Days 12, 13, 14, 15

The days have all started to blend together. The separation that is usually represented by a difference in schedule and daily events is becoming less and less present. That is not to say that the daily events of everyday are exact mirror images of each other, but rather my ability to perceive these differences is slowly slipping.

Day 12 and 13

Days five and six marked the first weekend in the hospital, but days twelve and thirteen make up the first weekend since starting my more or less standard routine. Since these days are the weekend, the standard daily routine is not applicable. The rude awakenings, and the feeding times are the same however the other events that fill time are more or less removed.

The schedule of the physiotherapy room is quite different on the weekend. The ratio of times per day gets turned on it's head. Where normally the schedule dictates twice in one day, the weekend consists of once in two days. I firmly believe that Japanese people are overworked; this is arguably a fact, made all the more evident by Japan's suicide rate, which happens to be the highest in the world. Thankfully for the physiotherapists, only three of them are required on Saturday morning. From Saturday afternoon onwards they all get to have some time off. Almost unheard of. This is great for them, but for the patients (or this one in particular) it makes for a really boring weekend.

Having never stayed in the hospital in Canada, I am not extremely well versed in what is offered to patients. However, I do believe that there is some form of entertainment offered, be it craft time, a games room, or some kind of communal activity. Here the options are quite limited. Other than the books, my computer, and my PSP, all which I brought along (foreseeing this exact situation), my options as provided by the hospital are as follows: look out my window (I seriously feel like a fish sometimes), watch TV, or watch my laundry spin in the dryer (for the low low cost of a buck for thirty minutes). There is not an activity room of any sort, nor are there any activities. I am quite thankful that my foresight was clear, and that I came prepared. Scouting can apparently prepare you for survival in a very controlled environment, not just in the wilderness.

The upside of being bored out of my skull, is that it provides more time for visitors. Needless to mention, Yuriko came again. This time she brought along her friend, and my co-worker, Mochida-sensei. They brought coffee and snacks, and bless them, four litres of water (the water here has the distinct flavour of a swimming pool, and I am not just talking about chlorine). The other patients and guests in the lounge kept giving us funny looks (really all the old people look at me funny) but it was probably less a result of us laughing loudly, and more due to us only speaking English. Mochida-sensei is an English teacher and she worked in Scotland for a few years, so her English is spot on, humour and all.

The turn of the month brought a little bit of fun. I played an April Fools joke on Brandon (which pissed him off...I don't think he is one for practical jokes, well at least being the butt end of them), and I also learned a little about April Fools Day in Japan. As far as I know, on April Fools Day you play a joke on someone and say “April Fools” when you get them. There is also the stipulation that you can only play a joke before noon. Well in Japan they do neither of those. You can joke all day, and you really just lie to people. It definitely takes away from the fun a little bit. Yuriko told a few stories that turned out to be lies, but because she never said “April Fools” afterwards it was really just confusing. Moreover, the stories weren't really ones that got anyone upset or worked up, they were really just lies about things that had happened to her last week.

Sunday was a really slow paced day. With no physio on Sunday, I stayed in bed until about ten. I had signed up for the first shower spot, so I was able to have a morning shower or sorts (the first time being at ten in the morning). I followed that up with a coffee from the machine downstairs, and I even read the news paper online. It felt like a normal Sunday...save the fact that I am not allowed outside, or that I am not at home, or that I had to eat breakfast at seven in the morning. So it wasn't really like a normal Sunday, but it was as close as I am going to get here on the inside.

Sunday afternoon also brought a break from the slop that passes for food sometimes. I say sometimes in reference for it passing as food, not for it being slop (that is a constant.) The Gals from night class came for another visit, and this time it almost had the feeling of a picnic...minus the wind, the bugs, the fresh outdoor smell, the blankets, and most everything you associate with picnics. But just like my Sunday morning was as close to a Sunday morning as I was going to get, this was the closest thing to a picnic that I can fathom at this point. They brought along some servings of sushi, bagels (the real deal, and hard to find in Japan), fruit, and snacks. We spread it out on the table and had a good time. As always with the Gals, the conversation covered many topics and idioms that inspired some furious note taking on their part. They really are conscientious learners. The picnicesque (I know it's not a word, shut up) feeling of the day was really heart warming for me, as the warmer weather this year is causing early blooming of the sakura I have recently been thinking about the unlikelihood of being able to attend a sakura viewing party. While there were no sakura, nor any visible from the window (they aren't blooming here yet anyways), it had the same feeling for me, and that is what really counts.

