my first leap

Saturday just pass midnight, walking back to the flat, you meet Ling on her way out. She tells you she’s going to meet up with her friend Trevor and invites you along. You run for the last train that will take us 2 stops away.

Trevor is approachable, amiable and instantly likeable and having studied in America spoke English with a distinct American accent. The three of you squeeze yourselves into a tasteful Japanese stall with a wooden seat lined half around the front stall. You climb over the wooden seat and close the wooden partition separating you from the street. There were a handful of people, a get-to-gether already underway. You’re happy to leave the ordering to Ling and Trevor. Trevor and Ling explain how it feels to be Taiwanese in terms of China. Ling had tried to explain this to me earlier. She has told you Taiwan was called The Republic of China first, way before China declared itself ‘The People’s Republic of China’. Taiwanese people see themselves as a separate entity from China but China does not feel that way. Trevor tells you of the confusion this sometimes causes – how he went to the ‘International’ end at the airport but was told to go to the ‘Domestic’ end type of confusion.

You try very hard to ignore the scream from your legs’ and arms’ desperate for attention, for a deep satisfying scratch. Ling and Trevor order a soup with an assortment of meat, veg and other things edible that you can’t name. You thought you hid it well but your few attempts to squeeze your arms and legs just to quieten the almost uncontrollable need to scratch did not go unnoticed by Trevor who asked you if you’re alright. You show him your arms and legs. Your neck is not as itchy, just red. The small itchy spots you thought were prickly heat are like thousands of small mosquito bites turned puffy with scratching (the area become a burning exasperation when touched even lightly by fabric) and hard squeezing (the lesser of the evils) and digging your nails in. The inflamed puffiness is similar looking to mosquito bites once you dig your nails in them. So many spots inflamed turn into a mass area of puffy red skin that looks like an extra layer of alien skin encasing yours. For awhile, for the last couple of nights, Ling has been your saviour, helping you put a towel in the fridge and making sure you cover the areas with it before you go to bed. The alien red other skin merge in with yours by the time you wake up but seem less inflamed and seem to be getting better. Until during the day, the heat and fabric near it aggravates it and it’s inflamed again; the alien redness spreading until it takes over your whole calve area and your legs. When it’s irritated, the area feels like it’s being grilled under a hot burning flame. Scratching, squeezing relieves but only for a few seconds but oh does it feel good. But you’re left with an even more blistering bleeding bit of flesh that you can’t believe belongs to you. Then you find that the small areas unaffected are invisible itchy spots and then that area too goes through the same process.

Trevor and Ling suggest you go to the hospital. And they talk about it and the costs etc in Mandarin. You feel bad that you skin is taking over this social meeting. And like everything else can’t help but zone out and all you can think about is your fingers, your nails tearing across this screaming alien itching flesh daring it to carry on and the need to destroy is so powerful you can imagine digging out the nerves, vein etc just to stop the itch and you feel so revved up you don’t care.

Ling, your nurse, hands you the cold towel to cover the areas one at a time. You’ve come to the conclusion that it could be a combination of an allergy to ‘Off! (the only new thing in my living regime) and prickly heat due to humidity. The only areas affected are the exposed areas when you wear a t-shirt and long shorts. Ling has been so good to you. She’s been working late and then she has to deal with you. You can’t help but feel bad about all this.

Sunday, you meet up with Yating for a starter. Then Ling joins the party for dinner. It is the first time you’ve tried prawn sashimi where you had to raw prawns still in their shells covered in crushed ice. They’re juicy, sweet and fresh. You also try another similar shrimp-like thing but its shell is hard to peel and if you peel it wrong it takes ages and you end with tiny bits of meat which doesn’t seem worth it. You had these before in China, but they were fried. This time you don’t think it’s worth the effort so you watch Ling as she struggles. The owner, who is very considerate and knows Ling, sees this and shows your party the way to do it. Lay the strimp on its belly, pull at the second segment and voila, the tail end of the shell slips easily away. He stops you dipping it into sauce, telling you that the first should just be plain so you can taste its sweetness. You all do this and he’s right.

During this meal, the itchiness comes back after being away all day. Yating got to see it and again both girls suggest you go to the hospital.  Ling says she’ll take you on the way home. When you’re outside the hospital, you feel bad. Ling has drank beer to help her sleep tonight because she has a 5am shoot tomorrow and here you are taking her time.

