I’ve survived five days after having my tonsils yanked. After peeking in the back of my throat several times a day then going to compare notes with others online, I figured I might as well blog a bit. It’s easier than responding to all my well-wishers with, “I’m ok.” I’m not posting any photos. There are more than enough out there already. And it looks freaking disgusting, ok? You wouldn’t be able to converse with me without thinking, “zomg her throat is f-ing sickeningggg!” the entire time. And if you were thinking that, you wouldn’t really be listening to my nonvoice, would you?
Tonsillectomy Tuesday
At 10 a.m. my girl friends Carol and Andrea accompanied me to Hong Kong Sanatorium & Hospital. It was a huge relief to have them there. I checked in and we were shown to room 1308, the biggest hospital room I’d ever seen. About the same size as my apartment. I hadn’t eaten since the night before, so I was considerably grumpy and a bit nervous. The scariest thing for me was wondering how I’d feel when I woke up from the anesthesia. I felt confident in my doctor, so I wasn’t concerned about anything going wrong (besides, I did my part by showing up sans foodage). So, I changed into my stylin’ brown pj pants and blue-plaid frock. Then we let the waiting begin. Around 11 a nurse came in to ask me more Qs. More waiting. A few minutes later and a nurse brought me a wheelchair. Reality check, right? I climbed in, donned a cool little mushroom hat, and off we wheeled. She said that if I’m cold in the operating theater, I should ask for another blanket. Mmmok.
I waved bye-bye to the nurses at the nurses’ station. They “bye-bye”d back. Through a differnt door. Into a different elevator. I asked the nurse her name.
“May.”
“May?”
“Yes.” (she smiled with her eyes)
“Hi, May. I’m Emily.”
“Hi. Don’t worry. You will be ok.” (she rubbed my back)
I think we popped out on the 2nd floor, then took a right toward Operating Theaters 1-5. We stopped in a wide hallway next to a gurney. She came around the side to help me get up and lie down. Another nurse brought me a super warm blanket. Nurse May took off, other nurses and doctors wandered to and fro. Then a kind-seeming fellow named Dr. Kornberg stopped to chat. He’d be my anesthesiologist. He explained everything he’d be doing. Probably more than I wanted to know, but I wasn’t going to complain at that stage in our relationship. Said I’d have a breathing tube, that he’d be keeping me hydrated, that he’d make sure I had alllllll the painkillers I needed. And the IV will stay in until we’re sure I won’t need to be knocked out again. And I’d wake up in the room behind the windows at my left. Yo-k.
I stammered something about him being there the whole time and he said, “Well, somebody’s gotta fly the ship.”
“Cool.” Dr. Kornberg took off and up walked Dr. Lo, my surgeon. Also a cool dude. He went through some of the same things we’d talked about in his office then went to check on the OT. I stayed put until another nurse came over to wheel me in. Game time.
The OT looked pretty normal to me. Adequate. Equipped. There weren’t any windows high above for observation. No, this would be a less significant affair. A red X taped on the ceiling. Machines. Dr. Kornberg was at my left. Dr. Lo perched on a stool to my right, looking relaxed yet focused. Then, for whatever reason, I asked:
“Everyone feeling all right today?”
There were yes’s all around. Music to my ears. I told Dr. Lo I heard he was having a busy day. He said he had a surgery before mine and would have more after. I was glad to be second. And glad he didn’t mind telling me this. Ain’t no thang, Tonsillectomy Tuesday. Then Dr. Kornberg explained that he was going to do a little vein hunting (I don’t recall his exact words). We had some back-and-forth about finding veins. He gave my veins a 3.5 out of 10. Whatev. It’s in, innit?
“You should have a bit of a taste in the back of your throat,” he said.
“Yes, I do…” And I was out like clout.
*Time passes*
I woke up in a reclining position, blurred vision, a tad curious about where I was but figured it out fairly soon. A nurse was at my side, and I wanted to hold her hand. She asked me if my family was here, but I couldn’t answer. She gave me a tissue-box and pen so I could write “friends.” I didn’t yet feel much of anything but sleepy. A short while later, someone wheeled me back to 1308. Carol and Andrea stayed till I was about to zonk out again. Great to have them there. A huge thank-you to all my visitors and well-wishers.
