Day: July 23, 2013

caveat: photo from orbit 21

Banalities & Journaling / Cancer / My Photos

mr kim, my longest-lasting roommate by far, checked out a few hours ago. actually, there had been some conflict early on, as his relatives and friends developed a mania for preaching aggressively to the room and its inhabitants. but even at the least pleasant i never had problems with mr kim himself . . when he interacted with me at all it was always a weak wave or salute or short pleasantry.

the interesting thing that happened was that as his post op condition improved, the preachy relatives got more pleasant and even friendly. we gifted them some fruit one time and i tried hard to be a respectful neighbor. stress and fear can drive good people to moments of regrettable action. at his exit hour the 76 year old mr kim was spry and dapper, changed into a dress shirt and slacks.

the picture is from earlier, when we got the mrs to offer a smile.

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caveat: photo from orbit 20

Banalities & Journaling / Cancer / My Photos

this is the head nurse for the ward. like all head nurses, shes a hardass despite her diminutive stature – she lurks and rules with an iron fist. but she has a remarkable bedside manner – she interacts personally with every patient in the ward at least twice a day, she knows all their stories and she has clearly reviewed everyones file.

further, when i was prepping for surgery last thursday, and andrew and curt were running late coming back from having gone to lunch, as i lay there nervous and scared as one is before going into surgery, she held my hand and pattered trivially for almost 20 minutes before the orderly wheeled my guerney into the elevator for the trip to the fourth floor.

later, i tried to tell her that she was a very kind person. she was adamant: i am NOT a kind person. but she kept that tight enigmatic smile on her face.

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caveat: we will put the cancer back!

Banalities & Journaling / Cancer

andrew and i were talking about some financial aspects of my upcoming discharge. at some point, i will be presented with a bill. i really am not certain what it will look like. curt told me that he saw a running total sometime during the first week in the neighborhood of 40 million won ($40000), which could mean a current total of double that or more – but, caveat: that number is meaningless, because its pre-insurance. insuance will be paying different aspects of the bill at different rates, ranging from 95 percent for surgery to zero percent for hospital food and bed space. so the final bill remains a mystery.

but andrew had a good point, too: theres only so much they can do to collect. jokingly, he imitated a supercilious hospital administrator: "pay your bill right now. . . or we will put the cancer back!"

this made me laugh.

caveat: photo from orbit 19

Banalities & Journaling / Cancer

this is a low quality picture – you can barely make out at least 4 sleeping figures in the darkness. the 10th floor lobby at 5 am is full of caregivers (family or paid, but not patients and not part of hospital staff) catching some sleep in classic korean style: wherever and whenever they can.

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caveat: so many private battles

Banalities & Journaling / Cancer / Less Banal Than Usual

with the night shift came a new batch of medicine to be administered, and the increasingly routine perforation party. its a vicious cycle. . . as more and more of my veins get "used," those remaining are less and less optimal. in a given persons arm there are a limited number of "good" iv insertion points. the problem is generalized too much to all staff who try for it to be a competence problem. . . its just a loss of suitable real estate.

and it becomes impossible to stay upset about it for long. this is a cancer hospital, and my problems are minor. as i stand at the counter complaining of my perforation-induced headache, my neighbor two beds over, undergoing chemo and suffering a permanent case of hiccups, shambles out managing to vomit and bleed at the same time. now, theres a guy needing attention. i humbly withdraw and remember to thank the stressed nurse with a smile and a 수고하셨습니다 [you worked hard, a standard korean thank you].

all around me are men and women fighting their private battles, many much worse than mine. for each case of jealousy-arousing snip-snap-its-done-now-go-home colon cancer surgeries like mr parks last week, there are nausea-inducing cases that leave patients curled in knots of pain and fear on the corridor floors for hours, and render others into many-bandaged zombies, groping for their morphine buttons with only grimmaces of shame to offer to their helpless relatives.

i can only retreat into my own affirmation to move past this, in my own case.

pacing my orbit, i affirm: i am strong. i am healthy. i am fearless. i am resiliant. i feel no pain. i am strong. i am healthy. . . .

caveat: legs running off with happiness

Banalities & Journaling / Cancer

i was trying to explain to my evening shift nurse just now that im not experiencing pain so much as anxiety or nervousness. this was hard. . . i lack the vocabulary. i managed to get it across with some pantomime and a dictionary.

at one point i noticed i was shaking my leg in that nearly universal body language of nervousness, so i gestured to it, "there, see? nervous."

she understood but then she wanted to explain some saying to me. its pretty rare for a nurse to stick around to make conversation, especially with such insurmountable linguistic barriers. . . so i was surprised. i was even more surprised when over the next 5 minutes she successfully explained the saying to me: when we shake our legs nervously like that our happiness will run away on them.

hmm.

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