Swine Flu Over the Cuckoo's Nest

“Steven… I’m very disappointed in you. I asked you several times not to get sick. I know the students and parents love you and you are doing good things for the school, but you let me down. You got the swine flu because your body is weak. You have not been responsible to the school and we are losing a lot of money now because of you.”

As the buzzing of the phone indicates a palpable absence of humanity I realize the line has been disconnected. Through the euphoric haze of the fevered mind, I’m left to question whether there was ever a human on the other side… although most certainly the conversation did unfold as described. And as certain as wet jeans will chafe thighs, that voice belonged to the manager of my school-- she who shall not be mentioned.

After nearly 3 years of professional work and study experience in Asia, I find myself back at ground zero, as perplexed by the Asian mentality as ever; perhaps more so, as I was just beginning to profess an elementary understanding of these fascinating lil’ enigmas. I suppose I should be grateful, for now that my eyes have been opened, I realize that being sick is a personal choice. (like being straight or male or tall or handsome or white -- I list this criteria because Asia, not unlike the rest of the planet, continues to place a disproportionally high social value on these personal choices)

It’s not the first time I’ve had my eyes opened by she who shall not be mentioned. But that’s a story for another blog… well.. wait.. I’m quarantined to my 10’ * 15’ apartment for the foreseeable future… I’ve got time… I’ll tell you now.

********

Her dirty white sneakers would tread soundlessly across the marble floor, had there not been a poorly discarded bandage affixed to the left soul of her petite size 4’s. Stick, rip…. Stick, rip…. Stick, rip.. which, when combined with the cries of agony from the gentleman lying on an adjacent cot, cumulated in the sort of auditory harmony one might expect to find at a parlor offering discount bikini waxes. Stick, rip… aaaagh! Muhaha… the thought made me smile; or maybe it was the IV bag delivering it’s steady stream of sensory numbing deliciousness. Either way, I was amused.

I arrived at the hospital some thirty minutes earlier. This is not my preferred venue for mind numbing elixirs on a Friday night, but necessity is the mother of invention; and kidney stones are the mothers of necessity. I was immediately impressed with the speed and efficiency of the hospital’s services. (after the initial 15 minutes, when I realized I was the only person in the line who wasn’t pregnant and that I probably belonged somewhere else)

With no signature, affidavits or credit history reports necessary, the doctor came up to me. “What’s the problem?” “I have a kidney stone.” “How do you know? Did you have tests?” “How does an expecting Irish Catholic know she’s got the 10th bun in the oven?” (ok.. I didn’t say that, but you get the point…) “This way, sir.”

In a blur of motion, I was prone on an emergency room cot and an attractive nurse was standing over me with a large needle and a smile. Now I can’t say for sure that she’s never seen blue eyes before, but if she bothered to break eye contact, she might have realized that my vein was nowhere near the tip of her needle. Ah well… four “so sorry’s” later she managed to find the sweet spot… and a few moments later, I no longer cared.

After a routine x-ray and a 2 hour nap, the urologist showed up. The look of pity on his face frightened me more than anything. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t speak English, genuine empathy from a urologist transcends linguistics. The stone was about ½” in diameter and I needed surgery. I opted for Extra Corporal Lithotripsy, not because I knew what it was, but because it was the only picture he sketched on the pad that didn’t involve a direct violation of my body’s “exit only” policy. The procedure was scheduled for Tuesday afternoon.

On Monday, we had open class day. This means my kid’s mothers sit in the class and watch me teach their little angels. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Twenty minutes prior to class I was still talking to the porcelain. I taught my morning classes and then collapsed in the library as soon as I was out of eyesight. A student found me there, and the manager was able to find another place that could do the surgery that afternoon.

Extra Corporal Lithotripsy is a treatment that sends shock waves of energy into your body, targeting the stone and attempts to break it into smaller, passable sizes. I didn’t really know what to expect; but as I lay on the machine with this inflated water balloon pushed firmly against my back, I imagined it would be like a vibrating massage chair of sorts. When the first shock wave scored a direct hit, my left leg shot straight up in the air, nearly bringing the machine crashing down around me. “Don’t Move!” cried the doctor. So for the next 40 minutes and 2,500 blasts, I didn’t move a muscle.

