After making it home from my terrible trail of tears at the Beijing United Family Hospital. I was relegated to spending a full calender week on the couch without getting up for anything but food delivery and the bathroom. There were: no showers, laughs, jumping jacks, or smiles in my week of the unforgiven. Grizzly Adams had better hygiene than me by Sunday. Upon transitioning from the powerful pain-medication at the hospital to the less-powered pills from the pharmacy I developed a fever that kept me awake all day and all night. Not once did I sleep for more than two hours, and feeling like an insomniac is no way to live. Nevertheless, I kept myself entertained with a wide collection of DVDs, and ESPN Asia's live coverage of the baseball playoffs. Since I had to keep my leg pretty much permanently iced, I had to take the entire week off of school, and at the most I ate two meals a day.
Although this was hell on Earth, in some ways it is a positive experience. If you can go through a knife-fight with a surgeon in the Orient without your close friends and family around, you can handle a lot when it comes to living/working overseas. By looking at the light at the end of the tunnel I made it through this dead week, and now the days have been getting better every day. Last week was great, as I got to see all of my friends at school and I finally felt alive again. That is until I got served again this Monday. Here is my story of more tough times in the life of Matthew S. Atkinson
9/20/08
a. I took a taxi at 5:00 PM for my doctor's appointment with the only orthopedic surgeon in this city who I trust, and who happens to only work at the hospital on Monday. My taxi driver almost crashed several times (nothing new), and drove into a random lot where he mistakenly drove down a storage ramp to a basement floor of a grocery store. My fragile knee bumped against the door and seat in front several times due to the miserable driving of a man who never should set foot in car, unless it is the back of a police cruiser. After a few more random twists and turns the taxi driver tried to drop me off at the wrong hospital in the wrong side of town (I gave him a card with name & address, and showed it to him several times as it looked that we were going the wrong way) to my dismay. After a very heated argument (hypothetically, I may have thrown a few good-old American curse words in his face) we parted ways. I was going to stiff him, but since I am not very mobile I had no choice but to pay a taxi for being dropped off in the ass end of nowhere. By the time the dust cleared it was 6:20.
b. A do-gooder expat heard the commotion and vowed to flag me down a taxi. This guy was quite the saint since getting a taxi in rush hour traffic here in Beijing is sometimes almost impossible. A few minutes later he had a taxi for me and all I had to do was climb over a two-foot wall and I'd be on my way. As the fellow Yankee helped me over the wall a well-dressed Chinese woman ran out to the taxi and raced into the passenger seat. She had been standing next to me as my taxi was being waved down, so she definitely knew what I was a cripple who needed some help. The expat who spoke fluent Chinese explained her the situation as the taxi stalled and waiter for us, that I was late for my doctor's appointment and that this was an urgent matter. Nevertheless, the woman heard us out and told the taxi to go anyways. I am leaving this other taxi driver out of this who is also a son of a bitch, but not nearly as bad as the rest of those in the story.
c. I finally made it to the doctor's appointment thirty minutes late. It took me another twenty minutes to find a taxi, but we made short time and were there by 7:00. My doctor said to just sit back and relax as he was just going to fix my bandages and "take a look". I was looking forward to just getting on with my day, as there seemed to be not much on the agenda. The next thing I know there a collection of knives and other horrible metal devices last seen in the movie "Hostel" are for some reason laying right beside my leg. Soon thereafter blood is gushing from my leg like a fire hydrant. The doc just so happened to "forget" to tell me that he would be ripping out a piece of metal the size and shape of a fish hook that had previously been sealing my wound. As I howled in pain the doctor was unfazed, and his ceaseless ripping and pulling with strange painful devices lasted for another ten minutes of pure hell. After getting another slashing, the doctor then pushed and pulled my leg in ungodly directions until I was on the verge of throwing up.
So who is worse?
A. The taxi driver who drove me to hell, collected money he knew he didn't deserve, and made so many wrong turns that my knee was swollen by the time I made it to the hospital.
