Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Days 16 through 20

Recent events in my life at the hospital here have been much more settled and more routine. The effects of this is that I feel much more settled, but also quite restless. A strange paradox has presented it's self to me. When things here are hectic and I feel they are out of control, I get very irritated feel quite put off. Conversely, when things are as completely routine as they have been recently, I get bored. This is not really a mystery to me, nor should it be to those who know me well. The full potential of my abilities are often presented in paradoxical situations such as this. I thrive on having the full picture of events, and having the ability to foresee and prepare for different possibilities. At the same time, it is the kinks in those plans and preparations that create the stress that causes me to be creative and spontaneous, and to function at my full capacity. Essentially I require the capacity to be in control of a situation, yet still have forces from outside my sphere of influence affect the events, thus creating a situation which is off track and requires my energy and focus to have it put back on track. It is a paradoxical control freak complex. I need to control the big picture, yet I also need things to challenge that ability and force me to operate at a higher level. This is not new to me, nor to most of you (I am sure), but my current condition has illuminated this and also given me the forum and ability to express it so.


Day 16


A day early, and a day late. Another paradox? Or is it more oxymoronic than paradoxical? Twelve curvy pieces of metal, holding closed four wounds, ranging from five millimetres to five centimetres. The schedule that the hospital seems to hold so religious (as do I, most of the time) and the schedule of my body are not necessarily the same. This is what makes medicine a blend of science and art, for if our bodies all acted and reacted the same then it would be pure science, and humans would be much more robotic. It is also this situation that created the current oxymoron...or is it paradox?


The itch inducing staples in my leg were scheduled to be pulled two weeks after surgery. That is the schedule that they follow for almost all patients. However, since the human body is dynamic, mine was healing a little faster. Itch and redness were the clear indicators that my body was ready to be rid of the staples. I was as convinced as my leg was, but it took a day for me to convince the nurses that that was the case. Today was the day that they finally asked the doctor to look at the staples, and low and behold he agreed that it was time for them to come out. A day early by the sacred texts, and a day late by my books.


With the shedding of these less than stylish piercings, I also enter a new and exciting stage of my hospital stay. The wounds in my leg have healed to the point where I can shower with out a plastic bag taped around my leg. This is wonderful because it also means that I am now able to use the shower in my room, and yes, shower in the morning.


Day 17


Again, according to the sacred texts, this is the half way point between the surgical bed and my own bed. The interim hospital bed is less than comfortable, but somehow I imagine it will feel more and more comfortable everyday as the end of my stay is (reportedly) closer than the beginning. The clock is now counting down, even though my blog entries (and hospital fees) continue to rack up.


The kilometre-stone (call me metro-centric) of two weeks also presents some new (and welcome) changes in my routine. The largest of the changes comes in the physiotherapy department. My disgustingly expensive knee brace has been inhibited to between thirty and sixty degrees of flex. Today the latter changed to seventy five degrees. Each week this angle will be increased by fifteen degrees. The forward flex will be kept at thirty degrees until six weeks after surgery, when the brace will be full open, allowing from zero to the theoretical flex of one hundred eighty degrees (not possible with a leg inside the brace). The other change at physio is the amount of pressure I can put on my leg. I am now up to twenty kilograms, which is slightly less than a third of my body weight. Next week that will go up again as well.


With the turn of this kilometre-stone, a one shot event also happens. With no external metal in my leg (only the internal spikes and screw) it is time for an x-ray. Of course, as with most things here, it is a waiting game. The radiology department fits hospitalized patients in when ever they have a break in out patients. As I knew was going to happen, they called for me right in the middle of my physiotherapy, but my doctor in physio is cool as all hell, and told them that they would just have to wait for me to finish. She didn't even know that I would be pissed that I had to go and come back, I assume she just didn't want the other department eating away at her time and schedule. So I got a chance to get back at the radiology department, and for once they had to wait for me.


Day 18


Good Friday. This is of course in no connection to the mythical religious festival that occurs on the same day. Today really was a great Friday. The previous morning there was not ample time to shower before breakfast. Today however, I dragged myself out of bed early enough to hop in the shower prior to feeding time. Washing my entire leg, getting the iodine and scabs off, was simply divine. Really feeling clean from head to toe was a feeling I had forgotten.


After getting feed, it was time to work out. Down to physio, and up the weight. The progression through the range of ankle weights is all patient dependant, and entirely at their own digression. I have been making steady progress, and today was an other time to step it up. My injured leg is now working on three kilogram weights, and my good leg is maxed out at four. I will keep pushing this week, and hopefully I can soon max out my left.


