Throwback: The Lost Weekend

A psychologist I saw during my exceptionally troubled adolescence once told me that I would be a "late bloomer, perhaps in my thirties," and as luck would have it, she was correct in her estimation.

But neither of us could have seen the consequences of her prediction. As it came to pass, seven years ago, I left my flowering place with both a defective body and a broken heart.

But I did not leave of my own accord. Nor did I leave as a full-bloomed flower. No, I left a weak, broken, and much trampled on briar rose, full of prickles among the sweet. I left because there were no options left for me. I left because my mortality caught up with me.

Leaving my horrible job and even more horrible housing during my last few moths in Korea was at first, quite exhilarating. When I moved back to Seoul from the sordid rural community I had been living in, a great burden was lifted from me. No more military jets coursing directly over my head at all hours of the day and night. No more hookers and johns harassing me as I walked by the anmas ("happy ending" massage parlors) and dog-meat soup restaurants to get to my squalid little apartment building. No more random and whimsical demands from ill-placed administrators. No more apartments falling down around my ears. No more.

Who wouldn't be happy?

And, for a glorious few weeks, I was - madly, ridiculously, inanely - ecstatic about my new living situation and a new job where my years of experience were actually respected. A bit of nausea and light vomiting on the first day of the job? No problem, it is probably nerves, or something I ate. Never mind that I was not prone to stomach problems from nerves. Well, no matter.

I started going to the gym regularly, and enjoyed it for the first time in my life. For once, I was seeing RESULTS from my hard work. I watched the needle on the scale drop rapidly week by week as I continued my regime.

Never mind that I was only eating one meal a day, which sometimes wouldn't stay down. Never mind that every meal ended with electrical current zapping through my intestines and stomach, doubling me over with the pain. Never mind that I had to suddenly excuse myself during class on several occasions to void the food that refused to stay down. Never mind that I was occasionally prone on the floor of the bathroom, wondering why I couldn't keep enough food in my stomach to give me "just enough strength to teach tomorrow." I would just push through it, as I always did.

But, inevitably, one day I couldn't.

I remember very little of my last few weeks in South Korea.

I remember going to a well-intentioned, but as it turned out useless doctor, who did his best to diagnose the mysterious illness that prevented me from eating. Fatty-liver? I was a bit overweight, but not anywhere near obese (or a drinker). Pills for that. Acid reflux? Upper endoscopy, without pain meds or sedation. Inconclusive, but pills for that. Continuous nausea? Pills for that - completely ineffective.

I remember the doctor asking me three times to take a pregnancy test, even though there was no possible reason to suspect pregnancy as a cause of my malaise and primarily in-the-morning sickness. I remember getting angry at the implications made by the doctor, because all Western women have loose morals, right?

I remember the doctor asking me if I had been through any stress recently. Well, yes, I had. I had moved from rural Korea back to Seoul. A sweet romance had been cut short by a sudden deployment back to America. Tears had coursed down my face, adding to the misery from my constant nausea and weakness. The doctor yelled at me for getting emotional, then hurriedly scrawled something on his pad. "I will give you something I give women whose husbands have cheated on them."

HUH? I must be imagining things, I thought. He hooked me to an IV, then moved me to a curtained alcove. I woke up four hours later.

I took the prescription and stood in line at the pharmacy. A batty old Korean woman suddenly burst in to the pharmacy and began yelling at me in Korean for a good ten minutes. I gazed at her through bleary eyes, not comprehending. She moved like she was going to grab me, but a young man blocked her. After a few nasty words said in my general direction, she left. The other Koreans in the pharmacy gave me a wide berth, as the pharmacist hurriedly passed me my pill packets.

In Korea, you never know what medication you are getting because they are dispensed in "doses" which are separated in perforated plastic bags for each time you are supposed to take them. If the pharmacist is feeling helpful, which is not very often, he or she might write "AM, NOON, PM" in permanent marker on each bag. But that is all the help you get.

I took my first dose of medication and waited. And waited. And fell asleep.


I remember waking up and sensing, in the far right corner of my bedroom, a presence in the air. It was not a physical presence or entity, but I could feel myself moving towards...something warm. Oddly enough, I could also hear Julie Andrews singing "Feed the Birds" as I moved towards the presence.

NO.

I stopped moving.

Oh well, I guess I am having a really interesting hallucination - no problem!

And I slept.

I woke up on the floor of the bathroom. Ah, so cool, I thought.

And I slept.