B. The unethical Chinese vixen (bitch) who knew exactly how dire my situation was, but still stole my rush-hour taxi without batting an eye-lash.
C. Or the doctor who gave me no inkling that today's appointment would be so incredibly painful that I actually screamed in pain. The embarrassment of coming out the door and having every single person in the hospital stare at me as if I was the exorcist was not the most pleasant feeling in the world.
From the Orient with no love,
Atkinson
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
I HAVE LIVED IN HELL: My 4-day Stay at Beijing Family United Hospital VOLUME 1
I used to have pride, respect, maybe even a little bit of integrity. If you like laughing at other people's mystery this is right up your alley.
So I was coming home in a taxi today and low and behold my old friend Colonel Sanders was holding court with a line of Chinese chicken-chompers all the way out the building. I remember the days when I used to walk into see my life-long friend "The Colonel" and was able to pick and choose between a list of delectable fried creations complete with eleven herbs & spices. These days are long gone my brethren, as I have recently been told that going up and down stairs will be a novelty that I will only reach with luck on the coming Halloween.
On the Friday morning of my surgery I courageously decked myself out in only the finest of clothing in preparation for one-on-one combat with a Chinese knife-fighter: USC shirt, USC jacket, Adidas pants, socks with sandals which is only cool in the Orient and the Midwest. After reaching my battleground I filled out all the papers and soon found myself wearing a purple Moo-Moo with no underwear, socks, or well anything. After getting my tie tied, I was strapped down to the gurney and my veins were opened up with a needle that would be connected to my wrist for the next four days. Well sort of, since it took them three times to actually find the right vein, and being a man who hates needles and blood more than I hate admitting that West Virginia really is a legitimate United State this was not the confidence non-booster that I needed going into my battle royale...
After being wheeled up to the war-room I was soon greeted by my Chinese surgeon and about ten other Chinese men & women all with scary looks gloves and masks. My arms were extended like a crucifix and I was shot up with enough anesthesia to put a herd of wildebeest to sleep for a few weeks. I remember waking up and the staff looking at me with puzzled faces as if to think, "is he still alive". I instantaneously was in a state of shock and was unable to speak; however, I eventually put together the mental fortitude to extend a thumbs up; which in turn inspired one of the nurses to stick an oxygen mask about halfway down my throat.
A few hours later I was in the room where I would spend the next 72 hours, and not only would I never leave the room, but I wouldn't leave my bed during these dark days. I had a TV, DVD player, a lifetime supply of morphine and about ten or so friends who made it out to visit me during the worst weekend of my life. I had no idea that I had a DVD player, so I was subject to the movies chosen by the hospital, and there were some of the worst movies chosen this side of "The Full Monty". To this day I do not know what I would have done had the first full season of "Las Vegas" (I give two very shaky thumbs up to this selection) not been present to keep my entertained.
I was given few instructions if any, mainly to push the morphine button (which was white) if I felt pain) & to push the help button (which was red). Over the next few days I pushed the red button quite a few times, but that white button got pushed more times than a brunette in a school filled with gingers trying to compete for the spot of "Annie" in the big play. It got to the point where I started to get double vision like I had drank a couple bottles of Popov Vodka. My brain constantly played tricks on me as I saw things that I knew were not really there. Nevertheless, the pain in my knee never stopped hurting the entire time. This was due to the fact that I had a piece of metal inserted into my torn ACL ligament, and most doctors can tell you that this surgery is on their top ten list of surgeries that will make you want to cry. And I will be honest, I did...