My usual ritual of icing my leg after physio also brought about more good news. A doctor came in doing rounds, and I remembered that I was told after two weeks I would be able to go outside. The doctor agreed that it was standard, and since over two weeks had passed that I was free to go to the bank. When Yuriko came in the afternoon I told her the good news. I ate lunch with her and Sayuri (the girl who is cat-sitting Kuno). Sayuri even brought along her video camera and showed me some footage of Kuno and Donguri (one of her other cats) playing together. After eating we all headed out. Since none of us knew where the bank was, we went to the convenience store. I got some cash from the machine (thankfully not enough, as it gives me an excuse to go out again) and I stocked up on some snacks and water. We also hit the supermarket for some fruit. There was joy involved in getting these things, but the real pleasure was in the sun and the breeze, the fresh air that felt so cleansing. I had the same feeling you get after showering. The weeks of hospital air and grime just seemed to float off me as my skin exhaled.


Day 19


It is hard to believe that another week has rolled by. Time is so misleading in this place. Some days it flies by, and others it drags on. The weeks seem endless, and then suddenly seven more pages from my Farside calendar are in the garbage. The weekend is here once again, which means a lot more time for nothing.


Simple pleasures are what keep me going sometimes, and this morning brought a smile to my face. As usual I was first in the physio room, and my dedication brought a perk today. Now this really is petty, but I am not ashamed at all. The windows in the physio room face towards a narrow parking lot that is usually crowed with expensive cars and more recently the through road for some construction equipment (for a different wing of the hospital). While doing my laps up and down the hallway I caught sight of the first car to pull in. The copper coloured BMW SUV (to bad we can't abbreviate the entire English language, eh?) pulled into a space, but it was obvious, even from inside the building, that it was going to be in the way of the construction equipment. A labourer approached the vehicle and (I can only assume) asked him to move somewhere else. The driver looked irritated, and got out of the vehicle to inspect what was happening. In the midst of my laps I didn't catch the best view of the drivers face. I did however see it when he came back, looking sour, to move his all leather interior, gas guzzling, bank account depleting chariot. It was none other than Akizuki-Sensei, the hospital director, and the reason I have to sit around in my bed on Monday afternoons. Knowing that he was put out even slightly made me all warm and fuzzy inside. I know it is petty, and I know many of you will make the value judgement that my pleasure from this is wrong, but I don't care. It made me happy; it didn't hurt anyone; save your own morality for yourself.


A time warp then descended on my hospital room, or that is at least how it felt. With no afternoon physio on Saturday, and no visitors, time stretched on and on. There is only so long one can read, then watch a show on the computer, then read again, then pace (a real feet on crutches...is that a pun?) Minutes turned to hours and hours to days, and I spent about a week trying to stay same. As the only vice I can succumb to in my cell, I mean hell, I mean in the hospital, the coffee machine must have seen me a handful of times. The combination of boredom with my coffee addiction now means that even the cool coffee machine no longer excites me (cool as in kick-ass, it serves hot and iced coffee.) To understand how bored I must be for this machine to not be exciting, let me explain it a little:


This coffee machine (like most things in Japan) has a slogan: “Grind coffee on a mill.” Yes, that is a stupid slogan, but if you don't really understand English it might kinda be cool. The first reason to choose this machine over the other coffee machines in the hospital is the selection. It has about five kinds of iced coffee, almost ten kinds of hot coffee, and two cup sizes: big and jumbo (big being a coffee shop regular, and jumbo being a regular...and if you have to translate those into Big Green Monster coffee shop names you are thoroughly branded and should get back to the pasture). Those sound standard by Vancouver norms, but they are much better than the thimble sized cups that most machines in Japan serve up, and much better than canned coffee. The second reason to choose this machine over the other coffee machines in the hospital is connected to the lame slogan (read it again, bet it hasn't grown on you at all). It has beans that actually get ground and pressed. Hey, real coffee, what a concept...but I think that many Japanese people like the instant coffee better though. And the third and final reason that this machine is the number one choice of anyone who knows anything about coffee (ok honestly you don't have to even like coffee to enjoy this point, but I wanted to make myself feel superior): it makes the coffee right in front of you eyes...kind of. There is a camera in the machine and a screen on the front that shows the beans dropping into the grinder and in to the carafe; the water filling the carafe and getting pressed into the cup; any poison you choose to have added to your brew; the lid getting screwed on; then your coffee pops out the front.


