The other day, I got to play basketball again with Derry's guys and Paul. Derry wasn't able to make it, but we still had a great time. There's a tournament on the 5th of September, and I may be able to play with the guys. I just started playing with them, so we don't know each other that well yet.
These last two weeks, I got about two hours each day in which I remembered what it was like before having kids. Each day, I could hang out with a bunch of people who laughed at my jokes, and feel like I have a social life. Don't get me wrong--I love being married. I love my wife and girls with all my heart. But when it came time to say good bye to all the cool people that I met but may never see again, it really sucked. At least I've still got Paul, Derry, and the guys two nights a week. And my family is what really matters, anyway. They make me much happier than anything else.
このあいだ、またバスケットをした。今回、くたくたに疲れちゃった。デリーさんが来なかったけれどとても楽しかった。来週の土曜日にトーナメントがあるし、僕が試合に入ってもいいと思う。練習は、始めたばかりで、まだチームメートのことをあまり知らない。できれば、入りたい。
この２週間の間には、日に２〜３時間、シングルのような生活をしていた。毎日、授業へ行くといろんな友達と会って、僕は楽しんでいた。昨日、授業が終わった後は「さよなら」と言うのはつらかった。もう二度と会うことが出来なくて、がっかりしていた。何も言わずに、家に帰った。本当に、結婚生活は幸せだが、時々僕はシングルの人をうらやましく思う。もちろん僕は娘たちと家内を心から愛してるけど、家族以外の人と真の友情を育てられないと思う。まあ、まだデリーさんとポールさんがいるので、大丈夫だね。
Friday, August 28, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
MS, Basketball, and Japan
Monday morning, before going to Matsuyama for my Japanese course, we rode our bikes to the playground so that Kelsey could run around for a while. While she enjoying herself, I watched a bunch of seniors in full-body sun armor (long sleeve track suits and hats) play croquet. Kelsey got really excited when she found a plastic BB on the ground, so we walked around to search for more. I really enjoy having free time during the Summer; I'm sad that I have to go back to work next week.
Later that day, I took a train out to Matsuyama. While I was waiting on a bench at the train platform, I saw a man in his late thirties or early forties walking slowly toward the platform, being supported by a woman that appeared to be his wife. It was clear that he had some kind of physical illness, so I got up and let them take my spot on the bench. They smiled at me, thanking me for giving up my spot, and then the train came. I rode to Matsuyama and went to class.
On the way home, when I got to the station, I saw the couple again. We smiled at each other and I went to stand in line to wait for the train. The woman came up and stood behind me in line while the man stood off to the side, leaning against a wall. I wanted to strike up a conversation, but I wasn't sure how I should start. Just when I was about to ask the woman where they were from, she asked me, in English, "Where...come from?"
I responded in Japanese, and we then conversed all the way to Imabari. The lady was Korean, but had moved to Japan ten years ago to study at a university in Tokyo. She met the man and they got married, and they moved to Fukuyama, where they live now. We had a really nice conversation about studying Japanese, living in Japan, and visiting Las Vegas.
The man had some clearly visible needle marks lined up on both arms, but I couldn't tell what he's battling. The lady mentioned that they had come to Matsuyama for his treatment. Not trying to be too nosy, I asked if Matsuyama had the best options for treatment. I don't remember what their answer was, but they mentioned that he had multiple sclerosis, and that his condition has been getting worse lately. My heart sunk as I heard that. It must be tough for them to go through that, knowing that there's currently no cure. It gets really hot in Japan in the Summer, and heat has been shown to trigger attacks in MS patients, so they have to live outside of Japan for weeks at a time. I didn't know how to respond in a culturally-appropriate way, so I just thought aloud, "That must be difficult."
Despite the man's condition, they seemed very upbeat. I felt a strong bond with these people, as though I was supposed to run into them on the train. The lady gave me her business card and said that I should visit her pawn shop if I'm ever in Hiroshima. I think that when Ryan and Erin come out, we should drop in to the shop and see how they're doing.
When we were getting off the train, I noticed that the lady had a cross necklace on. I asked her about it, and they said that they were Christian. I mentioned that I was too, and they specified that they are protestant. I told them that I'm Mormon, and they said that they had seen the church in Fukuyama. When we parted ways at the Imabari station, and I felt good that I had left a good impression. Maybe our encounter was coincidental; I just have a strong feeling that it wasn't.
Last night, after I got back from Matsuyama, I went to play basketball with Derry, an ALT from Ireland, and Paul, a brand new ALT from Washington, D.C. Derry plays on the local club team, which competes all over Shikoku. We basically went to the team's practice session, where we ran passing and shooting drills for an hour before scrimmaging for another hour. I felt pretty good for having not played for so long. I felt bad that I missed half of my three-point attempts, until I remembered that making 50% of your shots from behind the arc is actually pretty good.
Derry's a big guy, and he's pretty tough to stop down in the post. He runs like a stallion, and so it's tough to keep up with him. But I feel like I held my own out there. The drills are a bit confusing for me, since I never played organized basketball. I think Paul had fun, though his calves were acting up on him, causing him to have to sit for the last half hour or so. My left calf started to cramp up towards the end, and my right pinky toe lost a nickel-sized piece of skin. Little injuries like that don't really affect me in the way that something like MS would, though, so I feel lucky that I am healthy enough to run.
They also each brought reversible jerseys so that they could switch them from light to dark between games. I had to borrow one, since I had no idea that I was supposed to bring one.
When we were done, we sat in a circle and stiffly evaluated the practice session, as though we were conducting a business meeting. They really take their extra-curricular activities seriously out here.
At this time, I realized that I had not adequately prepared for the night. I was completely drenched in sweat, which was never a problem after playing with Ryan (Bunker) and Jeremy in Utah. But here in Japan, they change out of their clothes and into new ones before they get into their car. They were appalled that I wasn't going to change first. The guy who gave us a ride, who goes by the name "Midnight", told me it would be best if I put on some clean shorts. He gave me a pair of his own shorts to change into.
We drove to a convenience store afterwards, where sat around while we chatted and all the guys smoked and had a drink. Paul asked one of the guys how he could run so well if he smoked. It was an honest question, but the guy promptly threw away his cigarette as though Paul had implied that he shouldn't be smoking. It was, to me, a clear instance of Japanese communication being distinct from our own.