By the second day I finally got the funny feeling that it was time to go to the bathroom, and I had my Chinese friend Lucy (who stayed with me for almost the entire four days, and whose kindness I will never forget) interpret my quandary to the nurse. Soon thereafter I was given a blue bucket contraption that looked more like what somebody might use to water their flowers with, and as Lucy left I reluctantly tried to get down to business. Problem is, the drugs that had invaded my system had seriously screwed up my urinary tract and after a half hour of going after it, I had not even drained a drop in my most unsavory of bathroom devices. The nurse barged it while I was still trying to handle my business and she was not at all satisfied with my efforts, and soon enough I had another substance injected into my veins which was supposed to help me with this or something or other. This helped me to be able to fill the bucket when need-be, but this act became very tiresome very quickly. I felt like a dolphin at a theme park doing my famous trick every time that I had to use the bathroom. And the Chinese nurses would literally clap when I was able to perform. I now know what these poor dolphins go through, and will never go to "Sea World" again.
In a weekend full of horrible events, I have to say that the sponge baths I would get in the mornings were my least favorite. Since getting off of my bed was an impossibility, I was sponged off by middle-aged Chinese nurses with bad teeth who ferociously scrubbed at my various body parts like they were working at a car wash full of trucks that had just finished a road rally. I wanted to shove them off of me and be left alone, but I had no fight or might at this time like a King Cobra caught in the trance of a snake charmer. These washings would last about five minutes, but I felt like I had been scrubbed to death for hours.
The following two days were somewhat of a blur. I would wake up at random times throughout the day, to find: a horrible plate of food that I would have thrown out the window if I had the power to do so; a group of nurses looking at me with with sad looks making me wonder whether I was ever going to get out of this hospital; and finally a doctor who had the physical prowess of a duck-billed platypus who eventually gave me my marching orders. As the doctor helped pull me off the bed I soon realized that my right leg had lost any muscle mass that it once had, and I felt like I was trapped in quick sand. I was outfitted with a pair of crutches and my first stroll down the hall resulted in a crash with one of the nurses, who was less than impressed with my navigational skills.
After a taxi ride home I was finally out of the castle of doom and my couch became my savior. This concludes the 4-day stay in my own personal house of horrors. Not as much fun as the four-day weekender trips I used to take to San Francisco, when USC played Cal or Stanford back in my undergraduate days of grace.
don't break a leg,
The Crippled Warrior
So I was coming home in a taxi today and low and behold my old friend Colonel Sanders was holding court with a line of Chinese chicken-chompers all the way out the building. I remember the days when I used to walk into see my life-long friend "The Colonel" and was able to pick and choose between a list of delectable fried creations complete with eleven herbs & spices. These days are long gone my brethren, as I have recently been told that going up and down stairs will be a novelty that I will only reach with luck on the coming Halloween.
On the Friday morning of my surgery I courageously decked myself out in only the finest of clothing in preparation for one-on-one combat with a Chinese knife-fighter: USC shirt, USC jacket, Adidas pants, socks with sandals which is only cool in the Orient and the Midwest. After reaching my battleground I filled out all the papers and soon found myself wearing a purple Moo-Moo with no underwear, socks, or well anything. After getting my tie tied, I was strapped down to the gurney and my veins were opened up with a needle that would be connected to my wrist for the next four days. Well sort of, since it took them three times to actually find the right vein, and being a man who hates needles and blood more than I hate admitting that West Virginia really is a legitimate United State this was not the confidence non-booster that I needed going into my battle royale...
After being wheeled up to the war-room I was soon greeted by my Chinese surgeon and about ten other Chinese men & women all with scary looks gloves and masks. My arms were extended like a crucifix and I was shot up with enough anesthesia to put a herd of wildebeest to sleep for a few weeks. I remember waking up and the staff looking at me with puzzled faces as if to think, "is he still alive". I instantaneously was in a state of shock and was unable to speak; however, I eventually put together the mental fortitude to extend a thumbs up; which in turn inspired one of the nurses to stick an oxygen mask about halfway down my throat.
