I slowly strolled through the now familiar ground floor of the shopping centre next to my hotel. It was after lunch and I thought it might be a good idea to stretch the legs. Looking through the shop windows during my walk, I slowed and stopped in front of a fashion store that I had passed many times. A sleeveless striped dress adorned a manikin in the window. It's smart collar and lapel outlined a pointed breast line that was completed by half dozen, medium sized silver buttons providing the front closure. It was beautiful, it was sexy, it was classy and, thanks to black and white striping, it was slightly retro. In other words, it was me and I wanted to try it on.
There's no secret that the petite Asian girls populating this part of the world wear a jealously small size dress and that local clothing sizes are often far too small for any of us who might claim to be average or larger in a western country. I was prepared for that and had already given up on many stores who's maximum sizing was a medium that barely reached from one shoulder to the other collarbone let alone other shoulder. Like I had previously said, being in a country with plenty of cheap clothing that I can't fit into is hell. However, you still have to explore the opportunities just in case you do come across that one find that will be the envy of everyone you know, so I bravely walked in and examined the dress on the rack.
To my surprise, amongst all the dresses was a size XL. I don't care what the label says and I don't get flattered by all this vanity sizing rubbish as long as I can buy what I want and it fits. From my research, a Thai XL might just fit me. I turned to look for the sales girl and found her standing right behind me patiently as they tend to do here. She used a bamboo pole to lift the dress off the rack (I neglected to mention it was a very high up rack) and directed e to the change rooms. I scurried in anticipation and glee.
Inside the change room, I undressed and unbuttoned the new dress. This was the moment of truth. I put my arms in the openings and smiled as a buttoned the waist. Perfect. But only for moment. It was perfect at the waist and I continued to button down to the bottom of the dress, but as I did so I was ever conscious of the prominent gap at the bust line. I held the button nervously and attempted to button it up. On the third attempt, after fumbles and struggles, the button was done up, but it was ridiculous. My breasts were obviously too big for this dress.
I stared, depressed, into the mirror switching my gaze to only alternate at these new bulges adorning my chest. To make matters worse, I was totally busting the seams as much as stretching them which meant that it probably would have fit if my breasts were anywhere between my original size and size smaller than what they were now. This was a nightmare and the vagaries of implant sizing had always left me fearful of the question, "What if my breasts don't end up the right size?"
With monumental disappointment, I changed back into my own clothes and handed the dress back to the sales girl with a smile. Walking back to the hotel, I couldn't help but look at all the girls walking past and analysing their proportions and wondering if mine had now been made out of shape.
I feel like I'm in a dangerous and vulnerable position at the moment. I haven't even left Thailand yet and I'm expressing doubts and possible regret over some part of my surgery. It's a grave moment indeed.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Thailand Day T+17
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"What the hell?", you're probably thinking. Did a lizard run over Filly's keyboard while she was away or has she finally lost her last marble?
Well, actually, the answer to that is a little involved. Since when have any of my blogs been concise? I've been blogging for a while now and occasionally I'll get a nice comment from someone that I'm a decent writer. While I might not necessarily agree, it's still good to know that my creations are appreciated by others even though my intentions aren't necessarily virtuous. Indeed, they are probably downright selfish.
A main thread connecting my blogs is that they tend to describe how I feel about something. Whether it is a moment in time or a more general philosophical outlook, my posts are about my feelings and I haven't, as yet, written anything technical about, for example, how I have managed various technical aspects of my transition such as my voice or look. Posts along those lines have actually been thought of, but not yet acted upon because I find them harder to write. It's not because of the knowledge or the content in the material but merely because any of my decent writings have been a result of a catharsis. When I'm deep in the bowels of anguish, it's comforting to open the floodgates and let my fingers do the talking without my brain getting in the way. Technical writing, however is hardly cathartic and, when my brains get in the way, I have difficulty writing and my English essay grades in school reflected that.
In case you're drifting off due to my rambling, this is where I get to the point. (Don't you hate it when authors herald the arrival of the point instead of just stating the point?) Sometimes, the purging of my thoughts through my fingers doesn't work. Not for lack or desire or effort, sometimes it's as though the waters of thought are muddied and mixed with the rocks of a superabundance of emotion that clog the drainage paths for cleansing. My usual prose is replaced by an internal pressure accompanied by a frustration for the lack of progress, which is then replaced by numbed empathy and imagination as the rocks scour my insides. Those first few lines are usually all I can mange at this point and I guess tonight was one of those occasions.
"What the hell?", you're probably thinking. Did a lizard run over Filly's keyboard while she was away or has she finally lost her last marble?
Well, actually, the answer to that is a little involved. Since when have any of my blogs been concise? I've been blogging for a while now and occasionally I'll get a nice comment from someone that I'm a decent writer. While I might not necessarily agree, it's still good to know that my creations are appreciated by others even though my intentions aren't necessarily virtuous. Indeed, they are probably downright selfish.
A main thread connecting my blogs is that they tend to describe how I feel about something. Whether it is a moment in time or a more general philosophical outlook, my posts are about my feelings and I haven't, as yet, written anything technical about, for example, how I have managed various technical aspects of my transition such as my voice or look. Posts along those lines have actually been thought of, but not yet acted upon because I find them harder to write. It's not because of the knowledge or the content in the material but merely because any of my decent writings have been a result of a catharsis. When I'm deep in the bowels of anguish, it's comforting to open the floodgates and let my fingers do the talking without my brain getting in the way. Technical writing, however is hardly cathartic and, when my brains get in the way, I have difficulty writing and my English essay grades in school reflected that.
In case you're drifting off due to my rambling, this is where I get to the point. (Don't you hate it when authors herald the arrival of the point instead of just stating the point?) Sometimes, the purging of my thoughts through my fingers doesn't work. Not for lack or desire or effort, sometimes it's as though the waters of thought are muddied and mixed with the rocks of a superabundance of emotion that clog the drainage paths for cleansing. My usual prose is replaced by an internal pressure accompanied by a frustration for the lack of progress, which is then replaced by numbed empathy and imagination as the rocks scour my insides. Those first few lines are usually all I can mange at this point and I guess tonight was one of those occasions.
The Not Fast & The Feeble
Yes, they were at it again tonight.
Now, before anyone assumes that I don't understand the need, the need for speed (Ok Mav, let's turn and burn!), let me assure you I love it. I have left rubber in anger at the same race tracks where world championship Group A touring car events and V8 supercar events were held. Additionally, being a lover of power to weight ratio, I only needed two wheels. Yes, I love my sports bikes. I love cars too, but being somewhat stingy with money you can go way faster and scare yourself way more for far less money on a bike than in a car. Hrm, new shoes and a night out at a totally fancy restaurant and a tank of petrol for my bike vs a tank of petrol for some hooning in a performance car?? uhmm, I know which I'd rather most of the time. Not that I wouldn't mind a fast car, but my bike cost (locally) $12,000 when new (although I bought it for half that) and it does the 1/4 mile faster than Ferrari 360 Modena that costs 30x more (and with the depreciation, the car would have lost the value of a one bedroom apartment in a trendy suburb in the process).. I even think my bike looks better.. ha!
But before this blog entry turns into a motorcycle love-in (which I could so easily do), lets return to those hoons doing what I can only imagine is practice at an area under a bridge adjacent to a parking lot. If I had a big placard, I would write a big bold 4.5 on it and hold it out the window; nice try guys, but ultimately a fail. If they were trying to drift u-turns, choppy tyre noises and an inconsistent engine tone indicated they lacked the commitment or the skills to execute the manoeuvres correctly. If they were trying to do circle work, well, I've done better burnouts in my old underpowered 2-litre Celica. If you need a run up to do circle work you really need to go home.
I love watching motor sport on the idiot box, I love the smell of 2-stroke, I love feeling a car drift under you just as you apex a corner with precision and I love leaning a bike over so far that sparks fly from the footpegs and you're getting a wombat-eye view of the road. What I don't appreciate is being kept up by wannabe's thinking that public roads are their raceway and telegraphing their own incompetence in the process. Guys, just 'cause it's night time and it's dark, it doesn't mean that people can't see that you are pathetic.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Thailand Day T+16
(Graphic detail, extreme reader discretion recommended)
As I closed the door, my nurse piped up in her chirpy voice.
"Today we'll move to number two".
I'm sure all the blood drained from my face as I froze for a moment in total shock. Moving to the bed, with a most worrying expression on my face, I squeaked, half pleadingly,
"Are you sure???"
"Yes!", she replied without pause. Ok, so much for the pleading. After a while, she may have sensed my misunderstanding when she added, "Start first with number one for thirty minutes and then number two for ten minutes".
That made it seem a little more palatable, but not much. I prepared all the things I would need for today's session, it was becoming a bit of a ritual now. Taking the two dilators I would need out of the gorgeous little case I had been given to hold them in, I held the number two dilator with some dubiousness as to whether it would fit. I was still having trouble with the first dilator and felt like the total opposite of little kid that was having trouble eating his double scoop ice cream but was jealously eyeing a 20-scoop Vermonster ice cream sundae.
For the record, I've never been to Vermont and I've never had a Vermonster, but judging from the description it sounds like something I would have, at one time, ordered and eaten in a hearbeat. Only half a dozen years ago, after I was well past my eating prime, I was in Japan with my now ex and her sisters and brother in law. We stopped in somewhere for a drink since we were getting thirsty and, eyeing a sundae on the menu, I knew I just had to eat it. My ex's youngest sister egged me on to order it, but I don't think she thought I actually would, much less finish the whole thing. Nobody believed that I actually finished the whole thing. I'm not sure even the staff believed I ate the whole thing by myself. It came in layers of hot chocolate fudge sauce and scoops of ice cream. I know that doesn't sound impressive.. yet. This thing was so big, it came with a chocolate brownie, half a banana, a chocolate wafer straw, a large triangle wafer and the obligatory whipped cream with glacéed cherries. The piece-de-resistance, however, was that this ice cream sundae had, buried like an iceberg, it's own rather large ice-cream sandwich (an ice cream within an ice cream! I love it!) and the size of the sundae made the toppings combined look small. It was totally heavenly, down to the last finger swiping chocolatey smear of goodness. But I digress...