I woke up in my bed. I made a cup of tea and sat at my kitchen table.

On the table, there was a plane ticket, but I had no idea where it came from.

And I slept.

I called my family. Several times. I only remember actually calling one time, but my family now assures me it was several times. In the middle of the night.

And I slept.

My family, meanwhile, began making plans to get me out of Korea.

That Sunday, I visited a hellfire-and-brimstone Southern Baptist church in Seoul. I remember talking rapidly to the startled pastor, but not what I said. I think I asked for prayer.  I remember nothing after that - not how I got home, not what the pastor said - nothing.

I called a few members of my home church for help with navigating the Korean medical system, people whom I had come to love and who I thought might be willing to assist me, but no one responded to my phone calls.  The pastor of the church kindly recommended going to a different doctor at a good teaching hospital.

I came to my senses on Monday morning, with what seemed to be a wicked hangover. I made an appointment with the American doctor at the teaching hospital - I believe his name was Dr. Linton. He took one look at me, and asked me to hand over the pills I had been prescribed. He shook his head when he saw the excessive amount of pills and the dosages I had been taking. "You are extremely over-medicated." He hooked me up to an IV for replenishing my fluids, then sent a medical resident periodically observe me while I sweated out all the medication I had been on.

Later that night, curious, I read all the printing on the sides of my pills and researched them on the Internet. There were two extremely strong liver function pills, a few herbal remedies of various kinds, an anti-inflammatory, a full dose of Paxil...and a half dose of Xanax.

I returned to the hospital the next day for another IV infusion of fluids, as I still could not eat. I had not really eaten a full meal for almost two months, in fact. I underwent several more tests, but the diagnosis was still unconfirmed. I had severe GERD, complicated by a helicobacter pylori infection,  complicated by chronic gastritis. I was so weak at this point, I couldn't really comprehend what he was saying, "You might want to consider returning to America."

I returned to my apartment that evening. I looked around at my warm, but well-maintained Korean style apartment. It was the first apartment I had ever called my own. The November air had turned chilly outside, but the ondol heating beneath my floor warmed my feet as I settled in for the night. There is nothing so satisfying as ondol heating in the winter, I thought. Or Korean style porridge. Or a hot sweet potato from a street vendor to carry for warmth.

I didn't want to think about leaving the life I had finally learned to love. Not when I had struggled so long to find my place in this world. Not when I had tasted true happiness and contentment for the first time in my life. Not while I still had life in my body...but what kind of life? Clearly, I could not depend on my friends, my doctors, or my family so far away.

Up until this moment I had never NEEDED to depend on anyone.

But time was running out. It was time to do the inevitable - or die of stubbornness. The plane ticket winked at me on my kitchen table. I had a brief flashback to waiting in a lobby at a travel agency. Maybe, on a subconscious level, I had known that this was the end of my journey.

I called my family that night and told them I would be home for Thanksgiving. Permanently.

2011 - A Year in Review

As I try to sort out "the rest of my life," it occurred to me that writing is an outlet I tend to return to time and time again. Even if no one reads my writing, "putting it out there" ensures that at least I have spoken, even though the tree has made no sound when it has fallen through the forest of trees. I won't lie - I WANT to be heard. I spend way too much time alone - not by choice, but by the limitations of this new body I have been given.

2011 was quite challenging physically and emotionally, but I think I came out on top, at least in some aspects.

THE GOOD :)
The Job: Prospects are actually quite good. The learning center I was working at went under after the owner underwent an absolutely brutal and unfair divorce. Fortunately, I was hired for 30 hours of teaching at Olivet University, a seminary which trains Chinese students for missions and the church. My students are some of the best and most interesting people I have ever taught, as it happens. The program is very new, so the administration still has a large learning curve, but the slightly chaotic, last minute change atmosphere doesn't bother me too much. I will also be teaching a class, "Teaching Asians at Home and Abroad," at UC-Santa Cruz Extension. This is an intensive TESOL training program for serious ESL teachers, not a fly-by-night online TEFL scam, so I must always be on my toes. I am hoping there is full time work (with benefits) in my future, so cross your fingers.