I stayed in the hospital two nights. I was off IV painmeds after the surgery. I had Celebrex capsules, liquid acetaminophen, green gargle that makes my mouth numb and another round white tablet that I believe Dr. Kornberg described as being like ibuprophen. Once on the first night I asked for my medicine early, but otherwise I was fine to wait for the nurses to bring it on schedule. And they were great nurses.
The most helpful thing for me has been reading other people’s experiences day-by-day. So…lemme break it down for ya.
Day 1-2 post-op were the easiest so far. I took drugs, ate ice cream, drank water, rinsed with the green stuff, slept. Day 1 I mostly stayed in bed watching movies. I fell asleep to the MJ memorial that night. Day 2 I walked around the room some, stared out the window at the beautiful blue sky. As soon as I regained feeling in my mouth, I noticed my tongue was numb on the sides. Dr. Lo said it was likely the device used to keep my mouth open pinched a nerve and it’s nothing to worry about. He visited several times each day, said my throat looks normal. No bleeding. The white patches back there are good. Means I’m healing. I didn’t have much voice.
Prereq to heading home was eating soft foods. I ate congee then had buttered noodles with shredded chicken and tiny bits of carrot and peas with Magnus.
Day 3 Oatmeal for breakfast. The food progression satisfied Dr. Lo enough to discharge me. I was glad to stay two nights…reading about tonsillectomy as an outpatient surgery seemed like unnecessary solo torture.
I went home from the hospital with the liquid acetaminophen, Celebrex and antibiotics. The trip home was less than 2-km, and frickin tiring. Lots more sleeping, drugs, water, Mango Wonder Bars (awesome), and sleeping. I would wake up a tad before it was time for more medicine (every 8 hours) in serious pain. It hi-zurt to be al-iz-ive. Throat, tongue, ears. I didn’t speak for the entire day. Gah.
I tried to keep to the 8-hour med schedule as much as possible. I set alarms if I thought I might be sleeping at the right times.
Day 4 More pain, dude. I woke up cursing tonsils and mouths and ears and liquids and solids and swallowing and breathing and sleeping, etc. Popped my drugs, passed out. I went to the supermarket for all things soft. Yogurts, nonchunky soups, cheesey noodley mushroomy bowl (dream BIG!), vitamin water, mango juice, watermelon and a cream-filled pastry. Score. I had to take a timeout after paying to remember what I should do next. Go up the spiral escalator. Left out the door. Through the fish market. Past the waffle stand. Round the VW dealer. Go home. Righto. Arrived home. Passed out. I woke in pain again and decided this sucks a lot. Was getting really frustrated. But, ya know, gotsta get better.
At about 10:30 p.m. I decided I wanted mac n’ cheez, so I set out for Park n’ shop. Also scored some instant mashed potatoes (rawk!) and a can of hot ‘n sour soup. You can get lots of things with ‘n at Park ‘n Shop, evidently. Home again. Dripping with sweat. Tuckered. I was so excited about the potatoes, only to find it hurt like a b*y@t*h to eat the soggy lil tater flakes. Hells bells. Made the mac. Great success=eating half serving of noodles coated in fake cheez. More not talking today. I did whine a little.
Day 5 Not as much pain in the a.m. Decided to go to work (starting at 3:30 p.m.). Ate the potatoes left from Friday (yay!), napped, packed snacks and drugs for the office. Ended up staying till 10:30 or so. Didn’t feel a lot of pain, but it hurt to talk very loud. My voice is really tiny. It feels pretty strange to talk, and my throat gets a bit dry or something quite uncomfortable. A drink of water helps. And I use the green gargle shtuff every few hours. Really nice before eating. The idea that the solid-ish food I’m eating is dwelling in the holes in my throat is gross. So I use to the green stuff to keep from feeling it all dwelling around back there. Bleh.
Brushing my teeth is difficult because my mouth doesn’t want to open all the way. So I go super slow. My tongue is still cycling through stages of numbness. At the moment, the left side feels swollen and numb, like an insect bite. The right side doesn’t feel numb at all. Freaking tongue.
Day 6 Sleeping more than a couple hours at a time means my throat dries out and waking up is painful. I told the doc this during my check-up today and he confirmed this would probably happen. Sooo funny. Only I remedied it with drugs — he recommended a couple glasses of water. Right. Will try that next time.
