drip
when i came to japan my goal was clear. learn about culture, language and see most of the place. over time i forgot that goal, or more accurately, it slipped into subconscious. now i remember, because it brought me to a place i could not have been aiming for consciously.
it began last week with a normal monday of work. eight to four i was carrying, gardening, painting. after work and a shower, a stroll into the city. my belly started to ache as i passed cafes and restaurants. it must be hunger, i thought. i thought until the evening, when the pain was still present and i could barely eat what was cooked. going to bed a nightmare. laying down just brought more pain. throwing up. walking up and down the room with sweaty palms. throwing up again. this time the colour is unusual and not related to the menu i had over the last couple of hours. red. it was time for an ambulance.
the emergency room is calm and cool. i get consulted by a doctor and struggle with vocabulary i never heard and pain i never had. ct and x-ray. two nurses take blood and a plastic bag empties himself into my left arm.
i am not exactly sure what it is and we will have a talk with the surgeon tomorrow, he aint here jet, good night.
a painful night as the painkillers were not worthy of their names. where there any? i don't remember - only plastic bags dripping cold.
the next morning. together with the surgeon its decided to operate the appendix (that little useless-dead-end-fella in your belly). the talk is followed by various tests of weight, height, lung capacity and even a visit to the dentist. around three i am sitting in a wheelchair and rolled onto he operation-floor. many rooms with stainless steel sliding doors. i am pushed past a big desk and a wall of tv-screens. the live picture i see on one of the screens lets me hope, my interior looks different. how it really looked, i don't know, they made me sleep very tight in a warm blanket of opioids and hypnotics. only afterwards, the next day, they told me it looked more grim than expected.
the following days blend into each other by a repetitive structure. x-rays, blood tests, temperature checks and walking circles around the station to get my bowels in motion. the only exciting part is the food. first, liquids: clear pinkish or yellowish in plastic bags feeding me intravenously. the second stage, the worst, a jelly with the taste of paper bag. the second time it was made to remind of banana in paper bag. to wash it down, a nestle-brand peach-nutrition-drink. disgustingly sweet, as the nurse agrees who takes it away. imagine how happy one can be when the third stage brings rice porridge and various cooked vegetables in soups or salads, fish and sometimes meat as main dish. lately i was even given tome udon noodles and saw a slice of toast for breakfast. of course you have your own scale and feel of getting-well, but the doctors decide when to go home. if you have a hard time to understand everything they say, watch your plate. the opinion of the doctors is easily readable through the food they serve you. if i see normal rice tonight, i can go home tomorrow.
lets see what is getting cut out next kunde