THE NOT-SO-BAD:/
The Body: The Body is still not functioning as it should, but it is functioning at least at a basic level. My legs still get me where I want to go, and my feet don't particularly hurt, even after five hours of solid teaching. I will return to the gym this month to get my "base" training back up to speed. I was firmly rejected by CrossFit gyms, where I was assured even 80-year-old-grannies could do what I could not... on par with taking PE with the special ed kids in elementary school (due to "delayed motor skill development") - that is, total HUMILIATION! I received another "rotten egg" lecture from my "girl stuff" doctor - I am now in the "advanced maternal age" category, and Dr. N offered, during this same visit, to introduce me to a round of fertility doctors. Sigh. My gastroparesis has flared up a few times, but the flare ups are getting less intense, though they are still quite inconvenient. My figure is starting to "bag and sag" in strange places - my "baby face" will not last much longer, I'm afraid.  All that said, I will NOT go out with a fight...Aja! Fighting! I think I'll join a hiking club (too many psychos in our local hiking park) and start saving for a mountain bike. I miss hiking so much...

THE UGLY:(

The Love Life: Kaput. Done. Finished...for now. The relationship ended "not with a bang, but a whimper." Mr. M (who featured in How Not to Be Sexy, Part II - he DID call back, and we dated for several months) turned out to be incredibly self-centered, short-sighted, and emotionally immature. I usually don't date "younger" for this very reason - it has only worked once for me, and this was NOT it. There were also some cultural things that didn't work for me - Mr M was very tight-lipped about his cultural background, but I pieced the clues together and I have deduced that he was Sudanese. I am not overly feminist, but I do expect to be treated as an equal - he really hated when I stood up for myself and my beliefs. He stood me up one too many times (didn't bother to call)...and that was that.

I do try to be optimistic, but the truth is "the one that got away" was "the one." We only find a "soul mate" once in a lifetime, but the Master of the Universe chose to take him away from me. Three years later, he turned up in my world again, but in the cruelest twist of all: "Thou hast made of me an adulteress." Everyone that comes after will always pale in comparison, but maybe it is time to "settle." It is one of the greatest ironies of life that once a woman has grown up enough to know both what she can give and what she needs in a relationship...the ocean of possibility is no bigger than a puddle. My biggest and ONLY fear, like many single women of "advanced maternal age" (mid 30s) is to live alone and die alone - as we watch our friends, one by one, get married, have children, and chase their "happily ever afters." No one's life is perfect, but spending that life always fighting completely alone to just stay alive is just plain exhausting.

2011 was a year of learning about what I could do and what I couldn't - I gained a bit more self-respect, but lost a little more faith in humanity. I am facing the New Year with strength, if not enthusiasm. That has got to count for something.

How NOT to Sexy Part II

After this weekend, I think I can safely confirm that gastroparesis is definitely NOT a sexy disorder.

I went out on my first date in three years. Yes, I know that is a long time, but I have always been one to have long dry spells...usually followed by a deluge of offers. In Korea, I made the astounding discovery that a girl COULD have three dates in one weekend...Unfortunately, at the time, I "chose" the wrong one to stick with. Sigh.

Alas, there was no deluge this time, but that is to be expected when your belly bloats out to the rough equivalent of an eight month pregnant soccer mom (i.e. relatively toned elsewhere). I have had more "feeling gross" days now than I ever had when I suddenly gained 80 pounds (without any provocation, I might add) my early twenties. But I digress. Gastroparesis does not make one feel exactly frisky or interested in the opposite sex; in fact, it makes one queasy at the thought of "intimacy," if not downright seasick. I mentioned this to one of the nurses who saw me early on, and inquired as to why I hadn't had any children "at my age."

As things happen, I randomly met a research biologist (long story there), who asked me out for dinner. I accepted without thinking things through too much; we had talked before extensively about medical research, and I had mentioned in passing that I had a chronic medical disorder that was being researched at Stanford. We agreed to meet at a local chain restaurant for dinner on the following Saturday. Unfortunately, I made several key mistakes in my Saturday, which resulted in a date that will never be forgotten. They were:

1. I was due for my medical massage on that Saturday morning. This entailed a jaunt over the mountain to Watsonville, which is 90 minutes each way. This also meant that I would be a bit shaky on my feet afterward; the massage therapist always manages to shake loose whatever my digestive system is holding on to and to purge the toxins in one massive "screamer" episode in the bathroom. This can occur within one hour of the massage, or one day, but it is always guaranteed to arrive at inopportune moments. What I should have done is reschedule.

2. I ate an unfamiliar food for lunch. As it it turned out, the half sandwich I ate was harboring hidden fat, according to the nutritional information I later pulled up on my iPad. Excessive fat can be agonizing for a gastroparesis patient, as it slows things down even further. I was in very poor condition until an hour before the appointed meeting time; I took a long, long, walk to "shake things down, " which appeared to work, at least at first.