After the excitement in the afternoon, I had pretty much resigned myself to a quite evening. I settled in the lounge with my book, and set in on the last few chapters. It was just about then that Brandon and Rich suddenly showed up. Brandon was toting some things my mum had sent to me through him. They stayed for a while and we had a good chat. Rich has been through surgery, and in his former life as a paramedic he is pretty knowledgeable on medical issues. We had a good chat, and made Brandon wince as we bonded over the experience of having a catheter removed (as Rich so pleasantly put it: like rip starting a lawn mower.) They stayed a little while, but then it was time for them to get back.

I opened the packages from my mum and I was really touched. The box from Mum contained the usual: snacks, a book, peanut butter, etc. However it was the package from her school that really got me. She had talked to one of the classes at her school about my life in Japan, and my surgery. The large envelope contained letters from all of the students in that class. They are really cute letters (made all the cuter by the mistakes some contain) and they brought a smile to my heart and a tear to my eye. It really reminded me why I love working with children. As dictated by the nature of my job in Japan, I don't really get much of an opportunity for meaningful conversation with children (the grasp we have of each other's languages makes this very hard.) These letters contained some really intelligent comments. Of course there were some pretty silly things in there too, but even those reminded me of how much fun it is to communicate with young developing minds and see how you can push them into expanding their understanding of the world. These kids are all really sweet, and many of them are quite silly. As I seem to have a lot of time on my hands, I am going to make a point of writing back to each one individually.

Day 14

The last day of the second week, and also the first day of this week. Monday is always a strange day here in the hospital, and personally it usually gets my blood boiling and my bile rising.

Monday kicks back into the usual routine of twice daily physio, which is really nice. I upped my weight and busted ass. I am not just doing physio, I am consuming it. It is what I get up for in the morning. It is what I look forward to in the afternoon. I am attacking it, because I know that it is my ticket to recovery. It is neither friend nor foe, pain nor pleasure (though it induces both), it is an obstacle that is in my path and there is no way that I am going to let it stop me. I carry this attitude with me every time I walk into that room. I am there when they open the doors in the morning, and I am usually the first one through. I feel like a prisoner in this hospital with all the set times of eating and lights on / lights off. Just like the big beefcakes in real jails, I take all the time I can to improve my body. When I have finished my leg routine I do sit-ups. When I finish my sit-ups I lift dumbbells. They have control over most of what goes into my body, but I have control over what I do with my body. When I am in physio it is just me and that obstacle (and my music pumping me up.)

As long as I am in this damn place I will have a weekly case of the “Mun-days.” The near volcanic eruption that occurred last week was brought on by the sheer pointlessness of the routine Monday events. I say pointless, but that is from a patient prospective. Perhaps these events are very well considered, and perhaps they are very pointed. I would not doubt if it were all a plan to make patients more docile and easy to control, after all Monday, more than any other day, really feels like jail.

Monday afternoon sees a special event, doctor's rounds. While this really is not special in anyway, as the doctors happen to do rounds everyday, Monday has a special sort of rounds. It is usually on Monday that the head-honcho Dr. Akizuki joins the rounds. He really is the top man, not just in the department; he is the director of the hospital. Usually on Monday he joins every other doctor in the department and they march around the floor in a big old gaggle. They truly sound like a gaggle of geese as they move down the hallway. In the case of normal rounds, patients may be with visitors in the lounge, but on Monday, since Mr. Big-Man is with the team, all patients are required to be in their beds in their rooms, apparently as a matter of respect (which I always thought was a reciprocal concept, but not in this country.) They spare us the shackles, but really at that point does it make a difference?

