Lughnasa and the Harvest Moon
Wednesday and Thursday gratefuls: Korea. Slow healing. Rainy Skies. Sleep. Won’t come. Acting. Ming Jen. In Korea. Fuzzy thinking. Me. A bit of homesickness. For my own bed and my own home. A week from today I give back my pass to the future. My son’s sweet nature. Seoah’s persistence and culinary skills. Murdoch staying with me late into the night. Thursday. The family practice doc talking fast under her mask, pointing at my heart. Rain in Songtan. Umbrellas. Umbrella condoms. Sudden changes. Weariness. Recovering at 76. No pneumonia. That cute baby in the waiting room.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Home. Thursday Being old.
One brief shining: There are nights where the inner alarm trips too often, where King Bladder asserts too much royal authority, where no position feels comfortable, the nose plugs up, and the whole damned thing becomes a frustration.
Last night was such a night for me. Kate taps me on the shoulder, whispers in my ear. The tincture of time. Of course. Right. Ride it out. Keep drinking fluids and resting. Yes, my love.
Two and half years since she died. Seven years since we were in Korea together for my son and Seoah’s wedding. Her presence missed. Each day.
Life without a partner. Life without Kate. Alone, but not lonely. That’s almost all the time. How? Friends. Family. Books. Television. Purpose. Exercise. Health.
Would I like to have a partner again? Gosh I don’t know. If it could be Kate. In, well, you know, a beat of my heart. Otherwise? Learning the ways of a new person? Not easy at any age. I miss the love and day-to-day caring. Of course, I do. Yet.
I don’t miss having a partner often. I miss Kate, sure, but that’s not the same. Once in a while I’ll see a couple together and have a smile cross my face, then a nostalgia moment. Brief. Think how nice it would be. Then on to other matters.
Today, Thursday, I’m finally beginning to feel better. Still tired, but I slept well last night. When sick, a partner is wonderful. Kate, especially. Because she knew so damned much. Always felt confident about handling illness with her by my side.
Without her. Not so much. So I err on the side of caution. This cold had lasted seven days. Didn’t seem to be getting better and I got worried that it might be slipping down into my lungs. At 76. Respiratory illness? Avoid it if you can. So I broke ranks with my ride it out thinking and went to see a Korean family practice doc yesterday.
No appointment. Seaoh and I walked about ten minutes from the apartment to a clinic next to Paris Baguette. Seoah checked me in and we were directed to the plain waiting area. Several Koreans of different ages from infants to old men and women sat there, umbrellas furled by their sides and wrapped in the saran wrap like condom available for them as you come in.
One little girl looked sick in that kiddy way. A frowning face, listless, I’m not having fun at all. An infant sorted through the toys his mother had brought along. An old man in a sweatshirt went over and stuck his arm in the blood pressure monitor machine. Korean news anchors said this and that on the inevitable TV screen.
A screen showed our position in the queue. About 30 minutes, Seoah said. Sure enough about thirty minutes late I heard a Korean version of my name. Seoah and I went to sit in the ondeck seats. A nurse had already come and taken my temperature. When she showed it to me (a digital thermometer), I almost jumped out of my chair. 376! Yikes. A slight fever she said to Seoah. Oh. The metric system. Right. And, no decimal point. Normal is 36.5 to 37.5.
We went into the doctor’s office. No trophies. No fancy shots of nature. Looked like a down at the heels working class living room with no couch. The doctor, a woman, sat an old wooden desk with two computer screens in front of her, frantically typing. She looked up and motioned me into a chair beside the desk. The books in the modest bookshelf behind her looked visited often, none of them for vanity.
Maybe that’s a big difference between the two experiences of Korean medicine I had and the American one. A lack of vanity. This is a system that does not try to elevate medicine or the doctors above their patients. It’s clear that its modest decor and utilitarian approach to patient care is for the purpose of delivering medical care at an affordable and easily accessible level.
When the doctor wanted to examine me, she had me move into a chair that looked like a dentist’s chair from the 1940’s. Both in terms of design and use. She listened to my lungs and said, X-ray.
Got those by walking across the waiting room. Again, no need to go to an imaging center. She looked at the results. Nothing in the lungs. Sinus infection. A prescription. And we were out of there.
Total cost: $15 or 20,000 won. The meds, at 21,600 won, cost more than seeing the doctor. And, we’d gone in without an appointment.