A few hours later I was in the room where I would spend the next 72 hours, and not only would I never leave the room, but I wouldn't leave my bed during these dark days. I had a TV, DVD player, a lifetime supply of morphine and about ten or so friends who made it out to visit me during the worst weekend of my life. I had no idea that I had a DVD player, so I was subject to the movies chosen by the hospital, and there were some of the worst movies chosen this side of "The Full Monty". To this day I do not know what I would have done had the first full season of "Las Vegas" (I give two very shaky thumbs up to this selection) not been present to keep my entertained.
I was given few instructions if any, mainly to push the morphine button (which was white) if I felt pain) & to push the help button (which was red). Over the next few days I pushed the red button quite a few times, but that white button got pushed more times than a brunette in a school filled with gingers trying to compete for the spot of "Annie" in the big play. It got to the point where I started to get double vision like I had drank a couple bottles of Popov Vodka. My brain constantly played tricks on me as I saw things that I knew were not really there. Nevertheless, the pain in my knee never stopped hurting the entire time. This was due to the fact that I had a piece of metal inserted into my torn ACL ligament, and most doctors can tell you that this surgery is on their top ten list of surgeries that will make you want to cry. And I will be honest, I did...
By the second day I finally got the funny feeling that it was time to go to the bathroom, and I had my Chinese friend Lucy (who stayed with me for almost the entire four days, and whose kindness I will never forget) interpret my quandary to the nurse. Soon thereafter I was given a blue bucket contraption that looked more like what somebody might use to water their flowers with, and as Lucy left I reluctantly tried to get down to business. Problem is, the drugs that had invaded my system had seriously screwed up my urinary tract and after a half hour of going after it, I had not even drained a drop in my most unsavory of bathroom devices. The nurse barged it while I was still trying to handle my business and she was not at all satisfied with my efforts, and soon enough I had another substance injected into my veins which was supposed to help me with this or something or other. This helped me to be able to fill the bucket when need-be, but this act became very tiresome very quickly. I felt like a dolphin at a theme park doing my famous trick every time that I had to use the bathroom. And the Chinese nurses would literally clap when I was able to perform. I now know what these poor dolphins go through, and will never go to "Sea World" again.
In a weekend full of horrible events, I have to say that the sponge baths I would get in the mornings were my least favorite. Since getting off of my bed was an impossibility, I was sponged off by middle-aged Chinese nurses with bad teeth who ferociously scrubbed at my various body parts like they were working at a car wash full of trucks that had just finished a road rally. I wanted to shove them off of me and be left alone, but I had no fight or might at this time like a King Cobra caught in the trance of a snake charmer. These washings would last about five minutes, but I felt like I had been scrubbed to death for hours.
The following two days were somewhat of a blur. I would wake up at random times throughout the day, to find: a horrible plate of food that I would have thrown out the window if I had the power to do so; a group of nurses looking at me with with sad looks making me wonder whether I was ever going to get out of this hospital; and finally a doctor who had the physical prowess of a duck-billed platypus who eventually gave me my marching orders. As the doctor helped pull me off the bed I soon realized that my right leg had lost any muscle mass that it once had, and I felt like I was trapped in quick sand. I was outfitted with a pair of crutches and my first stroll down the hall resulted in a crash with one of the nurses, who was less than impressed with my navigational skills.
After a taxi ride home I was finally out of the castle of doom and my couch became my savior. This concludes the 4-day stay in my own personal house of horrors. Not as much fun as the four-day weekender trips I used to take to San Francisco, when USC played Cal or Stanford back in my undergraduate days of grace.
don't break a leg,
The Crippled Warrior
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Getting the Knife in the Orient
Before I came out to China my university forced me to endure an all-day "Made for Morons Marathon" of videos, speeches, and dumbed-down documents specifically geared to get you ready for the worst possible things that could happen to you in a foreign country. Such gems like don't eat a raw chicken; don't buy drugs in a dark alley from a menacing man holding a crow bar; or make sure to have a passport (WOW! I never would have known this guys...gee thanks) were instructed to me with the utmost seriousness.
BUT THEY NEVER TOLD ME WHAT DO IF I TEAR MY ACL IN A SOCCER GAME IN CHINA!!!