Returning back to the dilation, the thought of what was ahead of me must have made me tense since I had more trouble than usual with the first dilator. I managed to get through the session despite my nurses insistence that I should keep pushing harder. Then it was was time for the dreaded step up. My nurse was going to do it for me and I hoped she would be as gentle as possible.
"Pain?", she asked as she pushed and I felt the soreness of a bruised muscle being tortured even further.
"Yes", I replied squeamishly, trying not to shout it out to prove a point.
"For me, every easy", she said smiling. My eyes opened with incredulity and I chuckled a little with shock.
"Yes! For you, it's easy!", I replied.
"Yes, this easy. Other girl are tighter, more difficult."
Oh my God... I can only feel sorry for those other girls. I sincerely did not want to cry every time I had to move up in dilator size.
At the end of the session, after my nurse had left, I collapsed in bed to recover as usual feeling extremely sore and daunted that I would have to do this on my own in the afternoon. My subconscious mind must have totally rejected the idea too since I fell asleep at the time when I was supposed to do my afternoon dilation. I woke up in a panic and had to do it a couple of hours late. Seeing that my schedule had been pushed back, I decided that I would push back my night session an hour to compensate and give myself a bit of time to recover also. Oh darn, wouldn't you know it, I'm too busy blogging instead...
As I closed the door, my nurse piped up in her chirpy voice.
"Today we'll move to number two".
I'm sure all the blood drained from my face as I froze for a moment in total shock. Moving to the bed, with a most worrying expression on my face, I squeaked, half pleadingly,
"Are you sure???"
"Yes!", she replied without pause. Ok, so much for the pleading. After a while, she may have sensed my misunderstanding when she added, "Start first with number one for thirty minutes and then number two for ten minutes".
That made it seem a little more palatable, but not much. I prepared all the things I would need for today's session, it was becoming a bit of a ritual now. Taking the two dilators I would need out of the gorgeous little case I had been given to hold them in, I held the number two dilator with some dubiousness as to whether it would fit. I was still having trouble with the first dilator and felt like the total opposite of little kid that was having trouble eating his double scoop ice cream but was jealously eyeing a 20-scoop Vermonster ice cream sundae.
For the record, I've never been to Vermont and I've never had a Vermonster, but judging from the description it sounds like something I would have, at one time, ordered and eaten in a hearbeat. Only half a dozen years ago, after I was well past my eating prime, I was in Japan with my now ex and her sisters and brother in law. We stopped in somewhere for a drink since we were getting thirsty and, eyeing a sundae on the menu, I knew I just had to eat it. My ex's youngest sister egged me on to order it, but I don't think she thought I actually would, much less finish the whole thing. Nobody believed that I actually finished the whole thing. I'm not sure even the staff believed I ate the whole thing by myself. It came in layers of hot chocolate fudge sauce and scoops of ice cream. I know that doesn't sound impressive.. yet. This thing was so big, it came with a chocolate brownie, half a banana, a chocolate wafer straw, a large triangle wafer and the obligatory whipped cream with glacéed cherries. The piece-de-resistance, however, was that this ice cream sundae had, buried like an iceberg, it's own rather large ice-cream sandwich (an ice cream within an ice cream! I love it!) and the size of the sundae made the toppings combined look small. It was totally heavenly, down to the last finger swiping chocolatey smear of goodness. But I digress...
Returning back to the dilation, the thought of what was ahead of me must have made me tense since I had more trouble than usual with the first dilator. I managed to get through the session despite my nurses insistence that I should keep pushing harder. Then it was was time for the dreaded step up. My nurse was going to do it for me and I hoped she would be as gentle as possible.
"Pain?", she asked as she pushed and I felt the soreness of a bruised muscle being tortured even further.
"Yes", I replied squeamishly, trying not to shout it out to prove a point.
"For me, every easy", she said smiling. My eyes opened with incredulity and I chuckled a little with shock.
"Yes! For you, it's easy!", I replied.
"Yes, this easy. Other girl are tighter, more difficult."
Oh my God... I can only feel sorry for those other girls. I sincerely did not want to cry every time I had to move up in dilator size.
At the end of the session, after my nurse had left, I collapsed in bed to recover as usual feeling extremely sore and daunted that I would have to do this on my own in the afternoon. My subconscious mind must have totally rejected the idea too since I fell asleep at the time when I was supposed to do my afternoon dilation. I woke up in a panic and had to do it a couple of hours late. Seeing that my schedule had been pushed back, I decided that I would push back my night session an hour to compensate and give myself a bit of time to recover also. Oh darn, wouldn't you know it, I'm too busy blogging instead...
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Thailand Day T+15
(Yep, Adult topics so reader discretion advised again!)
Trying to describe the feeling to my nurse a few days earlier, I had gotten as far as making a squeezing motion with my right thumb and forefinger (like Darth Vader's choking move - ah! that's what it is! When I find the Sith lord that is doing this to me, I am going to go so Jedi on their ass) and saying "squeezing pain" before she interjected.
"Yes, squeezing feeling? And shooting pain?", she asked. That pretty much sounded like it.
"That normal", she said reassuringly. "Lot of nerve there so that normal. If don't feel pain and don't feel anything, then something wrong." Unfortunately, that made sense and it looked like I had a bit of suffering to go endure.
Today as I was trying to relax with the usual pains and discomforts added to by the aftermath of dilation, I noticed the pain was a little different. Those sporadic shooting pains that always caused me to pause and tense up for a split second were, I assume, from nerves reconnecting and healing. Apart from those pains becoming more frequent and the general discomfort and pains being more intense today, they seemed to feel slightly different.
"There's a fine line between pleasure and pain", sang Chrissie Amphlett at one time and it seemed as though the pains were starting to head towards the line. I'm not saying that any part of this time in bed, hopelessly trying to relax, was anywhere near pleasurable. It was just this odd feeling that maybe the nerves were starting to reconnect up the right way. Any moaning that occurred was definitely in pure agony and wondering when the pain would end. At the same time, there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel... or maybe I was just suffering from scintillating scotoma...
Thailand Inception
I'm going to have to start carrying a totem, these multi-level dreams are killing me. (Oh, and btw, Inception is a brilliant movie and if you think the ending was predictable then, chances are, you actually don't really understand the ending.)
Slightly anxious, I was waiting at the airport for my wife. An old Thai lady was selling some trinkets at the entrance to a lounge where I was standing and I was trying my best to tell her that I wasn't interested whilst not taking out my frustrations on her. Had I really been that insensitive to my wife? She had been involved in a minor accident because she had been overworking at the office as usual and had fallen asleep on the way home. I always feared that that would happen one day and even though I know the non-financial costs of running a small business that is still in relatively infancy, she was more important to me than the success of her business. That sounded so unsupportive in hindsight, but it was true. Maybe I just hadn't phrased myself well and that was the last straw. I know that everything I had put her through was hard for her and I was glad and appreciative of her support. So, maybe this was the last straw and the resulting stupid, futile argument had broken her. My heart sank and I knew she wasn't coming on the flight with me and had withdrawn to somewhere else in the airport.
"I have to go find my wife", I tried explaining to the Thai lady. "I think she's in trouble, can you please look after my bags?" I gestured and pleaded in several different ways and in the ways of old Asian ladies, she waved her hands to calm down as if everything was going to be ok. She presented what looked like an asian pin cushion with an orange ball lined with red longitudinal like threads. Pressing it into my hands, she motioned me to go.
What the heck did I need a pincushion for?! As I ran in search of my wife, I began thinking the lady must have been a bit senile as I squeezed the cushion. An extended loud whistling sound came from the cushion, startling me. I squeezed it harder and faster and the whistle was louder and longer. This is what the old lady meant? Ok, so I wasn't lost at sea but perhaps such an odd noise would attract the attention of my wife as I began calling her name. Squeezing the cushion from the sides, there was no whistle as I expected but, instead, the top of the cushion shone brightly. It's a lantern as well? Wow, this is a pretty cool gadget. I admonished myself for thinking the lady was senile and made a mental note to thank her profusely when I got back.
I searched the airport thoroughly, making sure I went through every entrance and exit, even if they did lead to the same place, moving from area to area, inside to outside. At one point, I passed a couple of ladies talking by a few step like seats. On the bottom step was a soft toy, maybe 40cm high, that was some sort of strange cross between a panda and a kangaroo. It actually didn't look anything like either, but I knew that was just what it was. Whatever it was, it was cute and cuddly.
"Is this yours?", I asked the ladies. They looked at me annoyed as if I was at an international meeting of world leaders about to actually agree on world peace and I had interrupted and asked to go to the toilet. Shaking their heads, partly in a negative response and partly in condescension, they turned back to their conversation. I mumbled a thank you which they ignored.
This toy was so cute and I hugged it a bit longer, but it wasn't mine and I had to keep looking for my wife so I put it back down and resumed my search. Through corridors and lounges, lobbies and atriums, I ran looking, calling her name and squeezing the little, loud whistle. My path re-intersected with the seats where that soft toy was and I took it as a sign. Another lady was now sitting on the steps behind the toy. I reached for it, intent on taking it whether it belonged to me or not. I just had to have it.
"What do you think you're doing?", asked the lady in a stern yet friendly manner. "That's mine". I looked up to see her admonishing yet smiling face and then looked back down to see her dog retreating between her legs. Smiling, I patted the dog which it seemed to enjoy and apologised to the lady.
"Sorry, I was looking for something else", I said ashamedly, looking around. My eyes lit up as I saw the toy sitting on the bench next to the steps. I stood up and went over and cuddled it in my arms.
"That's cute", replied the lady smiling.
"Thanks", I replied as I once again ran off to resume my search, but this time with a new companion.
That's about when I realised I was dreaming. Suddenly, I was running through the airport with a couple of bags in hand and my teddy bear, Ching, had somehow appeared. He must have thought the panda/kangaroo cross was interesting and had decided to accompany me. Obviously, I had been shopping and in the bags were odd items to be buying at at airport. Towels? Porcelain plates? T-shirts? Ok, that last one might be understandable but the time skip combined with the silliness of the items had triggered my dream alert sensor. Having said that, I can see that one day I will be eating my words when I buy towels at an airport.
Rushing though the building crowds and fancy vip lounges, I wondered if my wife had managed to get inside one of the rooms that I was not allowed access to. Not that there was any privacy since it seemed they wanted everyone to see the modern technology and luxuriousness that they might be missing out on. Up ahead, I saw my brother in law and a couple of friends.