3. I was late for my date. My father, who had driven me to my appointment (I have problems driving over mountain passes), left something in my car, took my keys to retrieve it, then forgot to return them to me. This would have been no big deal, except that he and my mother had gone out on their anniversary dinner. Fortunately, they arrived home just in time, but I was delayed ten minutes, which would have been fine if I hadn't blown right past the freeway entrance in my hurry to get out of there. I had also made a point of "don't be late!" to my date - I hate being the late person, and my pet peeve is late people. So I basically made myself look dumb (which was gently commented upon!).

The dinner itself was lively and entertaining; we had a good chance to get to know one another. He did look a bit startled when I only ordered soup, but I gently reminded him that I have a digestive disorder and therefore a restricted diet. The dinner seemed to sit well with me as we chatted about various things. We went outside and walked around, and finally sat down in his car. The moment was right, things were sweet...He leaned in for his close-up, and then...it happened. A completely unmotivated wave of nausea swept over me...I cringed back. He stopped and looked at me, puzzled. The nausea passed, and he tried again.

The anticipation of a sweet ending to a nice evening, plus and uneasy stomach is not a combination of physical sensations I would recommend to anyone. Perhaps one set of sensations set off the other, or maybe they converged, or maybe there was something else at work in that moment; whatever it was, it was one of the most unpleasant convergences of sensations I have ever had - Come-to-me-my-love and No-not-tonight-honey-I-have-a-headache definitely do NOT  belong together in the same body at the same time.

And then, to add insult to injury, the electric storm broke.

Waves upon waves of electrical shocks swept up and down my digestive tract, pulsing up to my throat, then down to my bowels, then up again. It was like an electrically-charged hand was scraping the inside of all of my internal organs. I doubled over in pain, grasping my stomach, hoping and praying that I wouldn't lose control. When this happens, I never know whether I will vomit or lose bowel control - sometimes, it's both - so I was in a bit of a panic, as you can imagine.

I told my date I suddenly wasn't feeling well. "It's not you, it's me" voiced itself through my clouded brain, but that didn't seem to be an appropriate response. At first he didn't seem to believe me, and even seemed to take it as a personal rejection. Finally, something in my tone of voice and my doubled over stance (you think?) convinced him I was genuine. He helped me to my car, and offered to follow me home to make sure I was safe. I gently rejected his offer, but promised to call him when I got home.

I kept my promise and called him when I reached my house, but I knew by his tone of voice he was not happy. He said he would "call me sometime later,"  but I knew he wouldn't do so. And he hasn't.

I was up most of the night after that. The electrical storm continued for a few hours more, but ultimately resulted in nothing. I finally finished "purging" the released toxins the next day, but it was too late by then.

I am a bit disappointed at my body's betrayal, but I know it is probably a good thing; a man who can't handle a girl at her worst is probably not tough enough to stomach (ha!ha!) the chills and thrills of a gastroparesis patient. The gastroparesis forums are full of stories of men who give up and walk out on their sick wives and girlfriends; I can't imagine GP patients having a very active sex life, especially if they are female (ahem- think about it).

I am, oddly enough, perfectly fine today - almost normal in fact. I even went to the gym, and got in a good workout- best I've had all month, in fact. I am not one to wait by the phone for a call that will probably never come, yet part of me does feel I owe him an explanation.

BODY WARS: Arrrgghh!

I have been working steadily towards my goal of losing at least 20 pounds by the end of this year. I have been hitting the gym 2-3 times a week (depending on my wacky schedule), trying different foods to get better nutrition, and tracking my calories. With the exception of one day, a day on which I "pigged out"("pig out" for me equals normal portion sizes for a normal person) and ended at 1850 calories, I have maintained a balance of 1500-1700 calories a day. I am noticing my legs are beginning to tone up nicely, but I think I need to up my strength training on those arms a bit to get results.

So, have I lost any weight? NOPE - plus 1! How does that work?

My Stanford doctor says that the weight gain is probably due to the side effects of my medicine, as well as complications from the gastroparesis (starvation mode again). She did caution that if I couldn't lose the weight, I would have to go off the medication...which pretty much means Ensure and/or feeding tubes. My regular GI doctor also commented negatively on the weight gain. Oh yeah, and I am getting dumped by him onto my so-called primary care physician because I am now listed as "chronic"....doctor-speak for "we can't help you anymore because we don't know what the hell to do for you." That, and my assigned primary physician doesn't like white women very much; reverse discrimination is alive and well in Northern California.