Recently, I met a nice Aussie named Andrew Strange. He's very sensitive to cultural differences in Japan, since he's engaged to a Japanese girl. The other day, he thought he had offended me, because I didn't respond to a joke that he made. The funny thing is, I didn't hear the joke, so I had no idea what he was talking about. He seemed to adopt a very Japanese perspective, reading deep into a situation that never even occurred. I need to make it a point to say hi to him today and let him know that everything's all right.
Today, I'm headed back to Matsuyama for class. I'll be coming home a bit later than usual, since I'm going to go get some fabric for my mom after class. Hopefully I'll be able to find what she wants.
From now on, I'm going to try to write in both English and Japanese. It'll be good practice for me.
今までずっと英語で書いてたが、これから、日本語でも書きたい。今、時間はないけど、チャンスがあれば、この日記を翻訳したいと思う。
Later that day, I took a train out to Matsuyama. While I was waiting on a bench at the train platform, I saw a man in his late thirties or early forties walking slowly toward the platform, being supported by a woman that appeared to be his wife. It was clear that he had some kind of physical illness, so I got up and let them take my spot on the bench. They smiled at me, thanking me for giving up my spot, and then the train came. I rode to Matsuyama and went to class.
On the way home, when I got to the station, I saw the couple again. We smiled at each other and I went to stand in line to wait for the train. The woman came up and stood behind me in line while the man stood off to the side, leaning against a wall. I wanted to strike up a conversation, but I wasn't sure how I should start. Just when I was about to ask the woman where they were from, she asked me, in English, "Where...come from?"
I responded in Japanese, and we then conversed all the way to Imabari. The lady was Korean, but had moved to Japan ten years ago to study at a university in Tokyo. She met the man and they got married, and they moved to Fukuyama, where they live now. We had a really nice conversation about studying Japanese, living in Japan, and visiting Las Vegas.
The man had some clearly visible needle marks lined up on both arms, but I couldn't tell what he's battling. The lady mentioned that they had come to Matsuyama for his treatment. Not trying to be too nosy, I asked if Matsuyama had the best options for treatment. I don't remember what their answer was, but they mentioned that he had multiple sclerosis, and that his condition has been getting worse lately. My heart sunk as I heard that. It must be tough for them to go through that, knowing that there's currently no cure. It gets really hot in Japan in the Summer, and heat has been shown to trigger attacks in MS patients, so they have to live outside of Japan for weeks at a time. I didn't know how to respond in a culturally-appropriate way, so I just thought aloud, "That must be difficult."
Despite the man's condition, they seemed very upbeat. I felt a strong bond with these people, as though I was supposed to run into them on the train. The lady gave me her business card and said that I should visit her pawn shop if I'm ever in Hiroshima. I think that when Ryan and Erin come out, we should drop in to the shop and see how they're doing.
When we were getting off the train, I noticed that the lady had a cross necklace on. I asked her about it, and they said that they were Christian. I mentioned that I was too, and they specified that they are protestant. I told them that I'm Mormon, and they said that they had seen the church in Fukuyama. When we parted ways at the Imabari station, and I felt good that I had left a good impression. Maybe our encounter was coincidental; I just have a strong feeling that it wasn't.
Last night, after I got back from Matsuyama, I went to play basketball with Derry, an ALT from Ireland, and Paul, a brand new ALT from Washington, D.C. Derry plays on the local club team, which competes all over Shikoku. We basically went to the team's practice session, where we ran passing and shooting drills for an hour before scrimmaging for another hour. I felt pretty good for having not played for so long. I felt bad that I missed half of my three-point attempts, until I remembered that making 50% of your shots from behind the arc is actually pretty good.
Derry's a big guy, and he's pretty tough to stop down in the post. He runs like a stallion, and so it's tough to keep up with him. But I feel like I held my own out there. The drills are a bit confusing for me, since I never played organized basketball. I think Paul had fun, though his calves were acting up on him, causing him to have to sit for the last half hour or so. My left calf started to cramp up towards the end, and my right pinky toe lost a nickel-sized piece of skin. Little injuries like that don't really affect me in the way that something like MS would, though, so I feel lucky that I am healthy enough to run.
They also each brought reversible jerseys so that they could switch them from light to dark between games. I had to borrow one, since I had no idea that I was supposed to bring one.
When we were done, we sat in a circle and stiffly evaluated the practice session, as though we were conducting a business meeting. They really take their extra-curricular activities seriously out here.
At this time, I realized that I had not adequately prepared for the night. I was completely drenched in sweat, which was never a problem after playing with Ryan (Bunker) and Jeremy in Utah. But here in Japan, they change out of their clothes and into new ones before they get into their car. They were appalled that I wasn't going to change first. The guy who gave us a ride, who goes by the name "Midnight", told me it would be best if I put on some clean shorts. He gave me a pair of his own shorts to change into.
We drove to a convenience store afterwards, where sat around while we chatted and all the guys smoked and had a drink. Paul asked one of the guys how he could run so well if he smoked. It was an honest question, but the guy promptly threw away his cigarette as though Paul had implied that he shouldn't be smoking. It was, to me, a clear instance of Japanese communication being distinct from our own.
Recently, I met a nice Aussie named Andrew Strange. He's very sensitive to cultural differences in Japan, since he's engaged to a Japanese girl. The other day, he thought he had offended me, because I didn't respond to a joke that he made. The funny thing is, I didn't hear the joke, so I had no idea what he was talking about. He seemed to adopt a very Japanese perspective, reading deep into a situation that never even occurred. I need to make it a point to say hi to him today and let him know that everything's all right.
Today, I'm headed back to Matsuyama for class. I'll be coming home a bit later than usual, since I'm going to go get some fabric for my mom after class. Hopefully I'll be able to find what she wants.
From now on, I'm going to try to write in both English and Japanese. It'll be good practice for me.
今までずっと英語で書いてたが、これから、日本語でも書きたい。今、時間はないけど、チャンスがあれば、この日記を翻訳したいと思う。
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Weekends are great
This Monday, I started a two-week intensive Japanese course in Matsuyama. Each day, I take a train out there at about 11:30 and attend class from 1:30 until 3:30. I bought train tickets in sets of 6 so that I could save a bit of money (10%) on the train fare.
Since I missed the deadline to sign up, I wasn't supposed to get in to the class, but one of the people had mercy on me and sent me an application. After faxing in a written placement test, I had an oral interview over the phone. I got a call a few hours later notifying me of my placement. Of the five levels that are offered at EPIC, I'm in the top level. While I was excited to be placed in the most challenging course, I didn't really know what to expect.