The doctor told me to come back next week to see if it worked and to get another treatment it if didn’t. (and it didn’t) On the day of my next scheduled procedure, she who shall not be mentioned called me into a private conference. I won’t quote this one, because I don’t remember verbatim, but for twenty minutes I sat and listened to her tell me about how much my kidney stone was inconveniencing the other teachers who had to sub for my classes and how I should be more considerate and be willing to make sacrifices. I asked her if coming in to teach classes when I could barely walk was considered a sacrifice. She said yeah, but now I have to miss a class for a second surgery and this is very inconvenient for everyone. She made a great show of pain as she filled out the substitute teacher form for the only remaining class I had after the surgery. I’ve never come so close to running from a job in my life. Being the stubborn fellow that I am; I made it back from surgery with 10 minutes to spare, taught my class, went home and passed out.

And so we’ve come full circle.

Lessons Learned:

Let’s scrap the h1n1 vaccine in favor of an educational campaign on why we should simply choose not to be infected by it.

Kidney stones are a state of mind. They needn’t interfere with the routines of daily living.

And strangely enough, I still like my insanely dysfunctional manager. I guess I'm learning the lesson I came here to learn. How to exercise patience, how to deal with humility and how to let things roll off the back. These are critical lessons if I hope to become a succesful businessman in Asia; and I suppose I should be grateful to have such a masterful professor.

The Missing Teacher - Part 2

The Missing Teacher

Here's a look at a movie project I'm doing with my 6 year old "Pennsylvania" class.

Shades of Gray

Between the shades of black and white,
Lie colors undefined.
The absolutes of wrong and right,
Are quickly left behind.

Within these abstract shades of gray,
Entire lives subsist.
Things of beauty seen by day,
By night; sebaceous cysts.

And so the things I thought I knew,
Are now the things unknown.
Those things I always held as true,
Illusions now dethroned.

Yet, when at night, I close my lids,
One truth consuls the soul.
Teaching someone else’s kids,
Is perfect birth control.

Sorry, was feeling a bit poetic tonight, and thought I'd try to express my appreciation to the parents out there and offer a sincere apology for ever professing any understanding of what the word "parenting" means. And to any stay at home mom's who might read this blog... you are champions of patience, ambassadors of diplomacy, and might just be natures most important and undervalued resource.

On another note: I received my first care package! Thank you so much!!! It included many of the things I listed and one very special surprise.... an autographed diaper from Reagan, complete with compacted, partially melted granola bar stool ! I'm still smiling about that!

Say Hello to my Little Friend

A wee-man complex is a terrible thing to witness, particularly when that wee-man is Kim Jong-il. Once again he’s hopped atop his enriched-uranium booster chair and is screaming for dinner. While I hate politics of fear, and am usually quick to dismiss the egocentric wailing of North Koreas leader, there is something disconcerting about having a nuclear weapon (reportedly the equivalent size of those dropped in Japan at the end of WWII) detonated a few hundred miles to the north. But, as I was drilling phonics into the already oversaturated brains of 5 year old children, that’s what happened today.

I’m not overly concerned about safety, but it will certainly be interesting to see how this plays out over the next few days/weeks. More than likely this is just another cry for attention, and, unless I miss my guess, he’s going to get plenty of it.

Also in the news, Roh Moo-Hyun, the former President of South Korea, committed suicide this weekend by leaping from a 100 foot cliff in the mountains behind his home. He had recently come under investigation for bribery charges and was expected to be convicted.

If you want to read more about these stories you can follow these links:

Roh : http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/asiapcf/05/23/roh.dead/index.html
Bomb : http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/8066861.stm

Unbridled Solicitation

Teaching here, as I'm certain it is everywhere else on the planet, is often a tedious, thankless job. You have no idea how much a simple letter or care package can brighten a bad day or week. If you feel like sending one, I promise I'll write back! (shameless solicitation... I know... I'm sorry)

My address at school is :

YBM Cheongdam ECC

3rd Floor, Mijoon Building,
19-17 Cheongdam-dong, Gangnam-gu,
Seoul, Korea 135-949

The schools phone# 02-581-0509

Letters are cheap but a medium sized package (about the size of a pair of boots) is around $25.

Here are some things that I miss, many of which and are hard to come by here...

