One word to describe my experience being held against my will in a Korean hospital: ABSURDITY! Monday the 10th I hobbled into the lobby with a co-teacher to find out what the real damage was. I didn't exactly trust the doctors in the farm hospital and was hoping to be released from the hell that is walking with crutches. I was wheeled around the building for an X-ray that showed the damage I had done. Who knew that a casual swipe of a tree stump could split one of my proximal phalanges in two? The doctor casually informed me that I would have surgery that day, spend the next 5-7 days bedridden in an 8 person room, and then be on crutches for 4 weeks. I cried.
The most upsetting moment of the week occurred as I was put on a wheeling bed and swept away from my love. We raced through double doors and into a blindingly white room. The panic set in as soon as the green masked surgeons leaned over me. I felt trapped, like a lab specimen due for dissection. Four men rolled me onto my side, tucked my head to my knees, and started prodding my spine. To say I lost it would be an understatement. Shuddering sobs racked my body as I lay helplessly unaware of what was happening. A sharp, stabbing pain and then I lost all feeling below my waist. What started as a comforting warmth turned into a devastating paralysis. The poor surgeons did not know what to make of me, a weird white girl, crying harder than ever at this point. Finally a saint appeared with a gas mask and I didn't even have time to count to 10 before I woke up in recovery.
Still unable to even wiggle a toe, I felt no pain. I was taken to my room where I was told to wait 10 hours before eating. Yeah right. Aaron came to me as soon as we were alone and snuck me a kimbob triangle that I ate with a stealth usually reserved for teens getting high in their parents' house.
The rest of my time was spent giggling with the steady stream of visitors I had and attempting to choke down the food. If you think hospital food is bad, you should try Korean hospital food. Each day I asked if I could go home only to be shut down my doctor. I wheeled myself around the floor, trying not to get my IV cord stuck in my chair. I stared at the wall, ceiling, floor, and walls again. I read, slept, ate, slept, did puzzles, threatened my roommate who wouldn't shut it, and slept some more. All in all it was more boring than sitting through a capstone class at the university.
Finally the day came when the doctor, hearing my plea for release for the 6th time, assented. I paid my bill of about $200 (including surgery, pain pills, a bed for 3 nights, and meals) and ran out the door (or rather crutched awkwardly).
I have about 2 weeks left on my crutches. I will kill.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Burning Man and Broken Toes
As many of you already know, I have spent the last week and half in and out of hospitals and having surgery. Being restricted by my crutches, one would think that I had plenty of time to update my blog. While this may be true, I have to admit that the less I have to do, the less productive I become. Now that I am back at work with a stack of materials to make, I have found time for my blog, of course.
September 8-9th was an unique weekend here in South Korea. A team of masterminds up in Seoul decided that since they could not make it the Black Rock Desert for the real deal they would bring Burning Man to Korea. I know, I know. How can you have Burning Man off the playa without the thousands of die hard burners, furry boots, and drugs that make the experience? I was skeptical myself, honestly, but my doubts were in vain as the weekend proved to be more than I could have imagined.
Leading up the weekend Aaron, Mara, Danielle, and myself talked in circles about what we would need to make this trip memorable. We decided on bagels, pb&js, sparklers, glitter, and kalimotxos (aka calimochos, aka cheap red wine and cola). Thoroughly laden down with tents, sleeping bags, coolers, and a medley of other awkwardly shaped bags we headed to the bus stop to meet the rest of the group.
A 10:00pm departure could only mean one thing; NOREBUS. While that is a standard term in my vernacular, let me explain for the rest of the world. A norebong is a small, dark, padded room complete with disco lights, microphones, and karaoke loud enough to deafen even the most dedicated veterans. Take all of those wonderful ideas and put them on a massive bus, careening down the highway at ungodly speeds, and voila, a norebus is born. With shrieks of delight the lights dimmed, the neon laser show began, and The Cranberries' "Zombie" set the tone for the weekend.
We arrived at our destination, Gijipo Beach, around 1:00am. Stumbling through the dark we (not so easily) set up our tent in an awful, bramble infested area. Upon completion we wandered down to the the rest of the tents to discover they were peacefully nestled in between tall trees on soft sand. I immediately wanted to move. Being the prat that I am, I convinced Aaron to help me carry the tent in the dark from the forest to the beach. BIG MISTAKE.