Half past three is the 'scheduled' time for these rounds. This week, as I knew they were going to happen, I was ready and waiting in my room at that time. Four rolled around, and then half past four. Finally at quarter to five the gaggle gathered in my room. Low and behold, Akizuki-sensei wasn't even with them today. Moreover, my surgeon Dr. Horiuchi was also absent! They spoke to my room mate for about a minute, then it was my turn. The highest in command looked at my leg, said “It's swolen” (which happens to be a single word in Japanese). I responded with “It usually is after physiotherapy.” Then they walked out of the room.

The instantaneous spike in my blood pressure and heart rate was so great, that the sound of my heart furiously forcing my blood through restricted veins was the only thing I could hear. I couldn't believe that it happened again. I sat around in my bed for an hour and a half for some doctor, who isn't even the head doctor (and thus negating the entire point of being in my damn room), to come in and look at my leg and make a single word observation that even some freaking uneducated homeless punk off the street could make! Beyond the complete contempt for the rights of the patients, this is simply too much for me. I have staples in my leg that are ready to be pulled, but the nurses keep insisting the schedule says I have to wait until two weeks have passed. The doctor never even lifted my bandage to check them. Had he, I know that they would have pulled them that day. This tradition is insulting to the patients, and worse than pointless. Since they never even took more than a passing glance at my leg, any point of doing a check up was completely nullified. What a crock.

It is on this note that I have decided to show them what I think of the 'required respect' for the Monday rounds. Next week after physio, I am going to take my PSP or a book to some remote corner of the hospital, a place they will never look for me. I will wait until about five thirty to ensure that the doctors have finished their rounds before returning to my room. If, and when ( I know it will be when) I get flack for not being in my room, there is going to be hell to pay. And I, I will be the one collecting. I have had enough of this authority worship ruling my life in this damn place. The point of medical care is patient recovery, not deifying the doctors. Talk about a God Complex. If they want to feel all high and might they they should go skydiving.

Day 15

Two weeks ago this day, I walked through the front doors of the hospital and I have yet to go back through them. I used a roller coaster analogy in a previous post, but I have revised my idea. The time I am spending here is more like rock climbing.

Marked with scrapes, bruises, and cuts, I use every single ounce of energy to get up the face of this beast. Straining muscles pumped full of lactic acid are screaming as they are pushed farther and father past their limit. And for all this effort, all it takes is for a hand or foot to find a less then secure purchase, or for a gust of wind to come out of the blue, and then I drop. Free-fall tumbling down, spiralling out of control, to the point where my rope snaps tight, wrenching my body. And from that low I am forced to regain my balance, refocus my mind, and start up the beast again.

I am extremely lucky to have people to man that rope for me. They are the ones who help me keep some of the ground I gain before I am tossed down again. I have had so many visitors, and they make me feel truly honoured. The little things I have received are pick me ups in the times that the system has beaten me down. Flowers, candy, cards, and toys all adorn my little corner of this room. I am not at home, and that much is ever apparent, but I have a little space where I can at least feel ownership of something.

Today Rich and his gal Kaori came to visit. They brought a big ol' goodie bag, and it seriously felt like Christmas. There were snacks and treats, toys and games, and even DVDs (Rich has a massive DVD collection, and he brought me some of his favourite picks). To top it all off, they brought me Bamiyan. Bamiyan is a Chinese food restaurant in Japan, and according to the box it is world famous (I highly doubt that, but really does anything that makes that claim live up to that? Is is possible?) The validity of it's claim aside, Bamiyan makes some bad-ass food. Rich and Kaori brought me a big bowl of ginger beef, and oh my was I in heaven. I threw it on top of the rice that came with dinner and it may very well have been the best thing I have eaten since getting locked up in here. After I ate dinner and read a bit, I settled in bed and watched some DVDs on my computer. It is the moments like these that my support network provides me with.

It is these moments that help me, for however brief it may be, forget where I am and the regulations that govern my existence in here. I am truly lucky that I have people over here who make the effort to make my stay better. A big thanks goes out to all of them, and also to all of you who read and comment. For your comments also keep me going and writing, and when I hit a bump in the road here, knowing that it will make a funny or interesting story on my blog, and I am glad that I can release some of the tension that way. Please raise a glass to you for me (since I can't drink in here). Cheers to you all.