The class is pretty packed. There are about 32 of us, though we English speakers are in the minority. About 10 of the students are from South Korea, while six or so come from China. Two or three people are from Germany, one lady comes from Singapore, and one girl is from Argentina. The dozen of us that remain are from English-speaking countries like the U.S., Ireland, New Zealand, and Australia. Amongst the English-speaking foreigners, I feel pretty confident about my abilities. Most of them have a lot more experience with familiar speech than I do, but that's in part due to the fact that most of them have been here at least 3 years. Some have been in Japan for six or more years.
Many of the Koreans haven't been here for even a year, yet their Japanese is impeccable. Korean syntax, from what I've been told, is much like that of Japanese. So, while we English-speakers have to think backwards, the Koreans only have to convert their Korean vocabulary into Japanese. One girl has been in Japan for five months and is basically fluent.
The Chinese have a huge advantage with writing, since Japanese borrows its symbols from Chinese. They still have to learn how to pronounce what they read, but they generally already know the meaning of kanji compounds they see. Pronunciation differs greatly between the two languages, though, so many of the Chinese students struggle to speak clearly.
One of the Chinese students is a tactless 17-year old know-it-all. He likes to show off his kanji ability, which is unimpressive to me. Of course he knows how to write the Chinese characters--he's Chinese! At the end of one class period, when our teacher asked us to write down what we all learned, he asked, "And what if I didn't learn anything?" Seriously, if this is too easy, then don't come to class.
After each of the first two days, I felt pretty confident. I understood pretty much everything that we discussed, and held my own with the speaking parts after some initial jitters. After the third day, though, I wanted to quit. I ended up at a table with the annoying Chinese kid and no English speakers. The three Chinese speakers at our table just conversed amongst themselves in Chinese, and I was left to communicate in Japanese with a Korean girl. She was pretty helpful, but there were times when I didn't quite understand what was expected.
Truthfully, the kanji characters were what threw me off. I know how to write about six hundred characters, but you need to know two to three thousand before you're really literate. I couldn't keep up with the people at my table, who didn't take time to discuss what was expected of us since they inherently knew by looking at the sheet. By the end of the day, I wondered if it was worth it for me to suffer through the remaining classes if it was just going to get harder from there.
Talking to another American, a guy from Oakland named Mike, I decided that it didn't matter how much I sucked in comparison with the Koreans or the Chinese. I resolved to sit with other English speakers, and to study the material before class. They don't want us to study the material ahead of time, because they want to test our listening comprehension. If we know what it says ahead of time, we have an unfair advantage. Hogwash, I say.
I'm taking this course so that I can learn. It seems like the teachers expect us to already know the material, which doesn't make sense. Why would we take a class if we already knew all the material? So I'm reading the material ahead of time. The more I study it, the better I'll remember.
I've learned a smattering of useful phrases and have greatly strengthened my understanding of Japanese honorific speech. The stuff next week should be even more useful. I'm glad I stuck with it, because I've done well on both of the days that followed the miserable one.
On that miserable day, I came home in a bit of a funk. Luckily, I was going to go out with Lisandro, a Dominican guy that I met at the store by our house. We had tried to set up a time to hang out, but it kept falling through. When I got home, though, I soon realized that I was going to have to cancel on him yet again. Kelsey had fallen and bitten through her upper lip, and needed to be taken to the ER. Dang it.
I'm sick of hospitals. Sister Ochi from church picked us up in her car and took us to the Central Hospital, which was the only emergency hospital that was open that night. Each day, a different hospital takes its turn as the regional emergency hospital. It's a bit confusing and inconvenient.
Luckily, she didn't need stitches. The doctors put a special adhesive bandage that was supposed to be strong enough to stay on long enough to heal. She took it off before we even left the hospital. They replaced it, but it was off before we got home. It's getting better on its own, and should be all healed within a week.
Last night, I finally got to meet up with Lisandro, who's quite a character. He was a big-time baseball prospect back in the Dominican Republic until he got injured and had career-ending surgery. He gave me some salami and a slice of lemon for added flavor, which I ate while we chatted back at his apartment. He offered me a glass of Tang-like liquid, which was offered to me in a washed styrofoam Cup-O-Noodles container. I did my best not to cringe.
He told some really funny stories, and introduced me to one of his coworkers, who's also from the D.R. They work together building car parts here in Imabari. They come for a few months at a time, return home for a month or so, and then come back again.
He seems like a pretty nice guy. It's nice to have someone with whom I can speak Spanish. He invited me out again tonight, but I had to turn him down so that I could spend time with Stef instead.
Stef and I got to go on a date for the first time in quite a while, and for only the third time since we got to Japan. Heidi, one of the new teachers, stayed in our apartment while the girls slept. Stef and I rode our bikes to a sushi boat restaurant, where sushi goes around-and-around like a conveyor belt. It was eco-night, which meant that all the plates were only 100 yen each. We both ate a ton of awesome sushi, and we didn't even pay $15 for the whole meal. We grabbed a frequent eater card, which we hope to use in the future.
After dinner, we got some ice cream and talked for a little bit. It was really nice to spend time with Stef. I'm glad that we have people who are willing to babysit now. Hopefully we'll get to go on more than two dates this year!
Since I missed the deadline to sign up, I wasn't supposed to get in to the class, but one of the people had mercy on me and sent me an application. After faxing in a written placement test, I had an oral interview over the phone. I got a call a few hours later notifying me of my placement. Of the five levels that are offered at EPIC, I'm in the top level. While I was excited to be placed in the most challenging course, I didn't really know what to expect.
The class is pretty packed. There are about 32 of us, though we English speakers are in the minority. About 10 of the students are from South Korea, while six or so come from China. Two or three people are from Germany, one lady comes from Singapore, and one girl is from Argentina. The dozen of us that remain are from English-speaking countries like the U.S., Ireland, New Zealand, and Australia. Amongst the English-speaking foreigners, I feel pretty confident about my abilities. Most of them have a lot more experience with familiar speech than I do, but that's in part due to the fact that most of them have been here at least 3 years. Some have been in Japan for six or more years.