"I think we know where she is", he yelled out to me. He checked his watch and calculated how long it would be before check-in closed and how long it would take us to get back there.
"It's ok", interjected one my friends, reading his thoughts. "I think she already checked in."
But I haven't, I thought, I had been waiting for her. I did some mental calculations and realised this would be a race for me to check-in in time. I pushed my way to the crowds and ran up the escalator to try to catch up to my friends that were already crossing a walkway and had almost reached the other side. While doing so, I was glad my brother-in-law was still talking to me and wasn't being awkward any more.
I ran across the long walkway, past the fancy American Express vip lounge with it's modern white colour scheme and the gorgeous blond asking if I would like to come in. It was like a premier unveiling as translucently thin silky curtains began to life showing the insides of the lounge.
"I don't have time right now", I panted with a smile as I ran past. She smiled back ever so glowingly and I wondered if I had been entitled to enter or whether that was just a recruiting ploy. Whatever, it was a moot question now. I reached the escalators down and, even though there was space between the thinning crowd to run down, I knew what I had to do. Running towards the escalators, I jumped up and slid down the stainless steel plating that divided the two escalators. I rode it like a hero and a pro. Both James Bond and Tony Hawk would have been impressed. My friends were conversing with what looked a tall English butler and I began running towards them. Something was wrong and I realised that my hands and arms were empty. Spinning around in panic, I saw the bags, and, more importantly, Ching lying on the floor at the bottom of the escalators. I must have dropped them when I landed. Running back, I noticed the wood panelling on the walls in this room gave it a rather different feel to the rest of the airport.
My bags had fallen over and the contents had spilled out. They had also bumped into a shelf and a few items had fallen off the shelf and were intermingled with my items. I sorted through the items and began repacking my towels, porcelain plates and other miscellaneous items. I considered pretending that a glass and pewter decanter was also one of my items but then I realised it was actually a little ugly and, besides, it was chipped so I placed it back on the shelf where it belonged. In my arms I was now carrying three soft toys, or maybe more, and I thought about rearranging my bags so that this wasn't all so cumbersome.
Reaching the English butler, he pointed me towards a door that my friends had just run through and had just begun to start closing again. I hurried towards it, but reached it a fraction too late hearing it click shut before I could stop it. I looked for a handle or some other mechanism to open it, but to no avail. Suddenly, a wood panel on the adjacent wall in the corner began to open. Was I supposed to go through this one? I looked back at the butler and saw him walking away. He turned his head around and, deducing what had transpired, simply turned his head back and continued walking without breaking a stride. Well, this would be my only way then and I stepped through the secret doorway.
This is where my dream became silly. My bags and soft toys were no longer with me and I was wearing a white, plastic armour suit rather like a Storm Trooper in Star Wars. There were no gloves or helmet but I think the shoes matched. I had found myself in a curved corridor, walls covered in tiles and a concrete floor with a small semi-circular concave gutter to one side. It was your typical movie corridor, be it from a horror flick, the passage in some experimental concentration camp or maybe a group of rugby players were about to run out onto the field of glory. I slowly moved along with trepidation.
"Hello?", I shouted out a few times. "Anyone here?" It's the obvious line just before the victim sees the shadow of murderer ahead.
"What are you doing in here?", asked a matronly English voice. To the right there was what looked like an old fashioned fridge, but there was a gap separating the fridge and freezer in which I briefly saw a pair of eyes. I saw her move further down behind what resembled a serving counter. It was kind of like a serving counter, if you were 12 foot tall and were being served wafer thin chips on flat paper plates.
"I might have taken a wrong turn", I stammered feeling rather embarrassed. "I think someone may have opened the wrong door for me."
"Oh well", she replied nonchalantly. "I think you there's actually someone waiting for you outside."
I took a few more steps hurriedly down the corridor and saw that the tiles gave way to a full height glass curtain wall. Freshly fallen pure white snow layered the ground outside and covered the bottom 20cm of the glass. Standing outside under snowflakes drifting ever so gently to the earth was my brother-in-law, my friends and, most importantly, my wife. An immaculately dressed driver, complete with gloves and cap was holding the doors open to a vintage black limousine. I ran as fast as I could outside, still wearing this ridiculous storm trooper suit that severely hindered my ability to run. As the cold wind blasted across my face, I didn't notice it too much as I stumbled towards my wife. At least the boots worked at keeping me warm and I wondered why I didn't get the gloves because my hands were freezing. I did my best (or worst) Darth Vader impersonation as I stomped through the snow.
"Don't underestimate the power, of the dark side", I recited, even though I was wearing a white storm trooper outfit and not a black Darth Vader suit. Everyone laughed anyway as my wife and I fell into each others arms and we hugged for an eternity.
I woke up. At least it was a feel good ending to a ridiculous dream. I was lying on the couch, my head resting in my wife's lap and she was looking at the insurance report on her accident with a stressed look on her face.
"It's ok", I looked up at her reassuringly, "Don't worry about it. Everything will be ok. The important thing is that you're alright."
She smiled and put the paper down and hugged me. My shopping bags were at my feet and I leant over and took Ching out of one and walked him up to my wife. That always made her laugh. I reached down again and took out the panda-roo and walked that up.
"I have no idea what this is", I said. "But I thought it was cute and you might like it."
She smiled and cuddled it.
I woke up. What was that about?! That was a rather strange dream within a dream. I smiled at the thought of the weird dreams I have sometimes. At least everything was all right though; I love my wife and it would have been horrible if I had lost her in that dream. I looked forward to seeing her again. My thoughts paused. My heart sank. I really was awake and had just confused reality for yet another dream. I wasn't going to see her again. Everything was not going to be alright. I sighed, a long, deep, mournful sigh.
Slightly anxious, I was waiting at the airport for my wife. An old Thai lady was selling some trinkets at the entrance to a lounge where I was standing and I was trying my best to tell her that I wasn't interested whilst not taking out my frustrations on her. Had I really been that insensitive to my wife? She had been involved in a minor accident because she had been overworking at the office as usual and had fallen asleep on the way home. I always feared that that would happen one day and even though I know the non-financial costs of running a small business that is still in relatively infancy, she was more important to me than the success of her business. That sounded so unsupportive in hindsight, but it was true. Maybe I just hadn't phrased myself well and that was the last straw. I know that everything I had put her through was hard for her and I was glad and appreciative of her support. So, maybe this was the last straw and the resulting stupid, futile argument had broken her. My heart sank and I knew she wasn't coming on the flight with me and had withdrawn to somewhere else in the airport.
What the heck did I need a pincushion for?! As I ran in search of my wife, I began thinking the lady must have been a bit senile as I squeezed the cushion. An extended loud whistling sound came from the cushion, startling me. I squeezed it harder and faster and the whistle was louder and longer. This is what the old lady meant? Ok, so I wasn't lost at sea but perhaps such an odd noise would attract the attention of my wife as I began calling her name. Squeezing the cushion from the sides, there was no whistle as I expected but, instead, the top of the cushion shone brightly. It's a lantern as well? Wow, this is a pretty cool gadget. I admonished myself for thinking the lady was senile and made a mental note to thank her profusely when I got back.
I searched the airport thoroughly, making sure I went through every entrance and exit, even if they did lead to the same place, moving from area to area, inside to outside. At one point, I passed a couple of ladies talking by a few step like seats. On the bottom step was a soft toy, maybe 40cm high, that was some sort of strange cross between a panda and a kangaroo. It actually didn't look anything like either, but I knew that was just what it was. Whatever it was, it was cute and cuddly.
"Is this yours?", I asked the ladies. They looked at me annoyed as if I was at an international meeting of world leaders about to actually agree on world peace and I had interrupted and asked to go to the toilet. Shaking their heads, partly in a negative response and partly in condescension, they turned back to their conversation. I mumbled a thank you which they ignored.
This toy was so cute and I hugged it a bit longer, but it wasn't mine and I had to keep looking for my wife so I put it back down and resumed my search. Through corridors and lounges, lobbies and atriums, I ran looking, calling her name and squeezing the little, loud whistle. My path re-intersected with the seats where that soft toy was and I took it as a sign. Another lady was now sitting on the steps behind the toy. I reached for it, intent on taking it whether it belonged to me or not. I just had to have it.
"What do you think you're doing?", asked the lady in a stern yet friendly manner. "That's mine". I looked up to see her admonishing yet smiling face and then looked back down to see her dog retreating between her legs. Smiling, I patted the dog which it seemed to enjoy and apologised to the lady.
"Sorry, I was looking for something else", I said ashamedly, looking around. My eyes lit up as I saw the toy sitting on the bench next to the steps. I stood up and went over and cuddled it in my arms.
"That's cute", replied the lady smiling.
"Thanks", I replied as I once again ran off to resume my search, but this time with a new companion.
That's about when I realised I was dreaming. Suddenly, I was running through the airport with a couple of bags in hand and my teddy bear, Ching, had somehow appeared. He must have thought the panda/kangaroo cross was interesting and had decided to accompany me. Obviously, I had been shopping and in the bags were odd items to be buying at at airport. Towels? Porcelain plates? T-shirts? Ok, that last one might be understandable but the time skip combined with the silliness of the items had triggered my dream alert sensor. Having said that, I can see that one day I will be eating my words when I buy towels at an airport.
Rushing though the building crowds and fancy vip lounges, I wondered if my wife had managed to get inside one of the rooms that I was not allowed access to. Not that there was any privacy since it seemed they wanted everyone to see the modern technology and luxuriousness that they might be missing out on. Up ahead, I saw my brother in law and a couple of friends.
"I think we know where she is", he yelled out to me. He checked his watch and calculated how long it would be before check-in closed and how long it would take us to get back there.
"It's ok", interjected one my friends, reading his thoughts. "I think she already checked in."
But I haven't, I thought, I had been waiting for her. I did some mental calculations and realised this would be a race for me to check-in in time. I pushed my way to the crowds and ran up the escalator to try to catch up to my friends that were already crossing a walkway and had almost reached the other side. While doing so, I was glad my brother-in-law was still talking to me and wasn't being awkward any more.
I ran across the long walkway, past the fancy American Express vip lounge with it's modern white colour scheme and the gorgeous blond asking if I would like to come in. It was like a premier unveiling as translucently thin silky curtains began to life showing the insides of the lounge.
