offered her life to the craft. Studying day and night, enduring its difficulties, and making sacrifices. Not that it was monumentally hard for her, she’s smart, she knows that. In the back of her mind, she knew she wanted to be someone who could see through people, telling them their way of life was unhealthy and that they should do such-and-such to cure themselves.
Yolanda wanted the prestige, honor, and well… pay that came with being a surgeon. It was a job that made sense to her, and it wasn’t like passion and talent paved the way for her to land the career. It’s that she made sure that it was the career she was going to have. She found it entertaining and amusing when others got squeamish at the sight of blood and bones, and how even at the start of pre-med, it was nothing to her. The deeper in the cavity, the more interesting it got for Yolanda. And this is one of the few things that signified that, despite all that, she thinks that she built herself for this, that she was actually made for it from the jump.
“Mean, calculated, and competent,” her coworkers might describe her as, and it wasn’t like she was trying to be mean. It really isn’t her fault that her tone and words might cut as sharply as her blade. It was effective that way; it gets the message across without having to say it twice. And if it did the job, then that’s the path she’ll take. No point in cutting through it again and stitching it up the second time.
Oddly, her maxim of “If it gets the job done” seeped into everything in her life. Rarely did she have subjective preferences. Her “favorite color” is grey only because it’s a reliable, always-available colorway across all the products she buys. Her “favorite color” is an iced americano because it’s typically the cheapest, gets the job done of waking you up, and you can drink it with a straw, so it doesn’t stain your teeth. She bought her phone and laptop after hours of research, and it states that they have the best features for the prices they're tagged with. Bug her enough, and she’ll send the document for it. She’ll only read a book when it’s a classic or when it’s critically acclaimed because what’s the point of reading something that isn’t worth the time? And if that all means that she’s “calculated,” then to hell with it.
And by seeping into everything that also meant her relationships. Her so-called present friends are from college who were on par with her competence, who kept in touch for years, and she still thinks about whether or not to be guilty when the primary reason she approached them was so that in a few years, when everyone was a doctor, she’d have opportunities and connections. She only joined academic clubs for the same reason, and if it were up to her, she wouldn’t have joined any without that advantage. Yolanda scheduled her calls to her parents and siblings, and was only on leave when the holiday or celebration truly counted. And as per romance, she avoided it.
Needless to say, she flirted for sport and fucks for release. She never needed anyone to the degree of safety and emotional vulnerability; it ate up time, effort, and money for something she couldn't care less about. Not to mention that it didn’t help her that she was only attracted to women, and how it’s another prime reason why she had this inkling of need to prove herself through her career. Compensation.
She was attached to a woman she would not name at one point, keeping her at arm's length and pulling away when it became too serious, too fast. All she learned from that relationship is that when it ends, that means it failed. And if avoiding entering one keeps it from starting and then ending, then she will do so. Casual relationships would have to do.
Yolanda knew how to listen to people, she thinks. She’s not that cold. But she never knew what to do when the person in front of her was hurting and crying. “Get a therapist for your problems,” is something that crept into the back of her mind because to her, it indeed was the most effective way of relieving yourself of the problems you had. Why trouble herself for it? She isn’t equipped with the words to comfort someone, nor is she extensively trained to have them. She is a surgeon, and there’s no wonder she’s one; that’s the only way she knew how to open someone up.
Devoid of emotion and feelings, all her decisions had led to. If there’s an option to approach it methodically and logically, then that’s what she’ll be doing because that’s all she ever knew to do. Because if it worked well before, then it will work well now, and if it didn’t hurt people before, it wouldn’t hurt her either. If only there were a step-by-step guide to loving someone correctly, maybe it would’ve been easier for her and her partners.
So why is Yolanda still holding her phone, knowing it's been minutes since her bubbles have been typing on this July 5th? Why is she second-guessing what to say? Why was it so hard for her to come to terms with the fact that what she wanted wasn’t like her favorite color, coffee, or book, because this time it didn’t have a logical reason? When the only reason she had was that she wanted this, that she craved, and yearned for a certain resident.
Delete and reenter, retype, and rethink. It’s not that she didn’t have the words to say what she was thinking; it’s that she never had the words for the way she feels. So she’ll settle for what’s safe, even if it hurts one or the other, if it means that she avoids being disappointed even when her true fear is being disappointing.