Also did too much talking today at work, so at about 10 I had to go silent. Felt like a sharp, stinging cramp in my vocal chords every time I moved. Pleasant, no? Still not eating a lot, but drinking like it’s my job.
Oh, and my neighbors upstairs are renovating during the day this week. So that means there’s pulsing drill noises starting at 9 a.m.
Day 7 Slept again. Pain again. Woke at 9 again to drilling. I think I’ll pen a letter to my neighbors. A really nice letter. To express my thankfulness that they can sleep through the night because no one’s renovating our brand-new building at that time. What could they be doing? All that pulsing? Give me the drill. I’ll get the job done in an afternoon. Then I’ll go all Michael-Bolton-and-Samir-Nagheenanajar on your freaking drills.
It was a Sunday, I think. I was out grabbing dinner. More than anything, I wanted a walk. A chance to stretch my legs, think of nothing and be alone with the seven million. But there were two of us on that corner. She just grabbed my arm. She told me she was hungry. She pleaded for money. Please. She had ahold of my left forearm, obviously and gently. I took her hand off my arm and pretended the music from my iPod blinded me from her situation. I looked in her eyes, and then I pretended I didn’t look in her eyes. She stayed there, wearing her sweater and cotton pants and unkempt hair, on the corner. She watched me. Then she moved on. I felt her there, and I moved on. Until I didn’t.
I wasn’t going to tell this story because I didn’t do anything worthy of anything. My first instinct was to walk away, ignore this woman pleading for money. Don’t all homeless, hungry, destitute people plead for money? I’m not rich. I have more debt than … Why was this — this stooped, old woman — affecting me so much that night? And why has it replayed in my head so many times?
I walked away. I looked back after a block and she was stepping out of the shadows to ask someone else for money, please, she’s hungry. I was almost where I was going, and I decided to get double what I planned. I’d give it to her. Food for the hungry. I paid less than HK$20. I put her share of dinner in a bag, I put mine in a bag. And I hoped I’d find her. I was sort of glad for a moment to be doing something.
There she was, in the shadows, crouching. Then she wandered out to meet a stranger. Then back to where the building met the sidewalk, where it’s dark. Out again. Here I came. I offered her one of my bags and brought my eyes up to hers. At first I thought she wasn’t going to take it. She looked inside. Looked at me, confused, I suppose. Then she took it. And I walked off. My encounter with this plump little woman made me feel so sad. Not for her, not for me. Just sad. Maybe for all the hungry, slightly crazy, bilingual, brave women, men and children in the world.
I’m the nicest person in Hong Kong, he said. Then he qualified, necessarily: I’m the nicest person one can hope to meet in a week in Hong Kong. It started with a beer and ended in Times Square.
A healthy contingent of America’s finest arrived in the waters off the Kong two or three Saturdays ago. They checked into hotels and started the routine. At first the curiosity and excitement of new places is motivation enough to see more than whatever bar is still open after the one you’re in closes. There are sights, there’s local life. Every city is different, but only for so long. After 10, 20 stops it had long ago started to weigh on them. The routine changed. Maybe it was gradual. Maybe it was a snap decision: The flip of a coin. However long it took, the S.O.P. rewrote itself to focus on drinking while awake.
I come into this picture by following my own S.O.P. Late nights at work, followed by generally quiet walks home. I change the route often, either following the water to the east to start or heading south before turning east. I always share my walk home. I wonder where they’re coming from, where they’ve been. I chuckle that I should pay attention to their shoes. None of them have ever talked to me before, and I’ve never talked to them.
This Tuesday in November I accepted an offer of a beer at a bar near my office. The Bridge is open 24 hours, and I’ve never found it empty. Sometime in the course of two beers (I bought a round too), this gentleman said he found Hong Kong quite boring. I wouldn’t let that thought leave the island. I love Hong Kong. But if all you see are the late-night bars, of course it seems devoid of character and the same as every other city’s late-late scene. So I offered a daytime tour the next day to correct his point of view. He seemed interested, and we left off agreeing that he’d call if he wakes up, and I’d answer if I wanted to answer.