"I don't have time right now", I panted with a smile as I ran past. She smiled back ever so glowingly and I wondered if I had been entitled to enter or whether that was just a recruiting ploy. Whatever, it was a moot question now. I reached the escalators down and, even though there was space between the thinning crowd to run down, I knew what I had to do. Running towards the escalators, I jumped up and slid down the stainless steel plating that divided the two escalators. I rode it like a hero and a pro. Both James Bond and Tony Hawk would have been impressed. My friends were conversing with what looked a tall English butler and I began running towards them. Something was wrong and I realised that my hands and arms were empty. Spinning around in panic, I saw the bags, and, more importantly, Ching lying on the floor at the bottom of the escalators. I must have dropped them when I landed. Running back, I noticed the wood panelling on the walls in this room gave it a rather different feel to the rest of the airport.
My bags had fallen over and the contents had spilled out. They had also bumped into a shelf and a few items had fallen off the shelf and were intermingled with my items. I sorted through the items and began repacking my towels, porcelain plates and other miscellaneous items. I considered pretending that a glass and pewter decanter was also one of my items but then I realised it was actually a little ugly and, besides, it was chipped so I placed it back on the shelf where it belonged. In my arms I was now carrying three soft toys, or maybe more, and I thought about rearranging my bags so that this wasn't all so cumbersome.
Reaching the English butler, he pointed me towards a door that my friends had just run through and had just begun to start closing again. I hurried towards it, but reached it a fraction too late hearing it click shut before I could stop it. I looked for a handle or some other mechanism to open it, but to no avail. Suddenly, a wood panel on the adjacent wall in the corner began to open. Was I supposed to go through this one? I looked back at the butler and saw him walking away. He turned his head around and, deducing what had transpired, simply turned his head back and continued walking without breaking a stride. Well, this would be my only way then and I stepped through the secret doorway.
This is where my dream became silly. My bags and soft toys were no longer with me and I was wearing a white, plastic armour suit rather like a Storm Trooper in Star Wars. There were no gloves or helmet but I think the shoes matched. I had found myself in a curved corridor, walls covered in tiles and a concrete floor with a small semi-circular concave gutter to one side. It was your typical movie corridor, be it from a horror flick, the passage in some experimental concentration camp or maybe a group of rugby players were about to run out onto the field of glory. I slowly moved along with trepidation.
"Hello?", I shouted out a few times. "Anyone here?" It's the obvious line just before the victim sees the shadow of murderer ahead.
"What are you doing in here?", asked a matronly English voice. To the right there was what looked like an old fashioned fridge, but there was a gap separating the fridge and freezer in which I briefly saw a pair of eyes. I saw her move further down behind what resembled a serving counter. It was kind of like a serving counter, if you were 12 foot tall and were being served wafer thin chips on flat paper plates.
"I might have taken a wrong turn", I stammered feeling rather embarrassed. "I think someone may have opened the wrong door for me."
"Oh well", she replied nonchalantly. "I think you there's actually someone waiting for you outside."
I took a few more steps hurriedly down the corridor and saw that the tiles gave way to a full height glass curtain wall. Freshly fallen pure white snow layered the ground outside and covered the bottom 20cm of the glass. Standing outside under snowflakes drifting ever so gently to the earth was my brother-in-law, my friends and, most importantly, my wife. An immaculately dressed driver, complete with gloves and cap was holding the doors open to a vintage black limousine. I ran as fast as I could outside, still wearing this ridiculous storm trooper suit that severely hindered my ability to run. As the cold wind blasted across my face, I didn't notice it too much as I stumbled towards my wife. At least the boots worked at keeping me warm and I wondered why I didn't get the gloves because my hands were freezing. I did my best (or worst) Darth Vader impersonation as I stomped through the snow.
"Don't underestimate the power, of the dark side", I recited, even though I was wearing a white storm trooper outfit and not a black Darth Vader suit. Everyone laughed anyway as my wife and I fell into each others arms and we hugged for an eternity.
I woke up. At least it was a feel good ending to a ridiculous dream. I was lying on the couch, my head resting in my wife's lap and she was looking at the insurance report on her accident with a stressed look on her face.
"It's ok", I looked up at her reassuringly, "Don't worry about it. Everything will be ok. The important thing is that you're alright."
She smiled and put the paper down and hugged me. My shopping bags were at my feet and I leant over and took Ching out of one and walked him up to my wife. That always made her laugh. I reached down again and took out the panda-roo and walked that up.
"I have no idea what this is", I said. "But I thought it was cute and you might like it."
She smiled and cuddled it.
I woke up. What was that about?! That was a rather strange dream within a dream. I smiled at the thought of the weird dreams I have sometimes. At least everything was all right though; I love my wife and it would have been horrible if I had lost her in that dream. I looked forward to seeing her again. My thoughts paused. My heart sank. I really was awake and had just confused reality for yet another dream. I wasn't going to see her again. Everything was not going to be alright. I sighed, a long, deep, mournful sigh.
Fatigued & Furious: Thailand Drift
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Thailand Day T+14
Mum came to visit me in my room today which I guess is kinda nice. One of Dad's old classmates is in the hotel industry and so we generally get really good rooms from him whenever we travel. This time, he knew one of the big wigs in the hotel chain in Thailand that was coincidently the same hotel that I was at so Mum ended up with a really good rate on a pretty swish room. She came down today and had a third go at trying to convince me to move up to her room with her.
Hrmm.. three dilation sessions lasting half an each and four breast massage sessions at twenty minutes each? Sorry, but I think I prefer my privacy and I'm kinda comfy in this little room of mine. Even if she does go for a walk each time, I still much rather prefer my privacy but I got the feeling she wasn't happy with my stance.
Perusing and shuffling through my things as she is prone to do, that's when she picked up my dilator (and not gently by the end either).
"What's this?", she asked inquisitively, turning it over and around in her fingers and inspecting it from every angle. Yes, I do wash it clean after every session...
"Uhm, it's a dilator", I replied shyly since I knew where this was going.
"What do you do with it?", she asked rather forwardly.
I was in bed under the covers since I was tired and in pain and discomfort. At this point however, I was trying not to giggle although I may have smirked.
"Uhm... you kinda have to stick it inside you", I replied. In slow motion, I could see the cogs ticking in her brain as at least part of the information started sinking in.
"Urrgghh! Oh God!", she exclaimed putting down the dilator as quickly as she could without dropping it like a dead rat.
Maybe I am evil, but it was really, really hard not to laugh.
The dream of the moving implant
I drifted off into another mini sleep and began dreaming that I was compressing and massaging my breast implants like I was supposed to. As per the technique I was taught, I used both hands to apply pressure on the breast directly towards the chest. I decided to shift the direction of the pressure slightly and suddenly the implant painfully slipped out of its position and gave me a breast somewhere closer to my abdomen. Panicking, I tried to apply pressure to shift it back up and like a bag of oily jelly, it began to achingly move out of control all over my body to unexpected directions. I chased it down to my butt, up my abdomen, through the centre of my chest and even, at one point, under my rib cage. How I got it out of there, I do not remember. Finally, I managed to coax it back vaguely to it's proper position and decided to lie and wait for the nurses in absolute grief and agony.
Fortunately I woke up at that point, my heart pounding again in absolute fear. My breasts were still aching from the implants and a quick check confirmed they were in their correct location, I think. Glancing at my phone, I noticed that this extensive ordeal had occurred whilst I had been asleep for less than five minutes.
I hate these dreams.
Fortunately I woke up at that point, my heart pounding again in absolute fear. My breasts were still aching from the implants and a quick check confirmed they were in their correct location, I think. Glancing at my phone, I noticed that this extensive ordeal had occurred whilst I had been asleep for less than five minutes.
I hate these dreams.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Thailand Day T+13
(Contains some adult themes, so reader discretion is advised)
I awoke with my clitoris throbbing with pain between my legs. It was only past midnight and a couple of hours since I had last take some pain killers but I had take some more even though the instructions said I should be waiting another couple of hours. Lying back, I tried to apply pressure in certain areas hoping to ease the pain just a little. It felt like someone had tied a string around the head of my penis and was pulling the knot tight. If that sounds painful and most uncomfortable, then your're getting an idea of how I was feeling.
Morning arrived all too slowly. Another couple of rounds of pain killers had been swallowed as well as my other medication even though I was supposed to take them after meals. I wouldn't be going anywhere for a meal today and I didn't even want to eat anything for breakfast. My nurse arrived at about 10am to help me dilate again. In some ways I had been glad that they didn't work on Sundays as I was joyed at the one day reprieve I had from that torturous exercise. Part of me, however was worried at whether the lack of dilation would have a detrimental effect.
My dilation session did not go well. It felt as if the dilator was way too big and it was uncomfortable, still painful and strangely violating. I bit my lip trying to relax as my nurse asked me to relax but as she helped force the dilator in, I couldn't help it any more and I cried. Shuddering sobs ran through my body as the tears streamed down my face. I tried to stop my body from quivering as it just made the dilation worse, but I kept crying through the whole thirty minute session.
My nurse was also massaging my breast implants and, although the pain from the bruising and swelling was tolerable, occasionally, at certain positions, a sharp pain would sear through my nipples and I would have to cry out and ask her to stop. I felt sorry for her because she seemed so sorry that she was causing me so much pain today, but I know it had to be done.
I thanked her softly when she left and lied under my blanket and sobbed some more. Anguish, fear, bewilderment, inadequacy and thoughts of futility running through my head. I stayed in bed the whole day, watching the scenery of the ceiling go by. I have another dilation session by myself in an hour and I am scared. Hopefully, sex feels nothing like this, otherwise I'm going to be celibate for the rest of my life.
I awoke with my clitoris throbbing with pain between my legs. It was only past midnight and a couple of hours since I had last take some pain killers but I had take some more even though the instructions said I should be waiting another couple of hours. Lying back, I tried to apply pressure in certain areas hoping to ease the pain just a little. It felt like someone had tied a string around the head of my penis and was pulling the knot tight. If that sounds painful and most uncomfortable, then your're getting an idea of how I was feeling.