Many of the Koreans haven't been here for even a year, yet their Japanese is impeccable. Korean syntax, from what I've been told, is much like that of Japanese. So, while we English-speakers have to think backwards, the Koreans only have to convert their Korean vocabulary into Japanese. One girl has been in Japan for five months and is basically fluent.
The Chinese have a huge advantage with writing, since Japanese borrows its symbols from Chinese. They still have to learn how to pronounce what they read, but they generally already know the meaning of kanji compounds they see. Pronunciation differs greatly between the two languages, though, so many of the Chinese students struggle to speak clearly.
One of the Chinese students is a tactless 17-year old know-it-all. He likes to show off his kanji ability, which is unimpressive to me. Of course he knows how to write the Chinese characters--he's Chinese! At the end of one class period, when our teacher asked us to write down what we all learned, he asked, "And what if I didn't learn anything?" Seriously, if this is too easy, then don't come to class.
After each of the first two days, I felt pretty confident. I understood pretty much everything that we discussed, and held my own with the speaking parts after some initial jitters. After the third day, though, I wanted to quit. I ended up at a table with the annoying Chinese kid and no English speakers. The three Chinese speakers at our table just conversed amongst themselves in Chinese, and I was left to communicate in Japanese with a Korean girl. She was pretty helpful, but there were times when I didn't quite understand what was expected.
Truthfully, the kanji characters were what threw me off. I know how to write about six hundred characters, but you need to know two to three thousand before you're really literate. I couldn't keep up with the people at my table, who didn't take time to discuss what was expected of us since they inherently knew by looking at the sheet. By the end of the day, I wondered if it was worth it for me to suffer through the remaining classes if it was just going to get harder from there.
Talking to another American, a guy from Oakland named Mike, I decided that it didn't matter how much I sucked in comparison with the Koreans or the Chinese. I resolved to sit with other English speakers, and to study the material before class. They don't want us to study the material ahead of time, because they want to test our listening comprehension. If we know what it says ahead of time, we have an unfair advantage. Hogwash, I say.
I'm taking this course so that I can learn. It seems like the teachers expect us to already know the material, which doesn't make sense. Why would we take a class if we already knew all the material? So I'm reading the material ahead of time. The more I study it, the better I'll remember.
I've learned a smattering of useful phrases and have greatly strengthened my understanding of Japanese honorific speech. The stuff next week should be even more useful. I'm glad I stuck with it, because I've done well on both of the days that followed the miserable one.
On that miserable day, I came home in a bit of a funk. Luckily, I was going to go out with Lisandro, a Dominican guy that I met at the store by our house. We had tried to set up a time to hang out, but it kept falling through. When I got home, though, I soon realized that I was going to have to cancel on him yet again. Kelsey had fallen and bitten through her upper lip, and needed to be taken to the ER. Dang it.
I'm sick of hospitals. Sister Ochi from church picked us up in her car and took us to the Central Hospital, which was the only emergency hospital that was open that night. Each day, a different hospital takes its turn as the regional emergency hospital. It's a bit confusing and inconvenient.
Luckily, she didn't need stitches. The doctors put a special adhesive bandage that was supposed to be strong enough to stay on long enough to heal. She took it off before we even left the hospital. They replaced it, but it was off before we got home. It's getting better on its own, and should be all healed within a week.
Last night, I finally got to meet up with Lisandro, who's quite a character. He was a big-time baseball prospect back in the Dominican Republic until he got injured and had career-ending surgery. He gave me some salami and a slice of lemon for added flavor, which I ate while we chatted back at his apartment. He offered me a glass of Tang-like liquid, which was offered to me in a washed styrofoam Cup-O-Noodles container. I did my best not to cringe.
He told some really funny stories, and introduced me to one of his coworkers, who's also from the D.R. They work together building car parts here in Imabari. They come for a few months at a time, return home for a month or so, and then come back again.
He seems like a pretty nice guy. It's nice to have someone with whom I can speak Spanish. He invited me out again tonight, but I had to turn him down so that I could spend time with Stef instead.
Stef and I got to go on a date for the first time in quite a while, and for only the third time since we got to Japan. Heidi, one of the new teachers, stayed in our apartment while the girls slept. Stef and I rode our bikes to a sushi boat restaurant, where sushi goes around-and-around like a conveyor belt. It was eco-night, which meant that all the plates were only 100 yen each. We both ate a ton of awesome sushi, and we didn't even pay $15 for the whole meal. We grabbed a frequent eater card, which we hope to use in the future.
After dinner, we got some ice cream and talked for a little bit. It was really nice to spend time with Stef. I'm glad that we have people who are willing to babysit now. Hopefully we'll get to go on more than two dates this year!
Friday, August 21, 2009
Nu riqi'l a t'uqok al xajäb
My food smells like shoes.
No, not really. But if I wanted to say that to someone from the Guatemalan highlands, I'd say Nu riqi'l a t'uqok al xajäb.
When I was living in Guatemala, I learned some really obscure phrases--both in Spanish and K'iche'. I always got a kick out of surprising people with random phrases or funny slang terms. Anybody can say saqarik or buenos dias (both mean good morning), but most people aren't prepared to hear a large white man say puro utz pin pin, wachalal, which is the K'iche' equivalent of friggin' sweet, bro.
Here in Japan, I've learned the basics necessary for everyday communication. But only studying the basics leaves a void in my heart that can only be filled with off-the-wall phrases like むちむちした太腿 (cottage cheese thighs).
Over the last few weeks, my vocabulary has grown immensely. Unfortunately, most of what I have learned recently is stuff that I wish I never had to learn. Things like:
The list goes on. Granted, many of those phrases are good to know--they're just not the ones I had hoped to learn. Now that Mia's home and healthy, I can go back to learning things like 僕の食べ物は、靴のような匂いがする. Or, in other words, my food smells like shoes.
No, not really. But if I wanted to say that to someone from the Guatemalan highlands, I'd say Nu riqi'l a t'uqok al xajäb.
When I was living in Guatemala, I learned some really obscure phrases--both in Spanish and K'iche'. I always got a kick out of surprising people with random phrases or funny slang terms. Anybody can say saqarik or buenos dias (both mean good morning), but most people aren't prepared to hear a large white man say puro utz pin pin, wachalal, which is the K'iche' equivalent of friggin' sweet, bro.
Here in Japan, I've learned the basics necessary for everyday communication. But only studying the basics leaves a void in my heart that can only be filled with off-the-wall phrases like むちむちした太腿 (cottage cheese thighs).
