itp

Well let's not leave you all on the edge of your seats here. Let's finish the story. I should let you know now that I'm back at my apartment now. These are just some transcriptions of what I went through, and some thoughts I had about it at the time.

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We arrive at the new hospital and I'm placed in a ward with a few other people who look and sound worse than I do. I remember two old Korean guys passed out and laboring to breathe, and an emaciated woman who just moaned and sobbed endlessly. A couple of new doctors came in and asked me all the same questions that the first doctors had asked me. They told me my platelets were dangerously low, but that I didn't have HIV, so that was nice to hear. Then one of them made mention of all the tests and bloodwork I'd soon be enduring, as well as the possibility of a month-long hospital stay. That was worrying.

They then took me up to my new ward, called the Emergency Ward. It's me and 10 or so elderly Koreans who stare at me suspiciously. Meanwhile, I lie in bed and have to listen to them fart, cough, wheeze, and snore. They combine to produce an unending death rattle that farts. And they all have cell phones which go off at top volume, and which they don't know how to work, so end up spewing the most obnoxious ring tones for minutes at a time.

I manage to leave the ward for short periods throughout the day, but I'm confined here for the most part. One day I got to leave to take some more X-rays.

On another note: I thought I'd felt pain before, but I was wrong. You want to know what pain is? Pain is a bone marrow extraction procedure. Yeah, I got to have one of those as an added bonus to this chapter of my life which keeps getting better and better. They took the marrow from the back of my hip for use in a biopsy. I'd never felt anything close to this before, to the point where I think there should be a new word for it. But it also made me appreciate pain's purpose. If pain is my body's way of letting me know something is wrong, my body was doing a hell of a job of it. It just didn't stop. Prolonged, intense pain. To call it throbbing would be misleading, because throbbing implies a sort of rhythm, up and down. This was only up, only the intense part. After pulling out what he could from my back left hip (I turned to see him using a chisel at one point) the doctor said the words I least wanted to hear- "Now time for the right side." I pleaded for him not to, but to no avail.

Sometimes in recounting a story of great pain, someone will say something like, "Man I called him every name in the book!" or something like that. But I'll tell you what, I sure as hell didn't. I pretty much only used one word the entire time. I just repeatedly screamed "Fuck!" for about 20 minutes straight. Actually, at one point I recited through clenched teeth the lyrics to A Wolf at the Door by Radiohead which I guess popped into my head for some reason.

I should also mention that they didn't take me to a special room for this procedure. They did it right on my bed in the Emergency Ward. So there were a dozen or so old Koreans who had front row seats to my misery. I wondered what they thought about that, seeing a young white guy get the most out of the word "fuck" for the better part of half an hour. I like to think they appreciated getting to see it used in an appropriate context.

By the end of it I was left a sweating, shaking mess. "The pain was severe?" queried the doctor. "Fuck," I sighed. I had to spend the next 6 hours lying prone, the pain still enduring, but much more subdued.

I don't belong here. I'm surrounded by the soon to be dead. These people are at their ends. I'm 27, supposed to be full of life. I have to escape. Must get healthy.

I've had an IV in my arm for 4 days now. The whole while it's been pumping stuff into me. This and that, my cherished platelets that I bid farewell and good luck to (platelet infusions are orange, by the way. Look like a bag of orange juice.) It pumps cortisone and antihistamines, glucose and God knows what else. I hate it. I hate being tethered to this walking tray I have to wheel around with me everywhere. I make entrances everywhere I go and people stare at the foreigner and wonder what's wrong with him. They probably think it's nothing major. To them I say- walk a mile in my shoes, tethered to this fucking IV drip!

The shower I got today was wondrous, and much needed. I don't think I'd had a proper one since Sunday. I imagined myself washing these awful red spots off my arms and legs. I've come to despise these spots, they're a stigma that remind me of the fear and uncertainty of this situation. If i could burn or tear them out and be done with them I would. Just go away. Why are you here and what do you mean?

There is an end to this, isn't there? They'll find out that it was some allergy or infection and just give me some meds. I'll be teaching on Monday morning. That's the only way out of this, the only logical conclusion.

I can count 12 puncture holes in my left arm alone. Holes where blood has been drawn.

You know, they should have a TV here. My distractions are: this pen and pad of paper, an iPod, and Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse. When you're being consumed by doubt and concern, those 3 don't amount to much.

I've had some tough nights in Korea. One's that stick out are that first one, with all its anxiety. Then there was the night I learned Dad was gone, with all its loneliness. But this night right now is up there. I'm scared, lonely, worried, and a million other things, AND THIS FUCKING GUY BEHIND ME WON'T STOP SNORING. Something needs to happen tomorrow, or I'm gonna lose it.

I wandered around the hospital today, determined to charge my phone. I set off in my hospital issued pajamas and tethered to my IV tray. I asked several people, some who pointed me in other directions, some just refused me. I was in a Mini-Mart for a while. Eventually the 1st floor Info desk took me to a Vitamin Shop that charged me a buck for a 40 minute charge. I got lost trying to find my way back to the Emergency Ward. Turns out it's on the 3rd floor, not the 5th.

Doctor says I could be out of here on Saturday. They're gonna put me on prednisone. My old pal prednisone.
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That's where the pad and pen notes stop. To fill you in, I've been diagnosed so far with ITP, Idiopathic Thrombocytopenic Purpura. Let's break that down, shall we:

Idiopathic- I don't know why but
Thrombocytopenic- you got no platelets
Purpura- and you got tiny bruises all over you

They sent me home a few hours ago. They gave me some steroids and some instructions like, eat good food, or wear a hygienic mask in public, and, don't bump into stuff or you'll start bleeding all over the place. Oh, and no booze or smokes for the foreseeable future. I have to go back on Monday for another round of IV drip treatment, and for them to see where my platelet levels are at. So, no work until Tuesday. I'm just thrilled to be out of that ward. Though I have to wonder how I'll ever be able to sleep tonight without the delicate ambiance of a 75 year old man's farts to send me off into dreamland.

So this is pretty disjointed post. I could've probably edited it all together much better and for the sake of clarity, but take what you can get. I'll keep you updated.