I am looking at ways to become more physically active; unfortunately, I end up stuck on my butt for 6 hours or more STRAIGHT while tutoring (with no breaks). By the time I get home, I am so mentally exhausted I don't even want to move. Sitting on my butt never much appealed to me at any time of my life; I think one of the reasons I thrived in Korea is that I had to walk everywhere...and I loved it! Here, I have to take my car everywhere, as the "city" of San Jose is actually one freakin' huge suburb. I do occasionally walk to the local pharmacy, but I get strange looks from many people on the roads when I do this.

As for the weight problem, it is now confounded by the GP problem. I am having a nice little flare up of symptoms and have been existing on eggs-and-toast, noodles, and soup for the past five days. I am really beginning to loathe eggs in particular. I am actually quite uncomfortable as I sit here typing. I have been uncomfortable all day. The actual nausea comes back when I work out, but I fight through it as best as I can.

Prayers and well-wishes are much appreciated.

BODY WARS: The Disappointment

I get to start from scratch again.

I was doing very well on my exercise program, but then a "series of unfortunate events" scuttled my fitness efforts for awhile.

EVENT 1: I hurt a very important target muscle - my trapezius muscle on the right side, to be exact. I was doing a simple rowing exercise, and suddenly lost my grip on one side. The other side of the weight machine jerked forward, taking my surprised arm with it. The pain did not set in until the next day. I ended up taking seven days to recover. Man, that thing hurts when it "goes out!"

EVENT 2: I went back to my regular work-out routine the following Wednesday. As I trudged away on the treadmill of doom, I began to suddenly feel lightheaded. Instead of stopping, however, like a normal person would, I kept going. Then I began to black out. I caught myself just in time as my knees buckled. I dragged myself to the locker room and sat with my head between my knees. One of the side effects of my medication is a general inability to sweat properly, so I attributed the incident to overheating (we were still having a late season heatwave, with temps around 95). I decided to start fresh on the following Monday.

EVENT 3: Wouldn't you know it, I had a serious gastroparesis flare-up over the weekend. Although these incidents are becoming more rare, they are still horrible to go through. I basically had to go on a liquid diet for five days, causing general weakness, malnutrition, and the peculiar desire to curl up in the fetal position on the bathroom floor for a few days. Whatever triggered this, I have no idea.

Exercise (heck, even breathing) in this condition is pretty much near impossible. Think of a closed soda bottle as being your stomach. Now, start shaking up that soda bottle, but leave the cap on. That is gastroparesis. The stomach does its thing, churning and breaking down food, but it does it too slowly. Food is going to go UP if it can't go down...

In my case, the gastroparesis tests showed I am doing my digesting job at a fairly normal speed, but then the food gets "stuck" near the exit point of my stomach. Basically, the system of valves is not working properly. It does not appear to be a mechanical problem, but more an electrical/nerve problem; I am being treated for the nerve problem with a very low dose of the antidepressant Nortryptiline.

I went back to my routine workout, but began "seeing stars" again. I tried to restart my cardio during the next two weeks. I varied my speed and incline, but I had pretty much the same results. And I had yet another flare up last week. This time, I have taken the entire week off; hopefully, a complete body rest will work things out.

The bloating that accompanies gastroparesis is back - this is great fun when clothes shopping, as I can range anything from a size 12 to a size 16, depending on how bloated I am on that day. I hope to start fresh next week again, but it all depends on how well my stomach does this weekend.

My diet is back to heavy carbs until my flare ups cease-and-desist. Carbs, whether we like them or not, are the baseline on which we depend for energy to survive. Still, I would rather not see anymore pasta bowls, oatmeal, soup, or egg-and-toast meals for a very long time!

ON THE POSITIVE SIDE: I have not regained any of the lost weight!:)

BODY WARS: Progress Report from Weeks 2-3

Well, I gained one pound back. Sigh.

This is probably due to me trying to figure out how to eat out and still follow the gastroparesis guidelines without busting a gut with too many carbs. My work schedule forces me to eat out at least twice a week - no easy feat for someone with a very restricted diet to begin with. According to most nutritionists, a good diet should fall within these parameters:

Carbohydrates: 45%-65% of your diet
Fat 20%-35% of your diet
Protein 10% to 35% of your diet

My carbohydrates tend to range from 50%-65% by default. I have managed to lower my carbs closer to 50%, but my fat intake has gone up to the 30% range. Oddly enough, the extra fat hasn't hurt my stomach "as much as it is supposed to," but it definitely isn't helping my diet. In order to get the extra protein the doctor says I need, I have to eat more meat, and even lean meat has fat in it. Ditto for soy products. Don't get me started on the dairy problem; let's just say I have always been a bit lactose-intolerant. I don't think I am going to win this one. I did not tolerate meat products very well to begin with - no juicy steaks for me!

