I’m a bit disgusted with myself these days. I’m somewhat overwhelmed with a convergence of events and I am not pleased with how I am handling it. Last night I have to admit I was pretty much a drunken asshole. I got really pissed at a dart opponent and said some things I regret. Later, a friend told me about some behavoir I do not even recall, but it had pissed him off immensely. So, today I am lamenting my actions and trying to resolve to be a better person in the days to come.

Not sure how to go about that at this point, but perhaps I will be struck with some insights soon. Or not. Best I can do for now is try to pull my head out of my ass and stop worrying about what I can’t control.

I hear some people been talkin’ me down
Bring up my name, pass it round
They don’t mention the happy times
They do their thing, I do mine.

–Neil Young

So I had the skin graft surgery yesterday. I had actually about 90% changed my mind as I figured I could clean and dress the finger until it healed up properly. But when I got there, the receptionist slapped a hospital bracelet on me, and motioned for me to follow her. So, we walk through the first floor lobby, up a flight of stairs, reverse direction and walk through pediatrics, neurosurgery (lots of people lining the walls in PJs waiting with Night of the Living Dead-like expressions. Scary.) up another flight of stairs, through some double doors, and into the surgery clinic.

Where my surgery team awaited. In our mutually limited means of communication, they were asking about anathesia and if I wanted to sleep. I said I wasn’t real keen on pain, but I would prefer to stay awake. So we agreed on a local. I reiterated that I was not staying in the hospital and the doc nodded and said “yeah, you go home”. So, I was instructed to undress and put on the surgical clothes (not one of those backless gowns thank god) and I was escorted to the operating room.

I got the full treatment. There were 3 nurses and 3 doctors. And I’m thinking how much is this going to cost me? I had called Blue Cross and although Soonchonkyang Hospital is on the preferred provider list, outpatient treatment is paid out of pocket and I file the claim afterwards for direct reimbursement. So, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen if the costs exceeded my available funds, but at this point there was no turning back.

We had agreed to take the needed skin from the same hand (that fleshy area (heel?) at the bottom of my hand. I had told the surgeon “dartsuh” and made my throwing motion and he actually understood and assured me I would be good to play in a week. So they proceed to clean up my hand. But when he cleaned the wound I about jumped out of my skin. I am sure I must have a nerve ending exposed or something, because it feels like an electrical shock in a root canal kinda way when touched. Then the doc said “injection and pain” and while the injections were in fact painful (like stepping on a nail) it was not so bad comparitively speaking. He didn’t wait too long to start messing with the finger though and I had to express my discomfort with the internationally recognized “goddamn, that hurts!”. Loudly. I’m guessing he was thinking he should have just put me to sleep, but he gave me another round of injections. Which allowed sufficient time for the first round to take effect and my hand became comfortably numb.

After that, everything was cool. It was a little disconcerting hearing everything (they had put a screen where I couldn’t watch, not that I wanted too). I didn’t catch much of the conversation of course, but it sounded an awful lot like the doctors were flirting with the nurses. Laughter from the docs and shy giggles from the nurses. Anyway, that is what I choose to believe they were talking about. I was just glad I didn’t hear “Aigo!” (roughly translates to damn. At least that is how I use it).

Took about 30 minutes. I was taken back to my clothes, told to go see the receptionship, was given a prescription and a bill for 423,000 Won (around $425.) I go back at 1100 today I think to get my head stiches looked at. Not sure what the drugs are supposed to do. If they are for pain, they don’t work. I wound taking a leftover Percocet last night and slept well. Feel pretty good today and plan to be back at work after my appointment.

Well that is the story. It seems a shame that this is the only thing I have to blog about. But I figure why not share the pain? My readers have come to expect no less.

Just wanted to update y’all on the sorry state of my wounded body. Went to the doc today to get cleaned and rewrapped, and when the bandage came off the finger (painfully) I was still bleeding. Doctor says I need surgery, which I understand to be a skin graft of some type or another. Get this: he recommended I stay in hospital 2 or 3 days! I said bullshit (well, I was more polite than that) and he said ok, you just have to come back everyday. Which I guess is an acceptable compromise.

Strange how in the USA they won’t keep you overnight unless you are knocking on death’s door. Here, they admit you for a hangnail it seems. Another difference is those little niceties like taking blood pressure and temprature, asking about allergies or what other medications you are taking just isn’t done. I took three shots of something in the ass on Saturday but have no inkling what they were. I have no known allergies, but hell, they didn’t know that. It just doesn’t inspire confidence somehow.

Oh well. Going in at 1400 tomorrow. Don’t know if they intend to knock me out or not, but I am not real keen on watching skin extracted from my (thigh?) and reattached to my pinky. Plus the inability to interact coherently is a bit disconcerting. I guess I should spend tonight learning to say things like “I can’t breathe” or “that hurts like a sonofabitch” or other handy phrases appropriate (try typing appropriate with a bandaged right pinky sometime) to the situation.

Instead I am going to play darts. It’s opening night of the summer season!

…but it was no laughing matter.

In fact, it was deja vu all over again.

I had a blackout, hit the floor, and now have stiches in my head and an f’d up finger.

Really strange, because I don’t remember a thing. One minute I am sitting at the bar having a pleasant conversation, the next thing I know I am being picked up off a bloody floor.

I’m told I started coughing and stood up and then went down for the count. No idea what is up with that.

I didn’t go to the hospital last night as suggested, but when I woke this morning my finger was throbbing. I tried to take the bandage off, but the slightest touch brought on searing pain. My head looked ok, as that wound had already scabbed over. But I walked over to the hospital convienently located in my neighborhood to get my pinky looked at.

Of course, they just ripped the bandage right off which was incredibly painful and started some pretty impressive bleeding. After cleaning it up I could see that I didn’t have a cut finger, rather it was as if some had taken a filet knife and sliced an inch off. Sorry to say, when the doc started probing around I screamed like a banjee. Worse pain I can remember. So, they wrapped it up and I go back Monday for another looksee and cleaning. Which means I get to re-experience the joy of having the bandage removed.

The also stiched up my head which comparitively speaking was a piece of cake. And three injections in the ass. Not my idea of a great Saturday morning to be sure.

If there is a silver lining, it occurred to me that if death comes like a blackout it won’t be bad at all. One minute you are there having a nice chat and the next your gone. No worries at all.

No idea what is wrong with me or why I have lost the desire to blog.

Well, I guess I do have an idea.

I am feeling a bit disconnected from everything and everyone in the world. And what is left isn’t all that interesting to me, so I can’t imagine why it would be to any intrepid visitor who might somehow come across this weary blog.

This is the life I have chosen. And that nearly everyone I care about has found me unworthy for living this way only underscores the isolation. But yes, I take full responsibility for my decisions. And I acknowledge my selfishness is choosing to seek meaning in my life rather than living as others would have me to do.

So there it is. Turn your back if you must. I never asked for understanding anyway. And I won’t ask for what I cannot give.

Try as I might though, I can’t stop caring.

I am sorry if that is not enough.