Over the last few weeks, my vocabulary has grown immensely. Unfortunately, most of what I have learned recently is stuff that I wish I never had to learn. Things like:
| 血圧 | blood pressure |
| 輸血 | blood transfusion |
| 心外膜液 | pericardial effusion |
| 利尿剤 | diuretic |
| 治療 | treatment |
| 効果のない | not effective |
The list goes on. Granted, many of those phrases are good to know--they're just not the ones I had hoped to learn. Now that Mia's home and healthy, I can go back to learning things like 僕の食べ物は、靴のような匂いがする. Or, in other words, my food smells like shoes.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Mia's home! 2: Electric Boogaloo
Mia's finally back home from the hospital.
Three weeks ago, we took Mia to her doctor for a fever that had climbed up to nearly 103 degrees and wasn't showing any signs of going away. We had already been to the doctor four times that week for Kelsey, who had broken out in hives and had a swollen upper lip. The doctor suggested we take her to the hospital. We called the branch president of our church, who picked us up and took us to the Imabari prefectural hospital.
After I filled out some forms, a doctor checked Mia and said that she most likely had some sort of bacterial infection. She recommended we admit her to the hospital for a few days so that they could treat her and keep an eye on her. They gave her an IV and prepared a room on the fourth floor. The nurse said that Stefanie would have to stay with Mia at the hospital, sharing a full-size crib.
I planned to visit Stef each day after Kelsey's afternoon nap and bring dinner for all of us to share. When I came back the second day, Mia was grumpy and her fever was persistent. I asked the doctor what he thought, and he said that even though her fever had climbed to 104 and wasn't coming down, she wasn't having any serious problems like convulsions. He still anticipated a quick recovery.
A couple hours after speaking with the doctor, Mia started to have febrile convulsions. I pressed the nurse-call button and asked them to come to the room. When nobody seemed to show up, I ran out to the nurse station to ask them to hurry. The nurse sitting at the desk told me that Mia's nurse had already left for the room. I ran back to the room, and the nurse was looking at Mia, who was sluggish and unresponsive, and still convulsing. She asked how long she had been like that, and I explained that she had just started shaking. She quickly exited the room and was soon joined by Mia's doctor and another nurse, who picked Mia up and whisked her away to another area of the hospital, leaving us behind. I consoled Kelsey as she reached out and cried, "Oh no, baby Mia!" as they disappeared with her little sister. Stef and I looked at each other, and I could tell that we were thinking the same thing.
When Mia was born sixteen weeks premature on a boat, Stef and I both felt a calming assurance that everything would be all right. When they rushed Mia away, neither of us felt that assurance. I embraced Stef and told her how much I loved her, assuring her that we'd make it through everything okay.
I'm not really sure how long Mia was gone. In the 45-120 minutes that she was with the doctors, I had enough time to consider nearly all possible outcomes. All I could do was pray that she'd be all right and that we'd have enough strength to deal with the outcome.
Mia and the doctor's entourage finally returned to the fourth floor, where we were waiting. The doctor said that they had stabilized her with some medicine for the convulsions. Her fever was still high, but she was going to be all right. They moved her into a room that was right across from the nurse station, allowing for constant supervision. Stef slept with Mia that night.
The next day, her fever dipped slightly, but came back in full force. The medicine for the bacterial infection didn't seem to be helping. When a rash broke out on her arm, the doctor realized that we might not be looking at a bacterial infection. It's almost unheard of in kids Mia's age, but it seemed like Mia was suffering from Kawasaki Disease, a condition that targets the heart. As a preemie, Mia already has a heart condition called Atrial Septal Defect, which is, to put it clearly, a hole in her heart. So, we knew from the moment the doctor mulled the Kawasaki diagnosis that we needed to be worried about her heart.
Mia's convulsion medication left her sluggish and unable to eat, so we had to feed her with a medicine dropper, 2 milliliters at a time. She had difficulty swallowing, and so a lot of the milk seemed to be going down the wrong tube. But since I had a way to feed her, I stayed at the hospital so that Stef could have a break.
Along with the fever and rash, Mia had conjunctivitis, cracked lips, and another symptom (that I can't remember), which all together pointed to a diagnosis of Kawasaki Disease. The doctor started administering treatment of antibodies (immunoglobulins), which are generally very effective in treating Kawasaki Disease.
During the first stage of immunoglobulin treatment, Mia wasn't responding very well. The nurses left it up to us to remember when to administer her oral medication. The idea of us forgetting to give her an essential drug frightened me, so I asked them to remind us.
Stef stayed with Mia the next night, and I slept at home with Kelsey. Stef felt guilty about sleeping that night, because she wasn't sure the nurses would always respond promptly to problems. At home, a package from my mom that had a crib sheet had come while I was gone. Without Stef around, a simple thing like seeing the unused crib sheet or Mia's empty jungle bouncer was too much to handle.
The next morning, I went in to the hospital to check on Mia, because Stef was worried about a patch of raised skin above Mia's right ear. She wasn't sure if it was a skin reaction or if it was coming from inside her head. Stef had noticed it when she went to check Mia's temperature, which was up around 104 degrees. Up until that point, there hadn't been much difficulty communicating with the hospital staff. However, when Stef tried to describe her concerns to the nurse, things got a little complicated. I arrived at the hospital and took over, since my Japanese is much better than the nurse's English.
Since Mia is so young, using fever control medication is too risky. The only thing they could do to control her body temperature was put a cold-pack under her neck. When Stef woke up, the cold pack had returned to room temperature. I asked if the cold-pack shouldn't be replaced, and the nurse got a bit defensive. I explained that we were worried about her fever being so high and that we wanted to do everything we could to keep Mia from burning up. After a few failed attempts to explain our worries, the nurse broke down and started crying. She was tired and had forgotten to come and check Mia's temperature and change the ice pack. She felt guilty that we couldn't trust her to watch over Mia while Stef slept. As she sat there with tears streaming down her face, Stef leaned and gave her a hug, which seemed to make her even more uncomfortable. The doctor on duty came in and the nurse calmed down. Soon after, Mia had a new nurse. Her shift might have been over, but I think that they gave her a break from us.
I had a meeting with the doctor, various nurses, and a translator, in which they described Kawasaki Disease and the treatment plan. I only needed the translator for two medical terms--the rest was clear. There were two more stages of immunoglobulin treatments--if one didn't work, they'd step it up to the next level. If the next level wasn't effective, they'd have to try the immunosuppressant Cyclosporin A, which is only administered at the Matsuyama Central Hospital, where Mia spent the first four months of her life.