Morning arrived all too slowly. Another couple of rounds of pain killers had been swallowed as well as my other medication even though I was supposed to take them after meals. I wouldn't be going anywhere for a meal today and I didn't even want to eat anything for breakfast. My nurse arrived at about 10am to help me dilate again. In some ways I had been glad that they didn't work on Sundays as I was joyed at the one day reprieve I had from that torturous exercise. Part of me, however was worried at whether the lack of dilation would have a detrimental effect.
My dilation session did not go well. It felt as if the dilator was way too big and it was uncomfortable, still painful and strangely violating. I bit my lip trying to relax as my nurse asked me to relax but as she helped force the dilator in, I couldn't help it any more and I cried. Shuddering sobs ran through my body as the tears streamed down my face. I tried to stop my body from quivering as it just made the dilation worse, but I kept crying through the whole thirty minute session.
My nurse was also massaging my breast implants and, although the pain from the bruising and swelling was tolerable, occasionally, at certain positions, a sharp pain would sear through my nipples and I would have to cry out and ask her to stop. I felt sorry for her because she seemed so sorry that she was causing me so much pain today, but I know it had to be done.
I thanked her softly when she left and lied under my blanket and sobbed some more. Anguish, fear, bewilderment, inadequacy and thoughts of futility running through my head. I stayed in bed the whole day, watching the scenery of the ceiling go by. I have another dilation session by myself in an hour and I am scared. Hopefully, sex feels nothing like this, otherwise I'm going to be celibate for the rest of my life.
School Dreams
I have them all too often. Dreams where I'm back at school or back at university and these dreams are invariably a nightmare. When I was really at school, I was a conscientious student who always had assignments completed and who didn't really need to study much for the exam because everything had already sunk in when I had methodically done my homework. Ok, so I was a nerd.
In my dreams however, I'm almost a wannabe nerd. I'll forget what class I'm supposed to be at next or where they actually are. I'll be sitting an exam and looking at questions which resemble nothing I've ever seen before in my life. If I was to analyse my dreams, I would say that they represent my fear of failure or perhaps even represent an inner belief that perhaps I am a failure.
Last night, however, my dream was different. I was again back at school but I was me as I am now. I was post-op trans-girl going to school. As my dreams usually began, it was all very mundane. School was never something exciting for me and I trudged though each day one at a time and this was reflected in my dream.
Suddenly, the dream took a darker turn and I was being molested. In hindsight, it was an odd situation because I went to an all boys school as a child and I think in my dream I may have been at a single sex school also.. for boys. One of the students had wrapped his arms around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides as I screamed and struggled to free myself to no avail. Other students began prodding at my vagina and squeezing my clitoris ever harder as I cried for them to stop.
I woke up in a panic, my heart still pounding and a very real pain in my clitoris.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Thailand Day T+10
One last sponge bath later, I could have so gotten used to that, I was dressed and handed a pharmacy of medications to be taken before meals, after meals and as required. I knew I should have brought my dosing box with me. As one nurse was explaining my medications, another was trying to put my shoes on for me. A black pair of gladiator type sandals, there is a trick to put them on since all the straps tend to catch on your foot making it seem too small. My poor nurse was struggling with them but finally managed to get them on. I had been looking for a nice pair of thongs before I went to surgery but, as Russell Peters would say, in Thailand I'm the equivalent of Shaquille O'Neal.
It was a point further proved when I went to sit in the car back to the hotel. I know had my own infamous donut cushion and with that under my butt, I had to crane my neck forward and hunch severely in order to fit in the back seat. At least wheel chairs didn't have height restrictions and I was wheeled up to my room upon reaching the hotel. My porter didn't wheel me very fast and I considered upgrading him with the turbo option.
Back at the clinic, my doctor had said I could eat whatever I wanted now, so perusing the room service menu, I tried to find something to eat. Strangely, there was nothing that really excited me even though I was sure I had been thoroughly looking forward to eating many items on it prior to surgery. Ultimately, I settled on a green vegetable curry that didn't have a "hot" symbol next to it. The menu lied. Either that or my sensitivity to chilli had been restored where it had been removed during my previous surgery earlier this year. Having decided on something from the Thai portion of the menu, I was feeling rather disappointed with my choice and decided not to limit myself next time. It wasn't like I was ordering something from McDonald's.... although, I am curious...
Thursday, May 19, 2011
My Dream
Three days after surgery,I lie on my back, deep rhythmic throbbing of bruising in my chest and slight pains of discomfort from my groin. Tubes runfrom various points in my body carrying deep red blood to drainage bottles while a catheter extends from a pile of bandages around my groin to a bag at the side of my bed. Lifting myself to sit up the slightest amount is an effort and the pain of rolling to one side is not worth any minor perceived increase in comfort. So I try to pass the time, shifting my weight in the little ways possible to gain a slight grasp of some sleep. Any sleep is fleeting, lasting thirty minutes to an hour at the most, even during the long nights when I wait for the next day to arrive. Such short grasps are too short for dreams and reserved for mere sensations. My muscles twitch in defense to some unknown fear or I wake myself as I jump to the sensation of falling into a deep abyss.
Today was different.
I was standing outside a shanty looking house in a rough part of town. But the outside camouflaged the luxurious interior of my home with brightly painted white walls and polished steel framed leather designer furniture. It had such a modern feel which perfectly suited my wife who was standing behind a shelf housing a sculpture that I had given to her. We held each other and we kissed and for a brief moment we were still married and I was happy. Just like my sleep, the moment was fleeting.
She left the room and went outside and though I tried to follow, she was gone. Standing in my way was a group of ruffians intending to do me harm. I tried to defend myself and I awoke to my legs kicking wildly at the air and blanket in my bed.
So, now I lay on my back, trying to hold the tears from streaming down my face. I don't know what she is doing or if she is happy or well. I don't know if she knows where I am. All I know is that I still have a love for her and though I tried to follow her, I couldn't.
Today was different.
I was standing outside a shanty looking house in a rough part of town. But the outside camouflaged the luxurious interior of my home with brightly painted white walls and polished steel framed leather designer furniture. It had such a modern feel which perfectly suited my wife who was standing behind a shelf housing a sculpture that I had given to her. We held each other and we kissed and for a brief moment we were still married and I was happy. Just like my sleep, the moment was fleeting.
She left the room and went outside and though I tried to follow, she was gone. Standing in my way was a group of ruffians intending to do me harm. I tried to defend myself and I awoke to my legs kicking wildly at the air and blanket in my bed.
So, now I lay on my back, trying to hold the tears from streaming down my face. I don't know what she is doing or if she is happy or well. I don't know if she knows where I am. All I know is that I still have a love for her and though I tried to follow her, I couldn't.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Thailand Day T+8
Drifting in and out of half hour mini sleeps had become the norm now. Checking the clock, it was still early in the morning and, today, I was especially anxious because my mum was coming to visit and I wasn't sure what to expect. I had prepared myself to deal with the fallout of what I had done when I got back home, but the timeline may have been pushed forwards a little.. actually, a lot. My travelling friend, Ee, was out of hospital from her own procedures and had comforted me the day before saying that she had told my Mum to be nice. We hoped Mum would take her advice.
To my relief, she did and she was. Time came when my doctors assistant was here and Mum brought me a teddy bear that she had made in Singapore. My doctor and nurses were there and she made a comment that I shouldn't have had the implants done but, otherwise, I was almost glad that she had come to visit.
People and life can be so unpredictable sometimes.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Thailand Day T+7
My eyelids were heavy and I tried to open them slowly. Two nurses were looking over me, one holding my hand.
"Good morning, wake up", she chirped brightly. I tried to respond but my throat could only whisper softly. A small wave of panic washed over me as I wondered if the trachea shave had damaged my vocal chords. Another wave of panic washed over me as I realised I couldn't feel anything below my waist.
"My legs", I tried to whisper to the nurse. "I can't feel my legs."
"That's normal", she reassured me. "It's the medication."
I closed my eyes, hoping she was right but still feeling scared.
As the nurses flitted around the room, one of them eventually brought in a few things and gently told me that she would be sleeping here with me tonight to make sure I was ok. She would be sleeping on the floor no less. I felt guilty but reassured by her presence and I don't know if she heard as I tried to whisper a thank you. In hindsight, I guess it may have been technically morning but it was still night time.
I drifted off to a short and shallow sleep. Waking up, I tried to call for the nurses attention but my voice made no sound. I tapped on the side of the bed hoping she would hear me and I saw her comforting silhouette in the darkness. I don't even remember what I asked her for, but whatever it was I needed I remember she brought it quickly and that I was very thankful.
Another short and shallow sleep followed before I woke up in a sweat. Eventually, I tapped again on the side of the bed, relieved when I saw her silhouette pop up again.
"Hot", I said. I hoped I didn't sound like I was whinging. She got up and turned off a fan that, until then, I didn't realise had been running. Stepping out of the room, she turned on the air conditioner to blow refreshingly cool air through the horizontal railings at the top of the wall. To my surprise, she didn't go back to bed but began cleaning things up. Before too long, a couple of other nurses joined her upstairs and I felt guilty again for depriving her from her last hour of sleep.
I dozed in and out for minutes at a time during the morning until at some point the nurses came in and told me I would be moving to my room downstairs. Once again, I thought that I might have been wheeled there in my bed but was a little surprised when I was told to sit up and realised that I would have to walk. Forcing myself up, I realised I was in for a challenge. An instant bout of dizziness and weakness struck me and it was a miracle that I didn't just collapse back onto the bed. Instead, I somehow managed to maintain my sitting position for a few minutes, waiting for the symptoms to ease, but they didn't. Placing my feet in a pair of slippers, the nurses helped me to stand and I felt like I was going to fall over at any second. I was thankful for the three nurses supporting me but was scared that I would crush them if I did fall. They were petite Thai girls and I probably weighed two of them put together. One of them held my drip bag over her head and as she went down the stairs first, they all started giggling. Even I showed a small smile at how silly this whole situation must have looked.
We made it downstairs safely and I collapsed, gratefully, into my new bed as the nurses went and fetched my belongings. I closed my eyes but sleep was always fleeting from that point. Where I thought I might have dozed for several hours, I would open my eyes only to see that all of ten minutes had passed. Once awake, the itchiness took over. For some reason, every part of my body was intensely itchy and I scratched what I could reach without hurting myself due to the constrictions of bandages and stitches.
Time passed ever so slowly.