Mike called at 0845. I answered and made my way to meet him on Kowloon side, a 20-minute taxi ride from my apartment. Then I took him on a smashing tour of the Kong. First, the Star Ferry: a must-see for every HK visitor. We made our way to the little-used viewing platform in IFC 2. The office of the Hong Kong Monetary Authority has a fairly foreboding security presence. Visitors must present ID and obtain a pass. But from there, the friendly staff guides you to the 55th floor where you have a great view of the Kong. Then we walked via elevated walkways and escalators to Soho, where we stopped in one of the usual weekend haunts for me and my pals, Divino’s. We rode a tram, another of Hong Kong’s wonderful and unique means of public transportation. He showered me with compliments. I pinged him with questions. We talked about how similar our lives are right now. We both feel that life is, at least in part, on hold. But our adventures will forever be part of whatever future life is in store for each of us. We ate egg tarts. We walked through an open-air market, a great park in the middle of huge banking towers, a cathedral. He said he was amazed at it all. He said his friends probably were still in their hotel rooms.
For a few hours, I gave back to someone whose contributions to freedom leave me forever grateful. No, by himself Mike isn’t keeping me safe or free. But he is part of something greater. We are all part of something greater. It’s only when two lives intertwine and affect each other that once-blinding differences fade to reveal how small we all are, and how important we all are. Connections are our lifeblood. Knowing my connections around the world are out there looking after things … that helps me sleep at night.
Mike and I stood in Times Square and took it all in. People streamed past, left and right, walking fast, walking slow, walking the way only Hong Kongers do. They kept going, but we parted ways. I think I’ll remember that Tuesday in November for a long, long time…
The other day while walking to work in broad daylight via the Sun Hung Kai Centre and China Resources Building, I found myself contemplating my self-defense skills. I wasn’t feeling particularly threatened. The man walking in front of me started holding his hand out to passers-by as if asking for spare change. I don’t think he said anything to them. My first thought was, “that’s a silly way to bum a dollar. Who carries a coin in his hand while walking just in case an oncoming pedestrian has his hand out?” That brought me to the conclusion that this guy must be at least slightly off. And I was carrying a cake.
Meanwhile, I am jamming to Motorpsycho. Jamming.
Then the guy stops, steps to the side of the walkway and turns so he’s facing perpendicular to the lines of people passing by. I pass. I think I hear him make a strange noise but dismiss it as just some old slightly off dude making a strange noise. “That’s Hong Kong,” I say to myself. I say that almost daily. But there’s something to this encounter that brings me to thoughts of self-defense. It was the strange noise, sort of a moan or audible gawk. It was the slightly eery feeling of his eyes following me. It was not knowing whether he stepped back into the flow of pedestrian traffic to follow behind me after I passed. He didn’t put his hand out toward me, and I pretended not to notice.
“What would I do?” I asked myself. First, I’d drop this cake. Wait, I wonder if I could throw the cake up, spin around, and sweep the feet fast enough to spin around and catch the cake as it drops back down. I’d have to toss it up pretty high. And it’s a heavy cake! Anna baked it for MinJung’s party. A delicious cake. I don’t want it to fall to the ground, likely busting the cake transporter and ruining a delicious cake. And there’s the issue of my bag. I love this bag. My sister gave it to me. I’m also carrying two bottles of citron tea that MinJung left at my place. So the bag has some weight to it, too. Then I start thinking about my footwork. By this time, the old slightly off guy has probably asked 20 more people for money and forgot I ever passed, but I’m still thinking about the best way to take him out.
He’d probably tap my shoulder or grab my right arm with his right hand. He asked for money with his left, but that was only because people were passing on that side. Odds are, his right hand is dominant. So if he’s grabbing my right arm, I would spin clockwise, stepping back with my right foot, hopefully creating a little space between us with a push from my right hand. So, I switch the cake to the left hand. Hell, I gotta drop the thing. If I throw it in the air, it’s sure to drop on my head. Dropping from a lower height reduces the risk of a broken carrying case. Yes. After turning around, right foot first, pushing him backward a bit with my elbow or my hand depending on how far away he is. That’s when I sweep the feet. Scrawny guy, he might fall from this. Worst case, he’s a kung fu master and we fight to the death. Best case, it takes him down to one knee and he puts his hands up as if to say, “holy shit, lady. I surrender. Hey, can I have some cake?”