The thought of having to go back to Matsuyama made me queasy. I was trying to wrap my head around all the information so that I could pass it on to Stef, who was watching Kelsey during the meeting. Just ten minutes after the meeting, while I was in the middle of explaining the plan, the doctor changed his mind. Mia had chest congestion, and the results of her ultrasound had them fearing bronchitis and pneumonia in addition to all the other problems. They said that they needed to transport her right away to the ICU in Matsuyama.
Stef and I took Kelsey to our friend Kris' house to stay for the night. Stef and I rode to Matsuyama with Akiko-san, a lady who works for the International Center in town. We got to the hospital at night and met the huge team of doctors that would be taking care of Mia. We saw a lot of the doctors and nurses who were in the NICU when Mia was there, and they all greeted us and asked how Mia was doing. I stayed the night with Stef at the hospital, and returned to Imabari the next morning to pick Kelsey up.
We were told to expect at least a week for recovery. The doctors said that Mia had stabilized from earlier but that her fever was still high. Over the next few days, her fever would briefly drop, then climb back up to the 102-104 range. I called the missionaries in Matsuyama to see if there was anywhere Kelsey and I could stay for the next few days. The Sumida family, who used to give us a ride to church when we lived in Matsuyama, let us stay there. They have young kids, so they agreed to watch Kelsey the first day while I went to see Mia. They were also kind to prepare meals for us in the morning and evening. We even got to take rice balls that they had made with us for a snack.
After two or three days in Matsuyama, it seemed as though Mia might be getting better. Her temperature was close to normal, so I planned to take Kelsey back home with me to Imabari after visiting Stef and Mia for the day. When I was getting stuff ready early that morning at the Sumida's house, I received a text message from Stef that said, "Maybe you shouldn't go back to Imabari today. Doctors afraid of cardiac failure." I asked the Sumidas if they'd be willing to watch Kelsey again while I went to the hospital. It was impossible to keep my emotions in check as I described the complications. They agreed to watch Kelsey, and I rushed to the train station.
I got there right as both trains were arriving, so I was unable to board. Had it just been my train that was there, I would have had no problem getting onto the platform. But since a train was coming the other way, the railroad gates came down and I was forced to watch the train as it pulled up, waited for people to load, and then pulled away. The gates opened up and I went up to the platform and sat down on the bench, sobbing uncontrollably as I waited for the next train to come. All the people around me avoided making any kind of eye contact with the big, blabbering foreigner.
When I got to the hospital, the doctors handed me a laundry list of all of the problems that Mia was facing. Normally, doctors will explain problems and then go over the possible treatments, phrasing everything in a tactful way so as to give you hope for your child's recovery. With the language barrier, all information given in English was supplied without any such optimism. Just a list of the problems and their ultimate outcomes if treatment is ineffective.
Mia's pericardial effusion (swelling of her heart due to fluid retention) was getting worse, and her heart rate was getting dangerously high. Her fever was back in full force, and the immunoglobulin treatment had stopped having any effect. The doctors explained that they were going to have to begin Cyclosporin treatment, which was risky.
After explaining the treatment plan to me, the doctors huddled around me and asked if there was anything I wanted to "kiku". In Japanese, the word kiku means both to hear and to ask, so I said that I'd like to "kiku" that Mia would get better the next day. The doctors frowned and apologized that it wasn't something that they could say. They patted me on the back and encouraged me to "ganbatte," which roughly translates to hang on or stay strong.
The next day, things got even more complicated. Kelsey's rash, about which we had seen the doctor multiple times, got even worse, and she had a fever of about 101.5 degrees. I had forgotten to bring her hives medication with me to Matsuyama, so her rash wasn't getting any better. She was lively and happy, but her rash, fever and previous mouth-swelling made me worry that she might have Kawasaki disease, too. It's not contagious, so it would have been a huge coincidence. Needless to say, the last thing we wanted was to have to worry about Kelsey, too.
I set an appointment for Kelsey for the next morning. It turned out to just be a bacterial infection that came from the scratching when she had hives. What a relief. We got medicine which we faithfully applied until her rash went away.
Mia's doctors started the Cyclosporin treatment. Brother Sumida came to the hospital and we gave Mia a priesthood blessing right after the new treatment. I gave Stef a blessing, and then rode back to the Sumida family's house. When we got there, I asked if Brother Sumida and his son (the Branch President) would give me a blessing as well. I struggled with not knowing if Mia would get better. All I wanted was to see her smile again. The Sumidas blessed me with faith in the healing power of the priesthood. Having received this blessing, I remembered part of my patriarchal blessing, which discusses my children and the strength of their spirits. I felt strongly that Mia would get better.
The next morning, Mia was doing a bit better. The medication was working well. Her heart had shrunk slightly with the diuretic that she was taking, but was still way too big. Over the next few days, her heart returned to mostly normal size, and her fever completely subsided. She was getting better. She no longer needed to be in the ICU, and they were going to transfer her back to the Imabari prefectural hospital.
When Stef was leaving the hospital, the nurses asked her to pay her hospital bill before leaving, which was 240. They asked if she had the money on her, and she responded incredulously that she didn't. Why would she keep 240 bucks on her in cash? She went down to the ATM with the nurses, who kept asking if she was sure that she didn't have that much on her. Frustrated with the persistent questioning, she pulled out her change purse and said, "This is all I have on me." The nurse swiped the change purse, unzipped it, and pulled out 240 yen, the equivalent of about $2.50. Our hospital bill in Matsuyama wasn't even three dollars.
Back in Imabari, Stef again stayed with Mia at the hospital. The nurse who had broken down was once again on duty, and happy to see Mia in improving condition. The doctor and his staff monitored Mia and performed echocardiograms to monitor her heart, which was steadily improving. They estimated her treatment period at two weeks, but said that it could go quicker.
That was bring-your-daughter-to-work week. I was lucky to not have a grueling work schedule during this time. Kelsey came with me and ran around on the top floor of the city office building while I talked with the other English teachers. As inconvenient this whole experience was, there was no better time for it to happen than Summer break.
After a week in Imabari, Mia was all better and ready to come home. When I asked how we could pay the bill, the nurses said that we wouldn't be receiving one. She's covered 100% under our insurance. Whew.