In the hospital, Ling finds out that the skin doctor will be attending tomorrow morning. You feel lucky again that he’s available because he’s not available all the time. Ling takes some forms and at home she helps you fill bits in you can’t fill in and then on the back of the form, she writes in Chinese my symptoms just in case. Before sleeping, in a slight drunken state, Ling reminds you to cover your arms and legs with the cold towel which has become a midnight visitor. You can’t sleep all night. At one point you’re scratching so furiously you thought you must be bleeding. You don’t want to disturb Ling sleeping. But it got so bad, you creep to the fridge for the towel. You still can’t sleep so when Ling’s alarm goes off and she goes into the bathroom, you gratefully get up. You check the night’s damage. You don’t know why but somehow it seems to be spreading to your knees and upper thighs. Ling switches the TV on and you’re temporarily gratefully distracted by football, Italy beating France for the World Cup.

After Ling leaves, you fall asleep and like a baby without fingerless mittens you scratch your arms.

I’m writing this waiting outside the doctor’s door. The queuing system tells me it’s now number 24. I’ve been here since number 14. I’m number 47. I have to distract my fingers somehow; though admittedly, my left leg is now sore and my fingers satisfied.

I got to the hospital about 9.30am and nearly cried when the woman at the registration desk said it was fully booked up and I have to come back another time. It could have been my look of desperation but she said I could try see the doctor and see if he’ll see me. I don’t think she really thought I had much of a chance but it was one way of getting rid of me. I wandered to the doctor’s closed door and tried to grab a nurse. It was obvious it would be almost impossible to get near the doctor who has a door, a nurse behind that closed door and a room full of patients waiting for him. Luckily, I saw a nurse busy tapping on her computer a couple of doors away. I show her my leg when she’s tells me the same. She stares. She talks to a younger nurse who also stares and suddenly I’m being fasttracked. The younger nurse takes me over to the registration desk and within 10 mins I’m registered and my statistics taken. She tells me it looks serious while she asks me various questions. The gravity of it all hits me. It must be pretty serious for them to admit me when I see they’re turning others away. I must admit the redness has gone more dry and turned to a darker red. I can see that my calves were going to be scarred for a month or so, til I can just peel them off. But if they can give me something to stop the burning and the unimaginable itchiness, then I can sleep and function like the less possessed.

Number 30. And I’ve ran out of paper. I grab a tiny wad of ‘record’ paper. Again the need to keep my fingers busy and from attacking the irritating areas is my only priority. Ling told me about the queuing system and suggested I go back to the flat or shopping and come back later. I dare not, in case I came too late. As I scribble away furiously, an English woman tried to find out if she could come back another time and the procedures etc. It was good to see people waiting around helping her. They treat you nice here. Though the woman who took my blood pressure – I rolled up my sleeve, she saw my deformed-looking arm and scrowling told me to cover myself again – was a little horrible – I guess if I saw someone with arms like mine (my legs are scarier and she didn’t see them), I’d be hesitant. This woman made me feel like I had leprosy. It was not a nice feeling. But I understand why she reacted that way. For the first time in my life, I know how it feels even for that moment how people with disfigurements and skin abnormalities feel.

Seb called several times and on Sunday night, the last night before he flies out to meet me. He’s been so good, telling me he’s found a couple of possible solutions to my condition and asking if I needed anything before he left. I’m really lucky to have friends like Ling, Yating and Seb. Like I said before, everyone I’ve met have been so good to me and I’m so grateful. My family too have been helping me. Seb said at least I seemed cheerful and still positive.

Number 34. It reminds me how important your body, your health is. You can have the strongest mind, your soul and your emotions knowing no limits but your body is what needs taken care of because it does have its limits. It was this year that for the first time in my life I prioritised and wrote down my values. And at the top was health. You cannot love fully, give fully, be creative fully if your body is not working fully. Some people don’t have a choice but if you have a choice, your health should come first. I should have gone to see a doctor sooner. I should have.

Number 38. The TV in front of us is no longer showing Chinese Opera where male characters are played by female characters and their make-up is a cake of colour. Now, the news is showing a bus broken down and various footage of individuals caught during their criminal activities. The bus reminds me of the one Ling and I saw last night with only 2 of its tyres in tact. She explained that in hot weather, motors stop working and tyres suffer heat exhaustion. So other things are affected by the heat. It doesn’t make me feel better.

Number 38. Man, that hasn’t changed. Okay, 39!! My last night in Taiwan. I’m going to miss my friends, the food, sashimi etc. I think my love for sashimi is due to the heat. Unlike fried foods, sashimi is fresh, light and very tasty. Soup is another of my favourites.

Number 40! I’m sorry to leave; I haven’t seen enough and because of the heat, I feel very restricted. Cold weather is easier to bear.

Number 40! Still! I need a drink!

***

The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place. – George Bernard Shaw. Irish literary Critic, Playwright and Essayist. 1925 Nobel Prize for Literature, 1856–1950

Tags: Doctor, Heat Rash, Hospital, Taipei, Travel

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