When this exciting a process stops being fun, you can imagine the level of boredom that is required (and the disgusting amount of coffee consumed). This was the case in my marathon of monotony.


Day 20


Up with the lights. Not a freaking chance. Sunday is the one day of the week with no morning physiotherapy, and and opportunity that is too good to pass up. The skills I honed earlier in the week were put to full use this morning. The lights came on with an 'ohayo gozaimasu' and my pillow went over my face. For the first time, the curtains were drawn and the light of a grey dawn filtered in. The nurse left, and with the assistance of my crutch I shut the curtains with as little effort as possible. Then I went back to sleep.


I say I went back to sleep, and this seems to imply that I slept for a considerable amount of time, but the staff are persistent, and for whatever reason all patients are supposed to wake up on schedule at twenty after six. You think they would have learned how stubborn I am. They woke me up when they came to check my temperature, I pretended to be asleep still. They left. They woke me up when they brought breakfast, I pretended to be asleep (I checked what it was after they left, nothing you want to eat at half past seven, so I went back to sleep.) They woke me up when they came to clear the dishes and saw I hadn't eaten, towel over my face, I continued to feign being asleep.


Now in between these spurts of pretend sleep, I actually slept. Here is the really weird part. I was dreaming about normal weekend mornings in the hospital. So while I was actually sleeping in on a Sunday morning, I was dreaming that I was doing the regular old Sunday morning routine. This is a bit of an absurd concept, and it made for some really weird moments when I actually woke up. Since the setting of both my dream land and 'reality' were here in my hospital bed, it made for more than a few moments of pure confusion. In a groggy half-asleep state, waking from a dream about being in the same bed and position which I was currently in, left me with no ability to tell which state was actually reality and which was my dream land. When I finally woke up and figured it out I started laughing at the humour of the situation. I was awake in my hospital bed in my dreams, and in the hospital I was asleep in bed. I just hope that I am actually awake right now, because it would be very cruel to dream that I just wrote three and a half pages and then wake up...there is no auto-save function in my dreams.


The monotony of Saturday was thankfully shed on Sunday. Around noon, Tomoko and Eriko from night class came by for a visit. They brought coffee, water and food, and even better some good conversation. Since their command of English is at a very high level, and since they make a point of trying to learn new and complex words, we are always able to have really good talks. Munching on our MOS burgers and sipping on joe, we managed to burn three hours. That's half a week by yesterday's time scale. We covered a range of topics that I can barely even recall half of. The best part is that we can cover topics like alienation and isolation, and then talk about other things like social equality and historical influence. These rather complex topics obviously require assistance from my electronic dictionary, but other than looking up the nouns that are a little too academic, we are able to speak almost entirely in English.


They took their leave and I had some down time, and then right as dinner time was rolling around Brandon and Rich showed up. They also came bearing gifts of cheese burgers and espresso. I am starting to get the idea that people know me pretty well. I mean, I haven't even been wearing my “If you come, bring coffee” t-shirt. Or maybe I just have a problem. While I doubt there is a twelve step program for caffeine, and honestly I don't want to quit drinking coffee, I should probably cut back a little bit. But as I already said, it is the only vice I can succumb to while incarcerated...I mean hospitalized, so I don't think that I will be cutting back in the next few weeks.


That pretty much brings us to now. It is an hour before “lights out” (where are we, summer camp?) and I am juiced up. Having taken advantage of the very high speed internet connection here yesterday, my hard drive is now loaded up with new episodes of Colbert and the Daily Show. I am part way through a book, and I have one more after that. I definitely have enough to entertain myself this evening, and it just might be enough to make it to the end of my sentence.


Speaking of which, everyone asks, so I'll save you the breath and write the conversation:


You say something like: “When are you getting out?”

I reply with something like: “I won't know until a few days before, but probably around the 20th.”

You follow up with a neutral statement like: “Oh” or “OK” or my favourite “That's good.”

I grind my teeth and wonder how many times I will have to have this conversation and exactly what it is that makes around the 20th good.


Now, I just sound ungrateful...which really is not the case. I answer everyone politely, and I know they ask because they care, and that I have to answer the same questions so many times because there are a lot of people who care enough to come and ask. It makes me feel really happy and a bit embarrassed that I have the most visitors of any one on this floor. Maybe I should change my bring coffee t-shirt into a “My leg is good, physio is good, the food is bad, and I'll tell ya when I know when I am getting out” shirt, then when people come we can start talking about something else right away.

1 comment:

Unknown said...

Hey, sorry I don't have time to read this yet...by the way, when are you getting out?