About 10 feet from main camp I casually took a step forward and heard a sickening crack. I glanced down at my pinkie toe just in time to acknowledge that I had swiped a tree stump at exactly the right angle to bend my toe out to a 90 degree angle. A few muttered profanities later and I found myself on the ground at main camp. As the shock began to overwhelm my system I struggled to maintain consciousness. I'm sure you are thinking, over a pinkie toe? Yes, a pinkie toe that was protruding at such a horrific angle I couldn't handle it (I guess that answers any doubt I had about becoming a doctor). As I waited for a van I was sprawled across the ground with support coming from all angles. This was the first time I noticed that I was surrounded by the best people on Earth. Strangers brought me water, ice packs, blankets, etc. while other held my hands and helped me breathe. They carried me to the van, tucked me in, and I was off. 40 minutes later we arrived at some po-dunk hospital complete with spiders in the bathroom, used tissues on my bed, and crickets scattered throughout the ward. Not the most reassuring place I have been. After an x-ray the doctor informed me that it was broken (NO SHIT?!). At this point I was over the shock, in no pain, and was ready to get back to Burning Man. He casually placed me on an operating table, had a nurse restrain me, and proceeded to yank my toe from its socket. I would be lying if I said I didn't scream, cry, and thrash around like one of my kindergartners. A quick shot in my butt (the first of many to come) followed and I was done. I spent the night in the hospital, unable to sleep, listening to the doctor watch videos on how to surf (so it's like this bros, you just have to gnash it out, chu know? Push that board into the wave, toes to the nose bros). The next morning, actually it was only about 5 hours later, Aaron and the team came back to pick me up. They dropped the bomb, explaining that although I would be able to go back to Burning Man, I had to be on crutches AND have surgery on my foot. Weak...
...but I was able to go back to Burning Man and I guess that is all that matters. I stepped out of the van to cheers, I blushed furiously and concentrated on not falling on my face, which might have put a damper on my 5 seconds of fame. The weekend proceeded as planned. We covered ourselves in sparkles, ate fist-fulls of carbs, and opened our eyes and hearts to a crowd unlike any I have ever seen. Being on crutches gave me a new vantage point as I was camped on a chair, soaking in all of the eccentricities that began to emerge as the festival unfolded. A mime, who claimed he was just French, a Frenchman and an Englishman dressed (and painted) as smurfs, pixies, clowns, and bare breasted women appeared suddenly only to then vanish as quickly as they came; their content giggles and smears of paint being all that remained. The Gwangju tent was Gwangju Night Lights and it was complete with makoli bottle candles and body paint. What more could a girl ask for? A martyr of sorts brought me a Frisbee full of the ocean to wet my feet. Another crafted me a hat fit for a lady in court out of nothing more than a piece of felt. Random hugs, treats, and well wishes came my way all day. I was too caught up in the acceptance and love all around me to even acknowledge my temporary disability. As the sun set we made our way down the beach to watch the burning of the men. Two wooden statues, hand in hand, stood proudly in front of a hodgepodge of characters who were all so far from home, yet united here for this moment. Hundreds, if not thousands of sparklers illuminated the beach. I had, as I often do in Korea, a moment of utter contentedness. The men went up in flames and we made our way back to our tent.
If this post sounds sickeningly "love everyone, man" then I suppose it is. Burning Man is an event unlike any other and Korea Burn was able to capture some of the allurement in its own private way. I met some of the most opened minded and caring people throughout the weekend that I will never forget. It was honestly a weekend for the books.
Upon returning to the real world I had surgery on my toe. Two pins, three days in the hospital, and $200 (thank you Korean health care) later I am back at work, albeit on crutches. A small price to pay for the experience and general giddy feeling the Korea Burn created.
September 8-9th was an unique weekend here in South Korea. A team of masterminds up in Seoul decided that since they could not make it the Black Rock Desert for the real deal they would bring Burning Man to Korea. I know, I know. How can you have Burning Man off the playa without the thousands of die hard burners, furry boots, and drugs that make the experience? I was skeptical myself, honestly, but my doubts were in vain as the weekend proved to be more than I could have imagined.
Leading up the weekend Aaron, Mara, Danielle, and myself talked in circles about what we would need to make this trip memorable. We decided on bagels, pb&js, sparklers, glitter, and kalimotxos (aka calimochos, aka cheap red wine and cola). Thoroughly laden down with tents, sleeping bags, coolers, and a medley of other awkwardly shaped bags we headed to the bus stop to meet the rest of the group.
 |
| Mara's pack |
 |
| Supplies |
A 10:00pm departure could only mean one thing; NOREBUS. While that is a standard term in my vernacular, let me explain for the rest of the world. A norebong is a small, dark, padded room complete with disco lights, microphones, and karaoke loud enough to deafen even the most dedicated veterans. Take all of those wonderful ideas and put them on a massive bus, careening down the highway at ungodly speeds, and voila, a norebus is born. With shrieks of delight the lights dimmed, the neon laser show began, and The Cranberries' "Zombie" set the tone for the weekend.
 |
| NOREBUS |
We arrived at our destination, Gijipo Beach, around 1:00am. Stumbling through the dark we (not so easily) set up our tent in an awful, bramble infested area. Upon completion we wandered down to the the rest of the tents to discover they were peacefully nestled in between tall trees on soft sand. I immediately wanted to move. Being the prat that I am, I convinced Aaron to help me carry the tent in the dark from the forest to the beach. BIG MISTAKE.
