The Queen Gene Read Free

eyeball analysis. “Mother!!! It’s Lucy. Your dog’s calling me again. What’s going on?”
    “Lucy, is that you, darling?” I heard her voice in the distance.
    I shouted, “Pick up the phone.”
    “Doctor, do you have any sterilized cotton?” she asked. A few moments passed before I heard her voice again. “Lucy, darling,” she whispered, undoubtedly clutching the phone to her ear. “It’s such a relief to hear from you. I’m in crisis,” she said with her usual accent on the word crisis. She meant to sound French, but it actually only sounded like plural crises.
    “It sounds like it. What’s going on?” I wondered which of her boyfriends she’d put into such a state of shock that they needed an injection to return him to the world of the living.
    “It’s Paz, darling. He’s ill.”
    “The dog is sick,” I said, sadly.
    “Yes, darling,” she sniffed. “Little Paz is not well, but we’re with Dr. Hwang right now.”
    “Dr. Hwang your acupuncturist?” I asked.
    “Yes, I’m a bit worried that the needles will hurt him. I know the needles are thin, but Paz is so tiny,” Anjoli sniffed again.
    “Back up, Mother. What’s wrong with Paz and why is he at your acupuncturist?”
    At that point, Dr. Hwang repeated that Mother’s toy Chihuahua should relax and breathe deeply. “This will not hurt you, Pars.”
    “It’s Paz,” Anjoli corrected him.
    “Mother, what’s wrong with Paz?”
    Anjoli sighed. “Oh darling, Paz has trichotillomania.”
    “He has what?” I asked, hearing the dog squeak as the first needle went into his fur. The poor thing sounded like he was dying, and the last thing he did before going under the needle was call me. I was touched. Then again, so was everyone in my family.
    Dr. Hwang was as kind as one could be while puncturing a dog. “Relax, Pars. Your chi will flow like a river, and you will feel all better soon. Breathe deeply.”
    Again with the “breathe deeply.” It’s a dog, Dr. Hwang. They have one breathing mode and it’s panting. Perhaps this is why puppy yoga never caught on.
    “Oh God, this is awful to watch,” Anjoli told me. “He’s looking at me as though I’ve betrayed him, darling.”
    “Yes, well, I really feel for you, Mother. What is trichotillomania?”
    “It’s a hair-pulling disorder, darling,” Anjoli said as though I were a dolt for being unfamiliar with the obsessive-compulsive disorder.
    “The dog pulls his hair?” I queried.
    “Poor darling is biting the fur from his paws. You should see him, Lucy. You can see his skin. It’s just awful to look at.”
    “And you think acupuncture is going to help?” I asked.
    “It has to! I’d do anything to help my little Paz,” Anjoli said. “He’s my baby. I coated his feet with nail polish remover so it would taste bad when he chewed, but nothing would keep him away. It’s like he’s possessed.”
    “You should take him to an exorcist, not an acupuncturist,” I joked.
    “Hmmm,” Anjoli said, considering it. “Kiki’s pet therapist — the one who diagnosed Paz — said we should consider antidepressants if it doesn’t get better pretty soon, but you know how I feel about western medicine.”
    With that, Paz yelped again. Dr. Hwang became frustrated that the little dog was not breathing deeply. Do his other patients cooperate? Has he ever treated a dog before?
    “Was he like this when you got him?” I asked.
    “Please, darling. Do you really think I would have picked a mentally ill pet?”
    “Mother!” I scolded. “He has a problem, that’s all. I’d think you’d be happy to help this puppy on his journey back to health.”
    “I suppose you’re right, darling” Anjoli began. “This is pushing my buttons, though. I feel so powerless to help my little Paz. It’s activating my issues. I don’t like feeling useless, Lucy. I have no experience with mental illness.”
    I wouldn’t go quite that far, I didn’t say aloud.
    After a few moments of silence, I asked