You would have thought with all the useless jargon that was thrown my way like a flamethrower on a pile of gasoline, that maybe serious knee injury would have made it on the list. But not so much... Medical insurance...check. But how to handle dealing with a hospital where the native language is not English, or how to stumble into class on-time when a sloth could beat you in a foot race; or how to walk down a dangerous street by yourself when a girl scout could literally put you down for the count with one tiny shin kick.......these things were not explained to me in vivid detail. Throw in a worrying Mom who probably can't sleep; insurance policies that are as ambiguous as Clay Aiken was a week ago; ten different people telling you ten different ways to handle your looming surgery; and a bunch of nervous Chinese women who will not give you five minutes to forget about your potential knife fight with a Chinese surgeon. And this my friends...this is culture shock times ten~!!!
SO now that I have vented let me explain some of the humor for you all to laugh at, as there is a funny story behind all of this. My study-abroad school rocks. Sorry to my current scholarly employer, but if I had it my way I would finish my studies out here. It is the Harvard of China, and the school is a marvelous creation with all kinds of weird things. Moats of green sludge that zig-zag in every which way, big buildings that look like they were designed during the Middle Ages, thousands of Chinese students on bicycles who are constantly almost crashing into each other. This is home.
My classmates are mostly cool and range in nation of origin from Spain, to Norway, to Argentina, to Cameroon. There is a constant supply of sports going on around here, and since I am liking a dog whose mind automatically forgets about everything else when a soccer ball is kicked, I have been on the pitch all of the time. After trying out for an MBA team I awkwardly ended up kicking it around with the actual university team, and after a few practices with the university team, I actually found myself playing for my university team in a real game. This Spaniard (who probably was kicking a futbol as soon as he exited the womb) and I made the A-Team, and in our first game the ludicrous coach who shouts at us in Chinese like we are a bunch of Samurai warriors put us both in the game (on a side-note, I did not start, nor was I the first off of the bench). Our team got scored on twice faster than some of the Chinese hookers at the KTV's, and all of the sudden I found myself leading the charge and playing far better than I ever have in my life. Since the average Chinese athlete weighs about the same as most American ten year-olds I was able to really push the other team around, and won almost every header. At the end of the second half I almost scored on a diving header, and after the half the coach sang my praises. I was high-hived by all of the other players on the team, as I had finally gained their respect and it looked as if I would finally be a college athlete. When I went to undergrad I wrestled with the idea of playing soccer at a smaller school instead of going to USC... So this was kind of like me riding some sort of dream that only the world's biggest dorks would have. Most people want to be CEO, a famous actor, the Prez. I just wanted to play university soccer. We're not even talking about Hoops. But hey, for me this was a big deal and I was pretty fired up.
For some strange reason I found myself jogging out for a third half of action, even though this makes no sense it seemed completely normal at the time. Five minutes later I found myself twisting my knee in every which way, and hearing a "pop" which generally means that you are completely screwed...I know, because I am. So that was my college soccer career. I played one game, scored zero goals, zero assists, I did commit a few fouls, and that's all she wrote. This "pop" was my ACL, and this ligament will keep me from playing active sports for the next six months. I have never had a serious injury in my entire life, and I can at least take solace in knowing that I earned it on the field of battle. Not a bad story to tell, I could have done in practicing tai-chi or worse. I have been playing sports for twenty years so I was do, and I am not mad at anyone or anything. It is certainly a glove in the face, but I'm moving on. This will give me more time to meet people and get my school work done, and I should be able to swim within a few weeks.
Well, I gotta eat now. My surgery is in fifteen hours, and I am supposed to fast for twelve. I will be in the hospital for two days, and if things go well I won't miss a day of class.
the soon to be knifed,
Matt Atkinson
P.S. The USC football loss has not made this any easier. And I was able to find a good hospital where my insurance covers 70% of the surgery.
