V

Well, I meant to continue adding updates to update IV but didn’t get around to it (my excuse is the hospital didn’t have wifi). So I can just write a new one here!

(Huh, I only now noticed that, while in this context I’ve been thinking of IV as a number, it also happens to have another meaning in the hospital context…)

Anyway, so we went to the hospital last Sunday for pre-op stuff (which basically meant taking my blood for something.. and maybe an x-ray? They all blur together…). I got to stay at “home” (the apartment across from Bev and Dale’s, where another young English teacher dude lives who has kindly been letting me stay in his extra room) Sunday night, provided we got up at 6:00ish so we could catch a cab at 6:30ish so I could be in my 10th floor hospital bed by 7, which is the time they told me to be there for surgery at 8.

Well, we got there at 7. No one came around until 8:30ish, but eventually some folks showed up and lay me on a gurney and pushed me to the surgery room. I definitely had a flashback to that scene in medical shows/movies when lights are flashing by in the ceiling as you get wheeled to surgery — though it wasn’t like things were serious and it didn’t feel rushed (though the people pushing me were definitely more rushed than the others I’d interacted with up to that point). They got me all set up with an IV and gave me anesthesia. The anesthesiologist — Viven, with whom we have a mutual friend, and who was extremely kind — had previously asked if I wanted to be asleep, which I did, and she’d confirmed that that’d be fine. When I actually got there, however, she informed me that I could be “kinda asleep” (she didn’t say “kinda,” maybe “lightly” or something) (I had no idea what that meant, she said I could still hear things around me but would be asleep?) or “deeply asleep.” She recommended a light sleep, since that’s safer if they need to wake me up, and I said that was fine; and it was fine, though I woke up in the middle, which was a strange feeling. It’s only freaky if you let it be freaky, I was thinking, but it was still .. strange .. to have people cutting into my leg and drilling screws into it and stuff while I was semi-awake.

The “light sleep” turned out to be a really strange semi-conscious-but-it-really-felt-like-I-was-asleep experience — though I think I’m remembering it as being more like really sleeping now because that whole time is pretty blurry. The anesthesia they gave me totally wiped out my legs, which I guess I should have expected but still surprised me. I couldn’t move them for like 6 hours afterword, and trying to do so anyway was a unique feeling as well.

Regardless, somewhere between Viven’s question about sleep and her question about painkillers (something about if I wanted a ‘personal painkiller [something]’ after, which she said most people had and I would want, so I acquiesced — sounds obvious, but it wasn’t clear whether this was something additional or the only painkillers I’d be receiving…) I realized that this was part of being an adult. Being alone in a surgery room, while doctors prepared to cut into my leg, speaking to the only person around who spoke conversational English, not quite understanding everything but still having to make decisions and sign papers without first consulting Bev and Dale (though I told her she should really talk to them too, and I think she did)… I realized how conditioned I am to push decisions onto someone who knows more than I do — an adult — and that pretty soon I really will be doing these things ‘all by myself’ (though presumably with help from family and friends and God).

But then the surgery was over! I was back in my (hospital room) bed, unable to feel or move my legs, and that’s how I stayed for the next several days. Except the anesthesia wore off eventually — and, speaking of which, that night was pretty painful. As in, I couldn’t tell which was more painful, right after the break or post-surgery once my anesthesia wore off. I had that painkiller stuff that I signed a form for, but it apparently wasn’t doing its job fully — and this then became basically the only negative experience I had in that hospital, because it was somewhat difficult to communicate that I was in a lot of pain and couldn’t sleep and wanted something to help.

Their standard question for how much pain I was in was “Can you bear it?” Answering truthfully, without thinking about what that question might mean, I of course replied that I could bear it — it wasn’t like I was dying, or going to pass out, and I didn’t need to sleep, it just seemed like a good idea… They were asking what I needed while I tried to explain what I wanted. Only after I was asked that question several times did I understand that that was simply the language they used to ask if it was really bad — and in any scenario, regardless of language barriers, that miscommunication could happen, because I needed to be more forceful. The problem is, I had no idea if the pain was just part of the process, or if it was normal, so I grinned and bore it — and eventually, after a few frustrated texts (from me), Bev contacted Viven from before who contacted the nurses who gave me some additional painkiller that finally allowed me to sleep. At that point I’d resigned myself to the pain, and I give thanks to Bev, Viven, and Michael (I’ll explain his role below) for their support that night and working through it all to ensure I was given help.

Someone had to stay with me 24/7, which was a big job for Dale, the first choice. But two medical students, Ham and Freeman, from Ghana that we met at the foreign medical students’ Christian Fellowship gathering were ready and willing to lend a hand, and they kept me company for a great number of hours. We also found — again through a mutual connection — a university student, Michael, who helped both with translation and lent his time, particularly at night, which is arguably the hardest shift. He was there that first night and was one of the main reasons I could communicate with the nurses.

Over the course of the next few days, I went through two roommates: first a young man who looked like he’d had some sort of back surgery for something, but who (if I understood his Chinese correctly) had been there for 7 days and had mostly healed by the time I got there. His father was his primary (only) caregiver, and they were both quite helpful (particularly with noticing when my IVs were empty, which is important because if you don’t notice then your blood goes up the IV because of the difference in pressure. Neat, but also freaky. Only happened once, thankfully…). But I didn’t get into many conversations, besides asking if he spoke English and why he was in the hospital and how long he’d been there — I’m still pretty shy to start speaking in Mandarin. To be honest, I didn’t really want to try — I think the shock of getting injured reverted me to English-speaking for a week or two (seeking familiarity, perhaps, or something), and since everything in the hospital was either English or confusing I’d given up trying to practice much Chinese while there. He left on I think my second day in the hospital, and soon thereafter an older gentleman moved in, with his son to take care of him. I didn’t interact with that pair as much, and they didn’t interact with me all that much either. They were still kind and courteous, however, which helped characterize most of my hospital and injured experience in China.

We also made friends with one of the nurses, who was my primary nurse though still a student. She had very good spoken English, and was the other major instrumental factor in my being able to communicate while in the hospital. Our first impression of her was a strong one: she came in and, with my leg propped up and bandaged all over, yelled, “Christian! What is wrong with you?!” — a story that has been told numerous times in the last week or so. Different people find this varying degrees of hilarious, but at the time we certainly found it funny, if somewhat surprising. I told her at one point that I thought Nanchong was pretty, but she disagreed — she’s been here so long, she said, it’s dull and boring. A simple reminder of how much of an outsiders’ view we have here in China, as well as our powerful ability to grow used to the majesty of the world around us — because Nanchong really is pretty cool, and Goshen really is pretty cool, and Harrisonburg and Eldoret and Kijabe… and I [we] shouldn’t forget that simply because we’ve grown used to it.

So now I’m back at “home,” alternating between Bev and Dale’s apartment and the one across the hall. Stitches [staples] come out on Monday, but I still won’t be able to walk for a while. I enjoy my time — reading books, writing journals, writing uber-long blog posts, practicing some Chinese with some local students, playing guitar, etc — and I’m not in much, if any, pain, but I’m looking forward to the next stage of my China journey, whatever that may look like. More news on that coming soon to a website near you!