"Good morning, wake up", she chirped brightly. I tried to respond but my throat could only whisper softly. A small wave of panic washed over me as I wondered if the trachea shave had damaged my vocal chords. Another wave of panic washed over me as I realised I couldn't feel anything below my waist.
"My legs", I tried to whisper to the nurse. "I can't feel my legs."
"That's normal", she reassured me. "It's the medication."
I closed my eyes, hoping she was right but still feeling scared.
As the nurses flitted around the room, one of them eventually brought in a few things and gently told me that she would be sleeping here with me tonight to make sure I was ok. She would be sleeping on the floor no less. I felt guilty but reassured by her presence and I don't know if she heard as I tried to whisper a thank you. In hindsight, I guess it may have been technically morning but it was still night time.
I drifted off to a short and shallow sleep. Waking up, I tried to call for the nurses attention but my voice made no sound. I tapped on the side of the bed hoping she would hear me and I saw her comforting silhouette in the darkness. I don't even remember what I asked her for, but whatever it was I needed I remember she brought it quickly and that I was very thankful.
Another short and shallow sleep followed before I woke up in a sweat. Eventually, I tapped again on the side of the bed, relieved when I saw her silhouette pop up again.
"Hot", I said. I hoped I didn't sound like I was whinging. She got up and turned off a fan that, until then, I didn't realise had been running. Stepping out of the room, she turned on the air conditioner to blow refreshingly cool air through the horizontal railings at the top of the wall. To my surprise, she didn't go back to bed but began cleaning things up. Before too long, a couple of other nurses joined her upstairs and I felt guilty again for depriving her from her last hour of sleep.
I dozed in and out for minutes at a time during the morning until at some point the nurses came in and told me I would be moving to my room downstairs. Once again, I thought that I might have been wheeled there in my bed but was a little surprised when I was told to sit up and realised that I would have to walk. Forcing myself up, I realised I was in for a challenge. An instant bout of dizziness and weakness struck me and it was a miracle that I didn't just collapse back onto the bed. Instead, I somehow managed to maintain my sitting position for a few minutes, waiting for the symptoms to ease, but they didn't. Placing my feet in a pair of slippers, the nurses helped me to stand and I felt like I was going to fall over at any second. I was thankful for the three nurses supporting me but was scared that I would crush them if I did fall. They were petite Thai girls and I probably weighed two of them put together. One of them held my drip bag over her head and as she went down the stairs first, they all started giggling. Even I showed a small smile at how silly this whole situation must have looked.
We made it downstairs safely and I collapsed, gratefully, into my new bed as the nurses went and fetched my belongings. I closed my eyes but sleep was always fleeting from that point. Where I thought I might have dozed for several hours, I would open my eyes only to see that all of ten minutes had passed. Once awake, the itchiness took over. For some reason, every part of my body was intensely itchy and I scratched what I could reach without hurting myself due to the constrictions of bandages and stitches.
Time passed ever so slowly.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Thailand Day T+6 - The Day
(Yes, I fiddled with the dates so that this blog would appear on the day it happened rather than the day I wrote it...)
Packing my bags, I made sure that I hadn't forgotten anything. That sort of paranoia had always been a weakness of mine. I surveyed the room that had been my home for the past nine days and even though I knew I would be returning to this hotel and to a similar room, it was with a tinge of sadness that I closed the door for the final time. Sometimes I get attached to things far too easily.
Armed with a little bag of clippy Koalas I had bought back home (but were of course made in china), I handed one to the nurse who had picked me up from the hotel. She thought it was very cute and clipped it on the rear vision mirror in her car. My doctor and his assistant were waiting with smiles in he reception area of his surgery. Just like last time, it seemed so reassuring.
"I spoke to your Mum this morning", said the assistant, "and she's coming on Wednesday."
"Really?", is all I could muster as a reply. My heart sank a mile and although I tried to maintain a happy demeanour, I know my face is a dead give away to my feelings. I'm definitely not a poker player.
I sat on the couch, totally unprepared for the news and fearing what might transpire. At least it was after the operation and that would have to be a positive. Ms Som, the assistant, could read my mind and was very apologetic.
"I'm sorry", she said, "I thought you had organised it."
"It's ok", I lied. I tried to reassure her than everything was all right, but I was never a salesman and I can't sell things I don't believe in. It was one of the reasons I had left my job as scientific researcher even though I was apparently at a level of being nationally recognised as a leader in my field. My only problem was that I never claimed to have a field. Trying to chase funding by convincing others that my hammer was the best tool for their job was not something I could do and I much preferred choosing the best tool for any job, even if it was a tool I hadn't yet used. Surely the other team leaders weren't that deluded and were instead masters of deception. Harsh? Maybe, but that was the way I saw it and it's probably a topic best left for another time.
I handed out koalas to all the nurses, clipping some of them on their uniforms, which bought giggles and smiles of appreciation. My shoes left downstairs, I proceeded to my room upstairs where I donned a backwards gown and was left to lie in my bed, pondering what was going to happen.
"Goodbye little guy", I said softly. I don't know if that sounds weird, but I'm not good at breakups. What do you say to a friend, which you don't hate, but isn't a positive force for your life? Normally, I wouldn't say anything and allow the toxicity of the relationship to poison me until they left anyway, leaving me to deal with the aftermath. My psychologist had tried to tell me that I shouldn't value other peoples feelings and expectations above my own but, for some reason, I always felt expendable, unimportant, worthless. Perhaps that explained why I never feared hospitals and operations, including the one I was about to have. Dying on the operating table didn't seem like a problem for me. Assuming I was not sent to an eternal torture that was worse than what I had lived, it would actually be a liberation. Death never used scared me, possible pain before death did, but dying itself didn't because I had faith in where I was going. My faith has been questioned in times past, not only by myself, so room for fear now existed but I now existed with hope rather than faith.
Nurses came in, telling me it was time for surgery. I was hoping they would wheel my bed in, but this being a private surgery, I had to walk. My first sight was the surgery table which looked like any other surgery table except for two black arm rests extended perpendicularly to the table. I imagine the positioning was required for the breast implants which would be going in through the armpits, but it did make the table look a little like a crucifix.
"It's... uhmm.. interesting", was all I could think.
Flicking my left hand, the anaesthetist had trouble finding a vein in which to put the cannula. Given that I hadn't been allowed to drink anything since 7am that morning and it was now close to 3pm, I was probably severely dehydrated and it was no wonder finding a vein was difficult. Scarring on both my forearms and right wrist didn't make his job any easier but eventually he put one in.
"Not good", he said after a while removing it and attempted to find another location which he did. At least all the staff seemed to be in good spirits and they, I assume, made jokes and laughed. Not being to understand Thai, I could only look at them bewildered and hope that any jokes were good ones. One of the nurses looked reassuringly at me, stroking my right arm until it was time to administer the anaesthetic.
I felt myself drifting off to sleep hoping that everything would be ok on the other side.
Packing my bags, I made sure that I hadn't forgotten anything. That sort of paranoia had always been a weakness of mine. I surveyed the room that had been my home for the past nine days and even though I knew I would be returning to this hotel and to a similar room, it was with a tinge of sadness that I closed the door for the final time. Sometimes I get attached to things far too easily.
"I spoke to your Mum this morning", said the assistant, "and she's coming on Wednesday."
"Really?", is all I could muster as a reply. My heart sank a mile and although I tried to maintain a happy demeanour, I know my face is a dead give away to my feelings. I'm definitely not a poker player.
I sat on the couch, totally unprepared for the news and fearing what might transpire. At least it was after the operation and that would have to be a positive. Ms Som, the assistant, could read my mind and was very apologetic.
"I'm sorry", she said, "I thought you had organised it."
"It's ok", I lied. I tried to reassure her than everything was all right, but I was never a salesman and I can't sell things I don't believe in. It was one of the reasons I had left my job as scientific researcher even though I was apparently at a level of being nationally recognised as a leader in my field. My only problem was that I never claimed to have a field. Trying to chase funding by convincing others that my hammer was the best tool for their job was not something I could do and I much preferred choosing the best tool for any job, even if it was a tool I hadn't yet used. Surely the other team leaders weren't that deluded and were instead masters of deception. Harsh? Maybe, but that was the way I saw it and it's probably a topic best left for another time.
I handed out koalas to all the nurses, clipping some of them on their uniforms, which bought giggles and smiles of appreciation. My shoes left downstairs, I proceeded to my room upstairs where I donned a backwards gown and was left to lie in my bed, pondering what was going to happen.
"Goodbye little guy", I said softly. I don't know if that sounds weird, but I'm not good at breakups. What do you say to a friend, which you don't hate, but isn't a positive force for your life? Normally, I wouldn't say anything and allow the toxicity of the relationship to poison me until they left anyway, leaving me to deal with the aftermath. My psychologist had tried to tell me that I shouldn't value other peoples feelings and expectations above my own but, for some reason, I always felt expendable, unimportant, worthless. Perhaps that explained why I never feared hospitals and operations, including the one I was about to have. Dying on the operating table didn't seem like a problem for me. Assuming I was not sent to an eternal torture that was worse than what I had lived, it would actually be a liberation. Death never used scared me, possible pain before death did, but dying itself didn't because I had faith in where I was going. My faith has been questioned in times past, not only by myself, so room for fear now existed but I now existed with hope rather than faith.
Nurses came in, telling me it was time for surgery. I was hoping they would wheel my bed in, but this being a private surgery, I had to walk. My first sight was the surgery table which looked like any other surgery table except for two black arm rests extended perpendicularly to the table. I imagine the positioning was required for the breast implants which would be going in through the armpits, but it did make the table look a little like a crucifix.
"It's... uhmm.. interesting", was all I could think.
Flicking my left hand, the anaesthetist had trouble finding a vein in which to put the cannula. Given that I hadn't been allowed to drink anything since 7am that morning and it was now close to 3pm, I was probably severely dehydrated and it was no wonder finding a vein was difficult. Scarring on both my forearms and right wrist didn't make his job any easier but eventually he put one in.
"Not good", he said after a while removing it and attempted to find another location which he did. At least all the staff seemed to be in good spirits and they, I assume, made jokes and laughed. Not being to understand Thai, I could only look at them bewildered and hope that any jokes were good ones. One of the nurses looked reassuringly at me, stroking my right arm until it was time to administer the anaesthetic.