I have started weight training again; this has had both positive and negative results. The positive is that, as far as weight and reps are concerned, I have been able to pick up where I left off FIVE YEARS AGO in the computer system at the YMCA. Yea! The bad news is I have had to reduce my days at the gym from 4 days to 3 days a week. My body aches constantly, and my bum knee is getting too "chatty" with my other knee - now both of them hurt! I tried reducing my weight levels, but then I did no real work because the weights were too light for me.

The Fitlinxx computer system hooked up to the weight machines has bells and whistles to nag you about form, speed, and full reps, which can be both annoying and helpful at the same time (it is controlled by sensors embedded in the weight equipment). I really hate the noise that goes with "You have reached the top of your range!!!!!" Doo-be-doo-DA--da DA! I keep expecting the baseball organ music to chime in....So I block the noise with my earphones.

Yes, I go to the Y. I used to go to a regular gym and work with a trainer out in Milpitas, but my scheduled tutoring appointments are located across Silicon Valley in Cupertino. The 24 Hour Fitness nearest to me (the only gym near my house, in fact) is full of very scary lurkers and weirdos. I prefer to go to the Y, where even the old ladies are comfortable; I time my workouts to coincide with their mass geriatric appearances in the late morning so I don't feel like such a blubber butt. I also try to finish my workouts before the beefy "cut" San Jose Firefighters arrive wearing their adorable dark blue muscle Ts with the names of their units emblazoned across their backs; I also avoid the skinny-Asian-girl wave that seems to accompany the firefighters' arrival (hmmmm....coincidence?). I know I can't compete.

BODY WARS: Progress Report from Week 1

I have just completed my first week of diet and exercise training. I learned a few things in the process, which I would like to share with my minuscule, but faithful audience:

1. The gastroparesis dietary restrictions are HELL when you are trying to lose weight.

After consulting my doctor, I have gradually been increasing protein and limiting carbs to 50-60% of my diet. I am experimenting with tofu and soy milk to increase my protein intake, as meat products can sometimes cause great discomfort for me. Even before gastroparesis, I was not a big meat eater, so this is no real stretch. I will also be eating at least one "peanut butter popsicle" (peanut butter on a spoon - one of my mother's greatest "jokes" to get us kids to eat healthy) a day to avoid the carb trap associated with bread products. I am still trying to make 1400-1600 calories a day, which can be a bit challenging at times.

2. The running program I have set for myself seems to be doing OK. I did notice that I tend to run on the sides of my feet; it is quite involuntary, and I can't seem to correct it. My right knee joint has also been complaining a bit much, so I may have to go back to wearing a brace.

3. I have lost TWO pounds this week...I think. Our bathroom scale is a bit temperamental, so it could be as little as ONE pound.

Happy eating!

BODY WARS: A Big Mystery?

I saw my GI Specialist at Stanford today, and we discussed diet. The reason I am gaining weight seems to be a more complex issue than I thought.

Problem 1: Too many carbs. The problem with the gastroparesis restricted diet is it tends to be high in carbs. Those of us who suffer from this disorder cannot process fiber or fat very well (if at all, in some cases). This excludes pretty much every vegetable unless it is pureed or cooked to death (baby food, anyone?). I can tolerate some raw fruits (watermelon, berries, grapes in moderation), but so far, most raw vegetables reduce me to a vomitous puddle on the floor...except I absolutely refuse to vomit. The problem with cooked vegetables is...I hate 'em!

Solution: Replace carbs with protein. I will be adding more protein through using tofu and Boca Burgers, which are generally well-tolerated by functional (meaning, fairly well-controlled) gastroparesis patients. I just switched to soy milk yesterday, but it still sometimes upsets my stomach.

The doctor also suggested Jenny Craig meals, with modifications.

Problem 2: Nortriptyline. This is the name of the medication which is helping me face eating every day; it was part of a medical trial (the NORIG study), and it happened to help me a great deal. The medication belongs to the second-generation antidepressant class, but the very low dose I am taking does not register as helpful for depression; instead, it works on the nervous system that controls digestion (which, oddly enough, works with the same chemistry as the brain). Unfortunately, one of the big side effects is WEIGHT GAIN. Bingo!