1. Chrystal Lite Lemonade (pitcher sized portions)

2. MAC and CHEESE!!! (or shells n cheese)

3. Maple Syrup (it can be found here, but it's around $20 for a bottle the size of coke can)

4. Just-add-water pancake mix /oatmeal / cream of wheat

5. Deodorant

6. Ny-Quil (the knock you out kind)

7. General cold / sinus medicines (and anti-inflammatory meds for my old man knee :-)

8. XL underthings (v-neck t's; cotton boxers; etc...)

9. Cooking Spices

10. Other lil' toiletries and small kitchen items are great too.

11. Used Books in English... I love a good read; (anything on the NYT best seller list)

12... and perhaps most of all, pictures and letters from my family! Oh man I miss my little nieces and nephews.

(fyi: most of the dry food goods can be removed from their boxes and put into baggies; this takes up much less room in a small box)

If you send something, make sure you leave a return address so I can return the favor.

Here are a few more pictures from the past couple months. I'll file a proper update next weekend.

Expressions

Getting there is half the fun?

“Please make sure oversized passengers are stored safely in the first class cabin. And be careful when choosing your seats, as some passengers may become annoying during the flight.” ….. Useful announcements for trans-continental flights… announcements that I did not hear.

Frenchy, the slender fellow sitting next to me, and I were celebrating our good fortune. The doors were closed for departure and, in a plane filled to capacity, we had the good fortune of having an empty seat on our three person row. Oh happy days! I slid over to the window seat, and we exchanged knowing smiles as we piled our personal belongings into the center seat. The emergency door blocked most of the foot room of the window seat, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make in order to be the first screaming passenger out the door in the event of a water landing. (chivalry is overrated) I tried to prop my feet up on the door’s ledge, but quickly realized that the engineers were one step ahead of me when they put just enough slope on the surface to encourage your feet to return to where they belonged.

Just as I was beginning to realize my mistake, and ask my diminutive French buddy to switch seats with me, the flight attendant arrived. If she were alone, I would have been relived; if she were followed by an equally petite Korean patron, I would have been only slightly disappointed; but as the hulking beast of a Chinese man towered ominously over her shoulders, I may have muttered .. “f**k”

“Excuse me sir, this gentleman is having trouble fitting into his seat, and because this is an emergency aisle, would it be ok for him to have the center seat?”

Now I am not a small man, by any stretch, but as “Yao-ming” wedged his 6’5”, 260lb self into the center seat; I felt small. Any plans I had for using my armrest were quickly scuttled, as were any plans to sit completely upright. (If I could have convinced this gentleman to store his hands in the overhead bin, I might have had a chance) As the flight attendant strapped herself into the jump seat adjacent to us, I could swear I saw her laugh.

He was a nice enough sort; a sports science professor at the University of Florida if I remember correctly. He asked if I had a laptop, and rather than ask the most important question, “Why?” I said, “Yes.” His eyes lit up.

“I bought a present for my friend in Korea, but I want to open it now. It’s a DVD of the Florida championship football game. Can we watch it on your laptop?”

Thinking quickly, I informed him that my laptop batteries were useless so I couldn’t use the laptop with out plugging it in… (a convenient truth). “That’s not a problem, there’s a plug under your seat.” he said. And as soon as the seatbelt light went off, he hopped up, unceremoniously banging his head on the overhead bin, (unfortunately not hard enough to disable my laptop or himself) and retrieved my bag for me.

Now my laptop is not exactly travel friendly. It’s a desktop replacement unit that weighs over 8 lbs. The only way to hold the laptop so that we could see it was to wedge my feet onto the sloping door and set the unit on my legs. We couldn’t hear the play-by-play commentator, but that would prove unnecessary, as the gentleman had clearly seen the game enough times to ad-lib. Some 230hrs later, the game ended; the commentary did not.

Oh, here’s something else you might note about the emergency aisles of a 747 economy seat. Because there are no seats in front of you, the food tray is stored in the armrest. This of course means that the arm rests can not be raised and lowered, as they can elsewhere. This is really only a concern if you are putting a 40” waist into a 16” seat. In the right light, you can still see the buttons for the video entertainment device imprinted on my side.

And so it was I passed the longest flight of my life. 5 minutes sitting up straight, 5 minutes slouched in my seat with legs propped up and 30 minutes standing in the gallery. I continued this cycle until our landing approach some 16 hours later. By a conservative estimate I spent fewer than 4 hours of the flight in my seat. I’ve learned some valuable lessons, I’m sure… but I’ll be buggered if I know what they are.