I felt myself drifting off to sleep hoping that everything would be ok on the other side.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Thailand Day T+5
Swiff. I will always remember it. It's a sodium phosphate laxative commonly used for cleansing the bowel before surgery and I think of it as the human version of drain-o. My doctor had given me a small bottle with simple instructions, 45ml in the morning and 45 ml at night. Warning had been given that it didn't taste very nice so mixing it in with some lemon and lime fruit juice, which I bought yesterday, seemed to make it palatable. All I shall say is that it was very effective...
Combined with the enema from the night before, it wasn't long before I was feeling drained. Excuse the bad pun, but not just physically, but also emotionally. I couldn't bear to think of drinking any of that soup that I thought I had cleverly bought and sustained myself only on fruit juice, water and soy milk when I ran out of the former.
It wasn't long before the discomfort and the uncertainty of what was to happen the following day took it's toll. Between sessions of rushing to the toilet, it was all I could do to climb into bed and curl up and weep. Fear crept into my mind and I felt alone and scared. I tried to stifle my crying for the sake of any who may have been in adjacent rooms, but I couldn't help it and I wept..
Combined with the enema from the night before, it wasn't long before I was feeling drained. Excuse the bad pun, but not just physically, but also emotionally. I couldn't bear to think of drinking any of that soup that I thought I had cleverly bought and sustained myself only on fruit juice, water and soy milk when I ran out of the former.
It wasn't long before the discomfort and the uncertainty of what was to happen the following day took it's toll. Between sessions of rushing to the toilet, it was all I could do to climb into bed and curl up and weep. Fear crept into my mind and I felt alone and scared. I tried to stifle my crying for the sake of any who may have been in adjacent rooms, but I couldn't help it and I wept..
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Thailand Day T+4
My liquid diet began today and I imagined myself doubling over with hunger pangs by the end of the day, attempting to suck the blood out of a stone. I made a note of what I was allowed to eat and decided to stock up at the supermarket in the giant shopping complex next door. If it was possible, I was going to get through the next two days at comfortably as possible and I had a plan. Usually, my plans are plans for disaster and I had no idea why I thought it would be different this time, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.
First one off the list was soy milk. This was an Asian country and so this should be simple, so I headed for the soy milk aisle. It indeed was a soy milk aisle. It was a very log aisle dedicated to nothing but soy milk... I nervously headed in, perusing the products trying to figure out what I wanted, it's true that sometimes too much choice is a bad thing. A nice sales rep started telling me, in Thai, about some wonderful product that had B1 and B2 vitamins, that was about all I could understand and I think she was talking about vitamins. I tried not to laugh at the silliness of the the situation as she tried to promote the product to me with me not understanding a thing (except B1 and B2 and I'm assuming she wasn't talking about bananas in pyjamas). She asked me a question and I had to come clean and tell her that I didn't understand Thai. I only had to say the first word and she giggled and smiled and stopped trying to sell her products to me.
I saw something in a bottle that looked like regular soy milk so I took a six pack. Regular people would have just taken a few, but I'm not normal and another lesson to be learned is not to go shopping when you're hungry and can't eat what you're used to.
Clear soup was next on the list, surely I would be able to find this at this supermarket. When I finally managed to find the aisle that contained instant soups, I was disappointed to see that everything was a cream of something soup. I was almost happy to see miso soup but that came with either seaweed or tofu, neither of which was on my approved diet. Then a moment of inspiration dawned on me. I was right next to the instant noodle section and I could just make the clear soup base and not worry about the noodles. Actually, another Asian snack is the equivalent of broken up instant noodles by themselves eaten like chips, so figures I could do that later too. Again, normal people would have taken a few loose packets, but they were the same brand that I could get back home and that's no fun. Instead, in my totally illogical state, I took three packs of six.
A few more mundane items later and I was back at my hotel cooking up some instant noodle soup. Perhaps a chilli tom yum soup isn't the best thing to have as lunch on an empty stomach. I could feel the chilli at war with my stomach, but I wasn't about to let that keep me in the hotel room. This was going to be my last day of freedom before my operation and I was going to go out, no matter what.
I perused my Lonely Planet guide trying to decide what would make a good half day excursion. Picking up the hotel guide book, I saw a recommendation for the Siamese Fighting Fish Gallery. Sounded interesting I thought, so I looked up their website and wrote down their address. Directions on their side suggested crossing the river via a ferry and I decided I would try that on the way back and put up with the extended taxi ride on the way there.
Perhaps it was an omen that even the concierge didn't even know about a place that was recommended in their own hotel's guide book. I figured the problems of cross-language translation had struck again and several minutes later he reappeared from behind the counter with some Thai writing on a piece of paper. Hailing a taxi and explaining the directions, I jumped in the back.
I was glad to have a friendly driver who spoke some English. He was shy about his capability and wasn't sure I could understand him but I tried to assure him that his English was very good. In the meantime, he even helped me in my pronunciation of a few of the Thai neighbourhoods. Nervousness set in, however, when he asked about the temple I was going to. I tried explaining that I didn't want to go to a temple, but to a fish gallery but it didn't seem like he understood. At least the suburb and street were right so hopefully I'd be able to find it.
Getting to the destination meant travelling south until we could cross a bridge across the main Chao Phraya river. I fell asleep, waking only to pay the toll for the freeway.
Waking again after we had crossed the river, it became obvious that my driver didn't know where he was going. He stopped to ask several locals about where this temple was and one of them was able to tell direct him in the general direction.
"Far, far", he said to me, getting back in his seat.
"Oh, ok", I said and we both laughed. My lagging brilliance struck me again and I decided to check the location on my iPhone. Despite slow reception, I was able to determine that we were heading in the right direction, but the final destination was in the middle of nowhere with not even a road on the map to mark it's location... hrmm...
"I've never been here before", explained my driver.
"It's new for both of us", I replied and we both laughed again.
Roadside scenery changed from suburban shops, to shanty towns to rainforest. We were still heading in the right direction but our taxi was starting to attract inquisitive glances from locals. Once again, my driver decided to check his directions and a couple of locals were unable to help although we finally managed to find one that reassured us that we were heading in the right direction.
"Far, far", reiterated my driver as he got back in his seat. I didn't even have to reply this time for us to both laugh.
All the greenery was actually quite attractive and I wouldn't have minded exploring if I wasn't in a foreign country whose language I couldn't speak or understand and, to top it off, I didn't really know where I was. My driver kept continuing along the thinning dirt road when suddenly, the gates of a large buddhist temple appeared. My driver seemed overjoyed and turned in but he seemed more disappointed than I was in the fact that everything appeared to be shut and nobody seemed to be around. It did look like an impressive temple, or set of temple buildings, but this wasn't why I was here.
"No people. Where you want to go?", my driver asked.
"Keep going", I replied with a smile.
"Ok, up to you", he laughed.
Palm tree after palm tree passed our windows and then the gates of another temple appeared. I interjected before my driver turned in.
"Keep going", I said.
"Up to you", he laughed again.
Another intersection came up ahead and this time I spotted the large sign proudly pointing to the "Siamese Fighting Fish Museum".
"Here, here!", I exclaimed excitedly to the driver.
"Oh! Museum, fishing, not temple", said my driver. I thought I had said that before but I obviously hadn't said it right. We were obviously both fatigued and missed the entrance completely and it took another local to send us back. But within a few minutes, we were inside and the driver had caught the attention of one the workers who became my personal tour guide.
My driver offered to wait for me as long as I would pay a tip and I graciously accepted because I had no idea how I would get back otherwise. At this point, I was glad I had decided to take a taxi here since coming across by boat would probably have ended up with me on the news back home.
My personal guide took me to the first building and showed be the directions of the other buildings I could go to after I finished walking through this one. Each fish was housed in its own little vase like tank complete with it's own little friendly plant. Each vase was separated by an appropriate amount since I assume that if the fish saw each other, they would flare up and begin to become aggressive.
At this point I must confess that I'm not a fish geek. I enjoy watching them flit about and admiring their grace and beauty but I don't remember what they are called, let alone their characteristics or habitats. Actually, I'm a bit like that with people and just tend to take things for what they are presented in front of me. So, if I ever forget your name, you'll now know why....
As I proceeded out of the first building, I took a detour around a little lake before heading into the second. A hedge was trimmed neatly at the edge of the lake, the bushes carved into what I can only imagine was the name of the museum in Thai. As I was admiring the handiwork, the resident mosquitoes took this as their opportunity to have dinner on imported legs.
The second and third buildings housed more fish and I took my time admiring the uniqueness and beauty of each one. There were other non-aggressive schooling fish housed in these areas too and I watched them all swim gracefully in formation.
One tank housed a particularly large pale fish and both my guide and I took turns teasing by waving our fingers just in front of the glass and giggling as the fish opened it's huge mouth expecting a feast of something.
Fish weren't the only attraction however, and there were a couple of shrines set up to previous kings such as King Taksin the Great and there was also a large Buddha which we both bowed to in respect as we walked past.
At the end of the third building, was a little path leading to a cute little bridge crossing over a lake. It was the sort of bridge that, given a morning sunrise and some fog, would have been the perfect setting for a Chinese love tragedy story.
"Future", said my guide, pointing to the area beyond the bridge. A worker appeared to be preparing the landscape for the future renovations.
"How long?", I asked and she began counting on her fingers.
"Three months", she replied.
"Oh", I nodded, wondering whether their concept of months and schedules was the same as mine.
We walked back to the taxi where the driver was squatting off to the side having a smoke. They exchanged some words in Thai and the guide thanked me.
"Kop Kun Ka", I replied. Thank you. The driver asked her something in Thai and she thought about it for a second and then replied to me, "You're welcome." I smiled and waved and took my seat back in the taxi.
"Back to hotel?", asked the driver.
"Yes", I replied. For some reason, I was still to chicken to ever say "Chai", yes.
The driver smiled and we drove off.
"Nice forest", remarked the driver as the palm trees engulfed the sides of the roads again. I agreed and peered out the window before falling asleep. I was glad to be in the taxi on the way back and was feeling somewhat relieved that my earlier plan to try and catch a ferry back had not been attempted. Once again I awoke only to pay the toll for the freeway and soon enough we were back at the hotel. The taxi journey had been a long one and the fare was relatively large as far as Thai taxi fares go. I decided therefore, to give him a relatively large tip also.