About 10 feet from main camp I casually took a step forward and heard a sickening crack. I glanced down at my pinkie toe just in time to acknowledge that I had swiped a tree stump at exactly the right angle to bend my toe out to a 90 degree angle. A few muttered profanities later and I found myself on the ground at main camp. As the shock began to overwhelm my system I struggled to maintain consciousness. I'm sure you are thinking, over a pinkie toe? Yes, a pinkie toe that was protruding at such a horrific angle I couldn't handle it (I guess that answers any doubt I had about becoming a doctor). As I waited for a van I was sprawled across the ground with support coming from all angles. This was the first time I noticed that I was surrounded by the best people on Earth. Strangers brought me water, ice packs, blankets, etc. while other held my hands and helped me breathe. They carried me to the van, tucked me in, and I was off. 40 minutes later we arrived at some po-dunk hospital complete with spiders in the bathroom, used tissues on my bed, and crickets scattered throughout the ward. Not the most reassuring place I have been. After an x-ray the doctor informed me that it was broken (NO SHIT?!). At this point I was over the shock, in no pain, and was ready to get back to Burning Man. He casually placed me on an operating table, had a nurse restrain me, and proceeded to yank my toe from its socket. I would be lying if I said I didn't scream, cry, and thrash around like one of my kindergartners. A quick shot in my butt (the first of many to come) followed and I was done. I spent the night in the hospital, unable to sleep, listening to the doctor watch videos on how to surf (so it's like this bros, you just have to gnash it out, chu know? Push that board into the wave, toes to the nose bros). The next morning, actually it was only about 5 hours later, Aaron and the team came back to pick me up. They dropped the bomb, explaining that although I would be able to go back to Burning Man, I had to be on crutches AND have surgery on my foot. Weak...
 |
| Stupid |
 |
| Really stupid. |
 |
| PB&J |
...but I was able to go back to Burning Man and I guess that is all that matters. I stepped out of the van to cheers, I blushed furiously and concentrated on not falling on my face, which might have put a damper on my 5 seconds of fame. The weekend proceeded as planned. We covered ourselves in sparkles, ate fist-fulls of carbs, and opened our eyes and hearts to a crowd unlike any I have ever seen. Being on crutches gave me a new vantage point as I was camped on a chair, soaking in all of the eccentricities that began to emerge as the festival unfolded. A mime, who claimed he was just French, a Frenchman and an Englishman dressed (and painted) as smurfs, pixies, clowns, and bare breasted women appeared suddenly only to then vanish as quickly as they came; their content giggles and smears of paint being all that remained. The Gwangju tent was Gwangju Night Lights and it was complete with makoli bottle candles and body paint. What more could a girl ask for? A martyr of sorts brought me a Frisbee full of the ocean to wet my feet. Another crafted me a hat fit for a lady in court out of nothing more than a piece of felt. Random hugs, treats, and well wishes came my way all day. I was too caught up in the acceptance and love all around me to even acknowledge my temporary disability. As the sun set we made our way down the beach to watch the burning of the men. Two wooden statues, hand in hand, stood proudly in front of a hodgepodge of characters who were all so far from home, yet united here for this moment. Hundreds, if not thousands of sparklers illuminated the beach. I had, as I often do in Korea, a moment of utter contentedness. The men went up in flames and we made our way back to our tent.
 |
| Rosie, Calen, Kat |
 |
| Aaron and Julien |
 |
| Body painting |
 |
| My man |
 |
| <3 |
 |
| Mara <3 |
 |
| The burn |
 |
| Tent city |
If this post sounds sickeningly "love everyone, man" then I suppose it is. Burning Man is an event unlike any other and Korea Burn was able to capture some of the allurement in its own private way. I met some of the most opened minded and caring people throughout the weekend that I will never forget. It was honestly a weekend for the books.
Upon returning to the real world I had surgery on my toe. Two pins, three days in the hospital, and $200 (thank you Korean health care) later I am back at work, albeit on crutches. A small price to pay for the experience and general giddy feeling the Korea Burn created.
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