BUT THEY NEVER TOLD ME WHAT DO IF I TEAR MY ACL IN A SOCCER GAME IN CHINA!!!
You would have thought with all the useless jargon that was thrown my way like a flamethrower on a pile of gasoline, that maybe serious knee injury would have made it on the list. But not so much... Medical insurance...check. But how to handle dealing with a hospital where the native language is not English, or how to stumble into class on-time when a sloth could beat you in a foot race; or how to walk down a dangerous street by yourself when a girl scout could literally put you down for the count with one tiny shin kick.......these things were not explained to me in vivid detail. Throw in a worrying Mom who probably can't sleep; insurance policies that are as ambiguous as Clay Aiken was a week ago; ten different people telling you ten different ways to handle your looming surgery; and a bunch of nervous Chinese women who will not give you five minutes to forget about your potential knife fight with a Chinese surgeon. And this my friends...this is culture shock times ten~!!!
SO now that I have vented let me explain some of the humor for you all to laugh at, as there is a funny story behind all of this. My study-abroad school rocks. Sorry to my current scholarly employer, but if I had it my way I would finish my studies out here. It is the Harvard of China, and the school is a marvelous creation with all kinds of weird things. Moats of green sludge that zig-zag in every which way, big buildings that look like they were designed during the Middle Ages, thousands of Chinese students on bicycles who are constantly almost crashing into each other. This is home.
My classmates are mostly cool and range in nation of origin from Spain, to Norway, to Argentina, to Cameroon. There is a constant supply of sports going on around here, and since I am liking a dog whose mind automatically forgets about everything else when a soccer ball is kicked, I have been on the pitch all of the time. After trying out for an MBA team I awkwardly ended up kicking it around with the actual university team, and after a few practices with the university team, I actually found myself playing for my university team in a real game. This Spaniard (who probably was kicking a futbol as soon as he exited the womb) and I made the A-Team, and in our first game the ludicrous coach who shouts at us in Chinese like we are a bunch of Samurai warriors put us both in the game (on a side-note, I did not start, nor was I the first off of the bench). Our team got scored on twice faster than some of the Chinese hookers at the KTV's, and all of the sudden I found myself leading the charge and playing far better than I ever have in my life. Since the average Chinese athlete weighs about the same as most American ten year-olds I was able to really push the other team around, and won almost every header. At the end of the second half I almost scored on a diving header, and after the half the coach sang my praises. I was high-hived by all of the other players on the team, as I had finally gained their respect and it looked as if I would finally be a college athlete. When I went to undergrad I wrestled with the idea of playing soccer at a smaller school instead of going to USC... So this was kind of like me riding some sort of dream that only the world's biggest dorks would have. Most people want to be CEO, a famous actor, the Prez. I just wanted to play university soccer. We're not even talking about Hoops. But hey, for me this was a big deal and I was pretty fired up.
For some strange reason I found myself jogging out for a third half of action, even though this makes no sense it seemed completely normal at the time. Five minutes later I found myself twisting my knee in every which way, and hearing a "pop" which generally means that you are completely screwed...I know, because I am. So that was my college soccer career. I played one game, scored zero goals, zero assists, I did commit a few fouls, and that's all she wrote. This "pop" was my ACL, and this ligament will keep me from playing active sports for the next six months. I have never had a serious injury in my entire life, and I can at least take solace in knowing that I earned it on the field of battle. Not a bad story to tell, I could have done in practicing tai-chi or worse. I have been playing sports for twenty years so I was do, and I am not mad at anyone or anything. It is certainly a glove in the face, but I'm moving on. This will give me more time to meet people and get my school work done, and I should be able to swim within a few weeks.
Well, I gotta eat now. My surgery is in fifteen hours, and I am supposed to fast for twelve. I will be in the hospital for two days, and if things go well I won't miss a day of class.
the soon to be knifed,
Matt Atkinson
P.S. The USC football loss has not made this any easier. And I was able to find a good hospital where my insurance covers 70% of the surgery.
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