Solution: None, really. If my weight continues to mysteriously skyrocket, I will have to go on another medication...and the other medications tend to have even weirder side effects and are not always effective.

Problem 3: My cardio workout is practically useless for weight loss. I knew this going in, so I am more interested in increasing my stamina in order to run a 5k. I feel so bad, however, for those heavy middle age ladies who come to the gym, run like mad, and then go home expecting to have lost weight. It doesn't work that way, but I think this is a more "recent" finding (although I have known this for years through experience).

Side Note: I personally think stationary bikes are completely useless in particular; you seem to expend a lot of energy on a monotonous task and then have nothing to show for it. This is why I prefer treadmills and elliptical machines - at least you feel like you are getting somewhere. I also love playing with the settings and speed. I have discovered that the speed marked as JOG, for example, is actually RUN for me because I have such short little Dachshund legs! The speed marked as WALK is way too slow for me. In fact, no one I know walks that slowly.

Solution: Weight training. The good doctor suggested I try weight training again. This is just what I wanted to hear. I love weight training and I sorely missed it. Because of my extremely poor coordination, I have to stick to weight machines - you don't want to see what happens with me and free weights! I will also likely take some kind of group exercise class just for fun.

I will post my results of Week 1 by next Monday.

JOURNAL: How NOT to Be Sexy

I suffer from a relatively rare gastrointestinal disorder known as idiopathic gastroparesis. Gastroparesis is exactly what it sounds like - a paralyzed stomach. It is "idiopathic" because the doctors can only guess at the cause; in my case, it appears I picked up a stomach virus in Korea that attacked the nervous system in my gastrointenstinal tract. As a result, I suffer daily from morning nausea, occasional vomiting, postprandium fullness (feeling full after a couple of bites), and, ahem, lower gastrointestinal distress. It is not a fun or sexy disorder, and there are times I sincerely wish to die from the pain. Oh, and I make a great after dinner companion - let 'er rip!

Usually, the symptoms dissipate after about two years, but they didn't in my case. Instead, I enrolled myself in a clinical trial at Stanford University. The Stanford trial worked in my case, and my symptoms are under control, if not eliminated completely. In fact, I have been feeling tolerably well the past couple of months. Of course, finding full-time work in an economic depression is another story.

So, where did the fun begin? This could probably have all been prevented if the almighty rural university I worked for in Hwaseong-si had heeded my request for human-grade housing - you know, functional plumbing, standard electricity, a location NOT next to a run-down dog meat farm that smells like dog shit, or the red light district that smells like booze, vomit, and stale sex most of the time (they "air out" the establishments once a week). You know its bad housing when even the college student who moved your furniture in for you calls it a shit-hole. But I digress.

Now, I find myself on the horns of a new dilemma. Most people with gastroparesis LOSE weight drastically. At my low point, when I was subsisting on saltines and yogurt, I weighed 147 pounds. I am 5'2". Yes, I lost a pretty measly 20 pounds, even when I was literally starving to death (and losing my hair, by the way). As soon as I began to eat almost-normal portions, and I do mean almost-normal portions, I shot up to 174 pounds, 8 pounds heavier than I started! How does that work?

It is a GOOD day when I can intake 1500 calories; my average is 1300-1400. According to my calorie calculator, I should be maintaining weight at the very least, not gaining weight. There is absolutely nowhere where I can change my diet; I am severely restricted to low fat and low fiber, which means a high amount of easily digested carbohydrates. Unfortunately, carbs have always been my mortal enemy; I was brought up to eat healthy food (not much processed food or fast food appeals to me even now). I allow myself one doughnut a week as a treat, but that's it!

The fact is, however, I AM STILL FAT! I have joined the YMCA, and I will be hitting the treadmill three times a week in addition to my twice a day, 3o minute brisk walk. I am also looking into a few group exercise classes (shudder shudder). I am, quite honestly, at my wits end. The truth is, I have NEVER had an easy time losing weight. Back when I was rich (hah!), I worked with a personal trainer twice a week. Over the course of a year, I lost a mere ten pounds, but I did gain quite a bit in muscle mass! The trainer kept insisting I was straying from my diet (I wasn't), and we went around in circles for quite some time about it. I finally gave up.