Not being able to speak to family through all this really stunk. The only way I could keep myself from emotionally falling apart was to stay close to Stef. Stef really missed her mom.
It's great to have Mia back at home, jumping in her bouncer. I've promised myself to be more involved with Mia and to take more pictures and video of my children. Nothing is more important than family.
Three weeks ago, we took Mia to her doctor for a fever that had climbed up to nearly 103 degrees and wasn't showing any signs of going away. We had already been to the doctor four times that week for Kelsey, who had broken out in hives and had a swollen upper lip. The doctor suggested we take her to the hospital. We called the branch president of our church, who picked us up and took us to the Imabari prefectural hospital.
After I filled out some forms, a doctor checked Mia and said that she most likely had some sort of bacterial infection. She recommended we admit her to the hospital for a few days so that they could treat her and keep an eye on her. They gave her an IV and prepared a room on the fourth floor. The nurse said that Stefanie would have to stay with Mia at the hospital, sharing a full-size crib.
I planned to visit Stef each day after Kelsey's afternoon nap and bring dinner for all of us to share. When I came back the second day, Mia was grumpy and her fever was persistent. I asked the doctor what he thought, and he said that even though her fever had climbed to 104 and wasn't coming down, she wasn't having any serious problems like convulsions. He still anticipated a quick recovery.
A couple hours after speaking with the doctor, Mia started to have febrile convulsions. I pressed the nurse-call button and asked them to come to the room. When nobody seemed to show up, I ran out to the nurse station to ask them to hurry. The nurse sitting at the desk told me that Mia's nurse had already left for the room. I ran back to the room, and the nurse was looking at Mia, who was sluggish and unresponsive, and still convulsing. She asked how long she had been like that, and I explained that she had just started shaking. She quickly exited the room and was soon joined by Mia's doctor and another nurse, who picked Mia up and whisked her away to another area of the hospital, leaving us behind. I consoled Kelsey as she reached out and cried, "Oh no, baby Mia!" as they disappeared with her little sister. Stef and I looked at each other, and I could tell that we were thinking the same thing.
When Mia was born sixteen weeks premature on a boat, Stef and I both felt a calming assurance that everything would be all right. When they rushed Mia away, neither of us felt that assurance. I embraced Stef and told her how much I loved her, assuring her that we'd make it through everything okay.
I'm not really sure how long Mia was gone. In the 45-120 minutes that she was with the doctors, I had enough time to consider nearly all possible outcomes. All I could do was pray that she'd be all right and that we'd have enough strength to deal with the outcome.
Mia and the doctor's entourage finally returned to the fourth floor, where we were waiting. The doctor said that they had stabilized her with some medicine for the convulsions. Her fever was still high, but she was going to be all right. They moved her into a room that was right across from the nurse station, allowing for constant supervision. Stef slept with Mia that night.
The next day, her fever dipped slightly, but came back in full force. The medicine for the bacterial infection didn't seem to be helping. When a rash broke out on her arm, the doctor realized that we might not be looking at a bacterial infection. It's almost unheard of in kids Mia's age, but it seemed like Mia was suffering from Kawasaki Disease, a condition that targets the heart. As a preemie, Mia already has a heart condition called Atrial Septal Defect, which is, to put it clearly, a hole in her heart. So, we knew from the moment the doctor mulled the Kawasaki diagnosis that we needed to be worried about her heart.
Mia's convulsion medication left her sluggish and unable to eat, so we had to feed her with a medicine dropper, 2 milliliters at a time. She had difficulty swallowing, and so a lot of the milk seemed to be going down the wrong tube. But since I had a way to feed her, I stayed at the hospital so that Stef could have a break.
Along with the fever and rash, Mia had conjunctivitis, cracked lips, and another symptom (that I can't remember), which all together pointed to a diagnosis of Kawasaki Disease. The doctor started administering treatment of antibodies (immunoglobulins), which are generally very effective in treating Kawasaki Disease.
During the first stage of immunoglobulin treatment, Mia wasn't responding very well. The nurses left it up to us to remember when to administer her oral medication. The idea of us forgetting to give her an essential drug frightened me, so I asked them to remind us.
Stef stayed with Mia the next night, and I slept at home with Kelsey. Stef felt guilty about sleeping that night, because she wasn't sure the nurses would always respond promptly to problems. At home, a package from my mom that had a crib sheet had come while I was gone. Without Stef around, a simple thing like seeing the unused crib sheet or Mia's empty jungle bouncer was too much to handle.
The next morning, I went in to the hospital to check on Mia, because Stef was worried about a patch of raised skin above Mia's right ear. She wasn't sure if it was a skin reaction or if it was coming from inside her head. Stef had noticed it when she went to check Mia's temperature, which was up around 104 degrees. Up until that point, there hadn't been much difficulty communicating with the hospital staff. However, when Stef tried to describe her concerns to the nurse, things got a little complicated. I arrived at the hospital and took over, since my Japanese is much better than the nurse's English.
Since Mia is so young, using fever control medication is too risky. The only thing they could do to control her body temperature was put a cold-pack under her neck. When Stef woke up, the cold pack had returned to room temperature. I asked if the cold-pack shouldn't be replaced, and the nurse got a bit defensive. I explained that we were worried about her fever being so high and that we wanted to do everything we could to keep Mia from burning up. After a few failed attempts to explain our worries, the nurse broke down and started crying. She was tired and had forgotten to come and check Mia's temperature and change the ice pack. She felt guilty that we couldn't trust her to watch over Mia while Stef slept. As she sat there with tears streaming down her face, Stef leaned and gave her a hug, which seemed to make her even more uncomfortable. The doctor on duty came in and the nurse calmed down. Soon after, Mia had a new nurse. Her shift might have been over, but I think that they gave her a break from us.
I had a meeting with the doctor, various nurses, and a translator, in which they described Kawasaki Disease and the treatment plan. I only needed the translator for two medical terms--the rest was clear. There were two more stages of immunoglobulin treatments--if one didn't work, they'd step it up to the next level. If the next level wasn't effective, they'd have to try the immunosuppressant Cyclosporin A, which is only administered at the Matsuyama Central Hospital, where Mia spent the first four months of her life.
