im basically giving up on my precept not to post music ive posted before – im not in a position these days to always dig up novel things to listen to, and often im feeling the desire to listen to things that are nostalgic or comforting.
what im listening to right now.
[Here is where I posted this before.]
Hocico, “Ecos.”
perhaps it is disturbing that i find this music comforting?
this morning they decided it was time to relocate my iv to a different vein. this is just something thats done periodically. so preliminary to that they yanked out the old one, and for about 15 minutes i had freedom from that terrible bondage. i literally jogged two orbits with the sort of shuffle-foot move necessitated by wearing flipflop sandals – 200 meters. i was grinning stupidly at people, and saying "freedom!" with a simpsonsesque irony familiar to younger koreans. i walked another 7 orbits (thus totalling almost a kilometer) before i was called to heel and sat for the new iv.
as sometimes occurs, they had trouble placing the new iv – recalcitrant veins and all that. so it took four attempts before a new one "took." the new placemenent is particularly uncomfortable, being right at the inside left elbow, which limits movement on my left arm. as a consequence, i have graduated from one good hand and one useless hand to having two half-useful hands instead.
i have begun to feel that this system of iv-stands has evolved as a weird kind of unintentional social control for healthcare environments. it prevents the patients from moving around too much or too fast by having them hooked up to these cumbersome carts.
after lunch i was rushed downstairs for a consult with dr ryu. he said there are imperfections in the "flap" (as he refers to the reconstruction, i think from the surgical technique involved), but my otherwise notable resiliancy seems to be compensating more than adequately. reading between the lines: the procedures outcome has been disappointing but the patients stubbornness is making that fact utterly moot and as a result the patient will be just fine.
dr ryu also told me to talk as much as i want – "i know you like to do that." and he said stop tilting my head to the left or i might get stuck that way. he remarked too, "i think you would like to go home." i said, "definitely." so he said that if things stay on track with the infection clearing, i might get discharge before next weekend.
sitting in my bed, propped just so on my pillows, headphones on, eyes closed, i can imagine im on a train. but scenery never changes, and there seems to be very little interest in the destination. . . its just a ride, without an objective.
after my 5 am pre breakfast of fruit and yogurt, i brush my teeth, clean up a little, walk an orbit or two, put on some music and soon drift to sleep. i had a transparently symbolic dream.
in the dream, i wake up to see a child, maybe five or six years old, standing at the foot of my bed. she has a shy smile, she beckons. i follow her, dragging my iv-stand like a ball and chain. in the hallway there is a half-open door. she races through it, glancing back to make sure i am following.
beyond the door, narnia like, the is a tall stand of creaking redwood trees, and a bumpy, sun-drenched clearing with a scattering of picnic tables. i quickly realize it is nearly impossible to follow the girl, with the cumbersome iv-stand and its tiny, squeaky wheels.
she beckons, but i shake my head and sit down, heart heavy. she quickly becomes distracted chasing a remarkable blue butterfly over, under and around the tables. she laughs, and comes close to me, shyly.
"do you like that butterfly?" i ask.
she nods, makes a fluttering gesture.
who is this girl? i think to myself but do not say aloud.
she comes close and leans against me, whispering in my ear. the simple korean of a child, easy for me to understand. "네 딸" [your daughter] she giggles. in spanish, then, "no sabias?" [you didnt know?]. in a whisper, "물론." [of course]
i awake, then, choked with tears.
things untrue, of such sublime beauty.
something of the desolation of the wards corridors at 440 am, the reek of high humid summer outside detectable despite air conditioners (the bizarre korean institutional habit of opening windows while running air conditioners obviously contributing), i began experiencing strong memories of middle-of-the-night cleaning or “guard” duties during basic training at fort jackson, south carolina, in july of 1990.