On an entirely different subject, I met the cutest kid last week. My pal Dan Reimold was visiting from Singapore where he acts as local hot shot. We hopped the Star Ferry to Kowloon side and wandered into the HK Cultural Centre while waiting for our junk boat cruise. Here’s Ken:
I love this child. And he loves me. I can still hear his adorable voice, smiling, “Good-bye, Emily…”
New friends Ken and Em pose with Ken's art displayed in the Hong Kong Cultural Centre.
I’m not sure if it was before or after the Ken encounter that Dan and I crashed “someone else’s wedding.”
Dan and Em pose with a wedding party outside the Hong Kong Cultural Centre one lovely November afternoon.
And while I’m at it, I might as well show you where I learned my kung fu.
Bruce Lee and Em ready for battle at The Peak. Watch out!
Election Day. It’s a special day. I think this year many people will agree it became extra special for the first time in a long time. I’m not going to get into the politics of it all*, but I will say I got a little choked up during Barack Obama’s acceptance speech. Much like my experience listening to Nick Clooney once, I felt like I could stand there listening for hours and be happy. I got choked up because of how united the moment seemed. Halfway around the world, I felt like I was there experiencing the moment with the rest of America. I also realized how different it is to be living outside the U.S. at times like these. I didn’t feel left out. I felt like I was part of something bigger, stronger, global. America’s presence stretches much farther than I ever realized while I lived in the States. It reminded me of the way my brother Andrew described his new feelings when he heard the Pledge of Allegiance recited at the end of U.S. Navy bootcamp. He said it would never be the same. I feel ya, bro. I felt stronger, I felt prouder. Today I learned more about myself as an American in a room with other Americans: toddlers, 10-year-olds**, teens, college students, suits, and the League of Women Voters***.
I missed being in America today. Seeing the crowds on TV and reading about the gatherings back in Bloomington made me miss it. But I had my own crowd here. It didn’t matter that they weren’t being heard by the throngs in Chicago, the world citizens gathered around me cheered just the same. Until today I’ve not understood why people clap, cheer or jeer at a basketball game on TV. Now I get it. It’s about feeling like you, too, are part of something bigger. Something you’re passionate about and proud to be a part of. That’s America. And, hey, that’s the world.****
* My professional code of ethics requires my neutrality on all things political. This post was meant to be more patriotic than anything. Any political leanings you may interpret are accidental. Thanks for reading.
** The mock election at the event allowed everyone to vote — kids, noncitizens, etc. Would’ve made a great photo. Oh, and aren’t serial commas great?
*** This is a nice way of saying … well… old ladies. Older ladies? I don’t know the P.C. … ah, you get the idea. Young and old. In harmony.
**** I think my blog post went deeper than deep. Eh, take it with a grain of salt. It’s past 3 a.m. If I don’t do this post now, I never will.
As always, click on the photo or the word awesomeness to view more photos from my Election Day.
First meaning: welcome back to the blog. I know we’ve not chatted for a spell. I missed you. Feeling’s mutual? How sweet. Let’s dance. Second meaning: I know which Vietnamese place in Times Square to never recommend to anyone, ever. That’s right, mom, I had one choice case of food poisoning from a couple wayward spring rolls Friday night. Gah. The experience involved several lessons and firsts…
My first 101-plus fever in recent memory. Those who know me know my memory.
I learned how tempting it is to blog about things you shouldn’t blog about. And I resisted, successfully. Until now. Well, at least I won’t tell you what it looked like! Ewwww…
Even though my e-doctor says I should’ve gone to the hospital after the temp went above 101 and stayed above 100 for three days, determination to live and work normally will prevail. Take that.
When you get better, your absentee ballot finally arrives!
Today, I voted for America’s next president. It was great fun for me and my favorite houseguest. Evidence at right of the voting booth I fashioned using my shower and a pirate flag I happen to have.
Rock the vote. If I can do it from Hong Kong, you can do it from there.
Here’s me: A 26-year-old assistant news editor at The Wall Street Journal Asia who once walked the streets of West Lafayette with her best friend Annemarie dreaming of our future together as marine biologists, with more pets than should be allowed in a residential space, even if there is a permit for numerous creatures great and small. As we walked around the Purdue University campus we caught ourselves several times walking so fast we were almost jogging. We’d laugh, slow down, get back to our plans. Before we knew it, we were tearing along the sidewalk again. I love my friends.
How did I morph from that daydreaming 9-year-old to the person I am today? Why is yellow my favorite color? Why do I like applesauce so much? (more…)