The thought of having to go back to Matsuyama made me queasy. I was trying to wrap my head around all the information so that I could pass it on to Stef, who was watching Kelsey during the meeting. Just ten minutes after the meeting, while I was in the middle of explaining the plan, the doctor changed his mind. Mia had chest congestion, and the results of her ultrasound had them fearing bronchitis and pneumonia in addition to all the other problems. They said that they needed to transport her right away to the ICU in Matsuyama.
Stef and I took Kelsey to our friend Kris' house to stay for the night. Stef and I rode to Matsuyama with Akiko-san, a lady who works for the International Center in town. We got to the hospital at night and met the huge team of doctors that would be taking care of Mia. We saw a lot of the doctors and nurses who were in the NICU when Mia was there, and they all greeted us and asked how Mia was doing. I stayed the night with Stef at the hospital, and returned to Imabari the next morning to pick Kelsey up.
We were told to expect at least a week for recovery. The doctors said that Mia had stabilized from earlier but that her fever was still high. Over the next few days, her fever would briefly drop, then climb back up to the 102-104 range. I called the missionaries in Matsuyama to see if there was anywhere Kelsey and I could stay for the next few days. The Sumida family, who used to give us a ride to church when we lived in Matsuyama, let us stay there. They have young kids, so they agreed to watch Kelsey the first day while I went to see Mia. They were also kind to prepare meals for us in the morning and evening. We even got to take rice balls that they had made with us for a snack.
After two or three days in Matsuyama, it seemed as though Mia might be getting better. Her temperature was close to normal, so I planned to take Kelsey back home with me to Imabari after visiting Stef and Mia for the day. When I was getting stuff ready early that morning at the Sumida's house, I received a text message from Stef that said, "Maybe you shouldn't go back to Imabari today. Doctors afraid of cardiac failure." I asked the Sumidas if they'd be willing to watch Kelsey again while I went to the hospital. It was impossible to keep my emotions in check as I described the complications. They agreed to watch Kelsey, and I rushed to the train station.
I got there right as both trains were arriving, so I was unable to board. Had it just been my train that was there, I would have had no problem getting onto the platform. But since a train was coming the other way, the railroad gates came down and I was forced to watch the train as it pulled up, waited for people to load, and then pulled away. The gates opened up and I went up to the platform and sat down on the bench, sobbing uncontrollably as I waited for the next train to come. All the people around me avoided making any kind of eye contact with the big, blabbering foreigner.
When I got to the hospital, the doctors handed me a laundry list of all of the problems that Mia was facing. Normally, doctors will explain problems and then go over the possible treatments, phrasing everything in a tactful way so as to give you hope for your child's recovery. With the language barrier, all information given in English was supplied without any such optimism. Just a list of the problems and their ultimate outcomes if treatment is ineffective.
Mia's pericardial effusion (swelling of her heart due to fluid retention) was getting worse, and her heart rate was getting dangerously high. Her fever was back in full force, and the immunoglobulin treatment had stopped having any effect. The doctors explained that they were going to have to begin Cyclosporin treatment, which was risky.
After explaining the treatment plan to me, the doctors huddled around me and asked if there was anything I wanted to "kiku". In Japanese, the word kiku means both to hear and to ask, so I said that I'd like to "kiku" that Mia would get better the next day. The doctors frowned and apologized that it wasn't something that they could say. They patted me on the back and encouraged me to "ganbatte," which roughly translates to hang on or stay strong.
The next day, things got even more complicated. Kelsey's rash, about which we had seen the doctor multiple times, got even worse, and she had a fever of about 101.5 degrees. I had forgotten to bring her hives medication with me to Matsuyama, so her rash wasn't getting any better. She was lively and happy, but her rash, fever and previous mouth-swelling made me worry that she might have Kawasaki disease, too. It's not contagious, so it would have been a huge coincidence. Needless to say, the last thing we wanted was to have to worry about Kelsey, too.
I set an appointment for Kelsey for the next morning. It turned out to just be a bacterial infection that came from the scratching when she had hives. What a relief. We got medicine which we faithfully applied until her rash went away.
Mia's doctors started the Cyclosporin treatment. Brother Sumida came to the hospital and we gave Mia a priesthood blessing right after the new treatment. I gave Stef a blessing, and then rode back to the Sumida family's house. When we got there, I asked if Brother Sumida and his son (the Branch President) would give me a blessing as well. I struggled with not knowing if Mia would get better. All I wanted was to see her smile again. The Sumidas blessed me with faith in the healing power of the priesthood. Having received this blessing, I remembered part of my patriarchal blessing, which discusses my children and the strength of their spirits. I felt strongly that Mia would get better.
The next morning, Mia was doing a bit better. The medication was working well. Her heart had shrunk slightly with the diuretic that she was taking, but was still way too big. Over the next few days, her heart returned to mostly normal size, and her fever completely subsided. She was getting better. She no longer needed to be in the ICU, and they were going to transfer her back to the Imabari prefectural hospital.
When Stef was leaving the hospital, the nurses asked her to pay her hospital bill before leaving, which was 240. They asked if she had the money on her, and she responded incredulously that she didn't. Why would she keep 240 bucks on her in cash? She went down to the ATM with the nurses, who kept asking if she was sure that she didn't have that much on her. Frustrated with the persistent questioning, she pulled out her change purse and said, "This is all I have on me." The nurse swiped the change purse, unzipped it, and pulled out 240 yen, the equivalent of about $2.50. Our hospital bill in Matsuyama wasn't even three dollars.
Back in Imabari, Stef again stayed with Mia at the hospital. The nurse who had broken down was once again on duty, and happy to see Mia in improving condition. The doctor and his staff monitored Mia and performed echocardiograms to monitor her heart, which was steadily improving. They estimated her treatment period at two weeks, but said that it could go quicker.
That was bring-your-daughter-to-work week. I was lucky to not have a grueling work schedule during this time. Kelsey came with me and ran around on the top floor of the city office building while I talked with the other English teachers. As inconvenient this whole experience was, there was no better time for it to happen than Summer break.
After a week in Imabari, Mia was all better and ready to come home. When I asked how we could pay the bill, the nurses said that we wouldn't be receiving one. She's covered 100% under our insurance. Whew.
Not being able to speak to family through all this really stunk. The only way I could keep myself from emotionally falling apart was to stay close to Stef. Stef really missed her mom.
It's great to have Mia back at home, jumping in her bouncer. I've promised myself to be more involved with Mia and to take more pictures and video of my children. Nothing is more important than family.
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