"Kop Kun mak mak", I said as I handed him a note. Thank you very much.
"How much do you want to give as tip?", he asked.
"All for you", I replied smiling. His jovial manner brightened even further upon hearing this.
"Thank you. Thank you. I take you to see other other temples next week?", he offered.
"Uhm, not next week", I replied thinking about my surgery dates.
"I give you my card. Call me if you need taxi. I call you too, to take you to see temples?"
Next thing I knew, I had exchanged telephone numbers with a taxi driver.. hrmm...
Was it worth the travel to go to the fish museum? I don't know, but sometimes the journey is more interesting than the destination. Enjoy the ride I guess and that is a mantra that I'm learning to take on even more each day.
I headed back upstairs to my room to await the dreaded time when I would have to being my preparations for surgery in a couple of days time. Tonight began with a self administered enema. I'll spare everyone the details, but it was potent and I felt like it would have been more comfortable if my entire insides had been passed out.
Ok, so sometimes there are parts of the journey that are difficult to enjoy.
First one off the list was soy milk. This was an Asian country and so this should be simple, so I headed for the soy milk aisle. It indeed was a soy milk aisle. It was a very log aisle dedicated to nothing but soy milk... I nervously headed in, perusing the products trying to figure out what I wanted, it's true that sometimes too much choice is a bad thing. A nice sales rep started telling me, in Thai, about some wonderful product that had B1 and B2 vitamins, that was about all I could understand and I think she was talking about vitamins. I tried not to laugh at the silliness of the the situation as she tried to promote the product to me with me not understanding a thing (except B1 and B2 and I'm assuming she wasn't talking about bananas in pyjamas). She asked me a question and I had to come clean and tell her that I didn't understand Thai. I only had to say the first word and she giggled and smiled and stopped trying to sell her products to me.
I saw something in a bottle that looked like regular soy milk so I took a six pack. Regular people would have just taken a few, but I'm not normal and another lesson to be learned is not to go shopping when you're hungry and can't eat what you're used to.
Clear soup was next on the list, surely I would be able to find this at this supermarket. When I finally managed to find the aisle that contained instant soups, I was disappointed to see that everything was a cream of something soup. I was almost happy to see miso soup but that came with either seaweed or tofu, neither of which was on my approved diet. Then a moment of inspiration dawned on me. I was right next to the instant noodle section and I could just make the clear soup base and not worry about the noodles. Actually, another Asian snack is the equivalent of broken up instant noodles by themselves eaten like chips, so figures I could do that later too. Again, normal people would have taken a few loose packets, but they were the same brand that I could get back home and that's no fun. Instead, in my totally illogical state, I took three packs of six.
A few more mundane items later and I was back at my hotel cooking up some instant noodle soup. Perhaps a chilli tom yum soup isn't the best thing to have as lunch on an empty stomach. I could feel the chilli at war with my stomach, but I wasn't about to let that keep me in the hotel room. This was going to be my last day of freedom before my operation and I was going to go out, no matter what.
I perused my Lonely Planet guide trying to decide what would make a good half day excursion. Picking up the hotel guide book, I saw a recommendation for the Siamese Fighting Fish Gallery. Sounded interesting I thought, so I looked up their website and wrote down their address. Directions on their side suggested crossing the river via a ferry and I decided I would try that on the way back and put up with the extended taxi ride on the way there.
Perhaps it was an omen that even the concierge didn't even know about a place that was recommended in their own hotel's guide book. I figured the problems of cross-language translation had struck again and several minutes later he reappeared from behind the counter with some Thai writing on a piece of paper. Hailing a taxi and explaining the directions, I jumped in the back.
I was glad to have a friendly driver who spoke some English. He was shy about his capability and wasn't sure I could understand him but I tried to assure him that his English was very good. In the meantime, he even helped me in my pronunciation of a few of the Thai neighbourhoods. Nervousness set in, however, when he asked about the temple I was going to. I tried explaining that I didn't want to go to a temple, but to a fish gallery but it didn't seem like he understood. At least the suburb and street were right so hopefully I'd be able to find it.
Getting to the destination meant travelling south until we could cross a bridge across the main Chao Phraya river. I fell asleep, waking only to pay the toll for the freeway.
Waking again after we had crossed the river, it became obvious that my driver didn't know where he was going. He stopped to ask several locals about where this temple was and one of them was able to tell direct him in the general direction.
"Far, far", he said to me, getting back in his seat.
"Oh, ok", I said and we both laughed. My lagging brilliance struck me again and I decided to check the location on my iPhone. Despite slow reception, I was able to determine that we were heading in the right direction, but the final destination was in the middle of nowhere with not even a road on the map to mark it's location... hrmm...
"I've never been here before", explained my driver.
"It's new for both of us", I replied and we both laughed again.
Roadside scenery changed from suburban shops, to shanty towns to rainforest. We were still heading in the right direction but our taxi was starting to attract inquisitive glances from locals. Once again, my driver decided to check his directions and a couple of locals were unable to help although we finally managed to find one that reassured us that we were heading in the right direction.
"Far, far", reiterated my driver as he got back in his seat. I didn't even have to reply this time for us to both laugh.
All the greenery was actually quite attractive and I wouldn't have minded exploring if I wasn't in a foreign country whose language I couldn't speak or understand and, to top it off, I didn't really know where I was. My driver kept continuing along the thinning dirt road when suddenly, the gates of a large buddhist temple appeared. My driver seemed overjoyed and turned in but he seemed more disappointed than I was in the fact that everything appeared to be shut and nobody seemed to be around. It did look like an impressive temple, or set of temple buildings, but this wasn't why I was here.
"No people. Where you want to go?", my driver asked.
"Keep going", I replied with a smile.
"Ok, up to you", he laughed.
Palm tree after palm tree passed our windows and then the gates of another temple appeared. I interjected before my driver turned in.
"Keep going", I said.
"Up to you", he laughed again.
Another intersection came up ahead and this time I spotted the large sign proudly pointing to the "Siamese Fighting Fish Museum".
"Here, here!", I exclaimed excitedly to the driver.
"Oh! Museum, fishing, not temple", said my driver. I thought I had said that before but I obviously hadn't said it right. We were obviously both fatigued and missed the entrance completely and it took another local to send us back. But within a few minutes, we were inside and the driver had caught the attention of one the workers who became my personal tour guide.
My driver offered to wait for me as long as I would pay a tip and I graciously accepted because I had no idea how I would get back otherwise. At this point, I was glad I had decided to take a taxi here since coming across by boat would probably have ended up with me on the news back home.
My personal guide took me to the first building and showed be the directions of the other buildings I could go to after I finished walking through this one. Each fish was housed in its own little vase like tank complete with it's own little friendly plant. Each vase was separated by an appropriate amount since I assume that if the fish saw each other, they would flare up and begin to become aggressive.
At this point I must confess that I'm not a fish geek. I enjoy watching them flit about and admiring their grace and beauty but I don't remember what they are called, let alone their characteristics or habitats. Actually, I'm a bit like that with people and just tend to take things for what they are presented in front of me. So, if I ever forget your name, you'll now know why....
As I proceeded out of the first building, I took a detour around a little lake before heading into the second. A hedge was trimmed neatly at the edge of the lake, the bushes carved into what I can only imagine was the name of the museum in Thai. As I was admiring the handiwork, the resident mosquitoes took this as their opportunity to have dinner on imported legs.
The second and third buildings housed more fish and I took my time admiring the uniqueness and beauty of each one. There were other non-aggressive schooling fish housed in these areas too and I watched them all swim gracefully in formation.
One tank housed a particularly large pale fish and both my guide and I took turns teasing by waving our fingers just in front of the glass and giggling as the fish opened it's huge mouth expecting a feast of something.
Fish weren't the only attraction however, and there were a couple of shrines set up to previous kings such as King Taksin the Great and there was also a large Buddha which we both bowed to in respect as we walked past.At the end of the third building, was a little path leading to a cute little bridge crossing over a lake. It was the sort of bridge that, given a morning sunrise and some fog, would have been the perfect setting for a Chinese love tragedy story.
"Future", said my guide, pointing to the area beyond the bridge. A worker appeared to be preparing the landscape for the future renovations. "How long?", I asked and she began counting on her fingers.
"Three months", she replied.
"Oh", I nodded, wondering whether their concept of months and schedules was the same as mine.We walked back to the taxi where the driver was squatting off to the side having a smoke. They exchanged some words in Thai and the guide thanked me.
"Kop Kun Ka", I replied. Thank you. The driver asked her something in Thai and she thought about it for a second and then replied to me, "You're welcome." I smiled and waved and took my seat back in the taxi.
"Back to hotel?", asked the driver.
"Yes", I replied. For some reason, I was still to chicken to ever say "Chai", yes.
The driver smiled and we drove off.
"Nice forest", remarked the driver as the palm trees engulfed the sides of the roads again. I agreed and peered out the window before falling asleep. I was glad to be in the taxi on the way back and was feeling somewhat relieved that my earlier plan to try and catch a ferry back had not been attempted. Once again I awoke only to pay the toll for the freeway and soon enough we were back at the hotel. The taxi journey had been a long one and the fare was relatively large as far as Thai taxi fares go. I decided therefore, to give him a relatively large tip also.
"Kop Kun mak mak", I said as I handed him a note. Thank you very much. "How much do you want to give as tip?", he asked.
"All for you", I replied smiling. His jovial manner brightened even further upon hearing this.
"Thank you. Thank you. I take you to see other other temples next week?", he offered.
"Uhm, not next week", I replied thinking about my surgery dates.
"I give you my card. Call me if you need taxi. I call you too, to take you to see temples?"
Next thing I knew, I had exchanged telephone numbers with a taxi driver.. hrmm...
Was it worth the travel to go to the fish museum? I don't know, but sometimes the journey is more interesting than the destination. Enjoy the ride I guess and that is a mantra that I'm learning to take on even more each day.
I headed back upstairs to my room to await the dreaded time when I would have to being my preparations for surgery in a couple of days time. Tonight began with a self administered enema. I'll spare everyone the details, but it was potent and I felt like it would have been more comfortable if my entire insides had been passed out. Ok, so sometimes there are parts of the journey that are difficult to enjoy.
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