SO, here are my current stats:

WEEK 1:
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 174 (yikes!)
Size: 12-16 (!), depending on what

I figure I need to lose 36-40 pounds to look proportionate; I think the BMI calculator is a bit off in my case, as I am a big-boned, big-chested, and abysmally short Viking lass (from both sides of the family).

The ESL Camp (July-Aug. 2007)

Note: This is a rough draft; I will be continuously editing this entry, so don't be surprised if things change!

After only three days back on solid food, I found myself back at work, staring down a group of rowdy fifth grade boys and sixth grade girls at the University's mandatory "ESL Summer Camp." The camp would run for three very solid weeks.

Although I was in poor physical condition and had very little energy due to my mystery illness, I decided that I was not going to let this camp get the better of me. It was my last scheduled teaching activity before I moved back to Seoul, and I genuinely wanted my students to enjoy their learning. The fact that I was already set to move onto a better job in Seoul also made it easier for me to really let loose (damn the conventions) and let the students enjoy their time in my class.

These ESL camps are not quite what we, as Americans, consider to be a "camp-like" experience. In fact, the only thing "camp" (meaning 'fun') about these institutions is that the kids sleep over, usually in the university dorms, eat questionable cafeteria food, and engage in team-sport activities. They do get some fun time on Fridays, which are designated field trip days, but the rest of the time is spent in classes and "educational activities." Even the more "fun" activities, such as song, drama, and game show contests, are considered serious competitive activities. The pressure is always on these students to perform, perform, perform, like well-trained monkeys at competing for a single banana.

And then there is the teacher vs. camp counselor dynamic. Imagine, if you will, a group of dignified (at least, when sober) college professors, ranging from their late twenties into their early forties - tweedy suit jackets, matronly dresses, somber expressions, etc. Now, imagine the same group of professors wearing flip-flops, shorts, and t-shirts. Enter the camp counselors. The average camp counselor is about 18 years old, and he or she has been likely culled from the above-mentioned professors' ESL classes. If the student happened to have failed the basic ESL Freshman class...no worries! The camp counselor may even find himself or herself assigned to the very professor who failed him or her the previous semester. In the world of the ESL camp, the counselors are given unprecedented power over the children; the professor-cum-English instructor has no jurisdiction whatsoever over what the students do outside of the classroom. A certain power struggle is bound to ensue. And it does.

All of that notwithstanding, there are some positives, as there is in any situation, with the right attitude. Textbooks for the classes are pretty much chosen at whim without regard to level, but this is actually a GOOD thing. When you give a beginning English class a high-intermediate textbook, naturally the class has no clue what they are reading or talking about. This gives the instructor much leeway in "interpretation" of the so-called lesson being taught. Typically, this means the instructor has to "fill in" the blanks with his or her own activities. I chose to have students use the practically useless dialogues as acting skits. With difficult reading passages, I acted out the dialogue and fired simplified questions about what the kids had just seen. I did my best to make the activities as pain-free as possible, and as a class, we did have a good time most days.

One day during the second week of the camp, a junior high group was giving me particular grief. Instead of getting angry, I decided to stage my own revolt against convention. I brought out two "Twister" boards and a spinner and let the students have at it. We were able to cover "left," "right," body parts, and colors in less that 15 minutes. The kids loved it, and it became a "reward for good behavior" boon when the class acted appropriately on any given day. The camp counselor said nothing; I heard later that "my actions had been reported" to the camp director, however! I also taught a different group (8th grade) the "Head and Shoulders Knees and Toes" song, complete with gestures. That backfired on me, I'm afraid; their camp counselor decided it was a good punishment song when the class got too rowdy.

One of the biggest challenges of these summer camps, however, is that the teacher spends mealtimes in the cafeteria with the students. This proved to be a big problem for me, as I had just started eating solid food again. When going through the cafeteria line, I would only take a scoop of rice and some soup; I was taught never to waste food as a child, but this is apparently not taught in rural Korea. The camp director and his assistant noticed my meager eating habits because the kids began to comment on my skimpy meals. One student even bluntly commented,"how can teacher be so fat" since I was not eating very much. Finally, the camp assistant (co-chair of the ESL department) asked me point blank why I was not eating with the children. I patiently explained to her that I had been very ill and had no appetite, so I wasn't taking more food than I could eat. She seemed to take this as some sort of insult to Korean food. She furthermore accused me of "setting a bad example" for the children by not eating what they ate. The point was left hanging, but every time I stood in line, I could feel her eagle-eyes assessing my food portions.

Her silent criticism annoyed me at first, but I came to understand her point-of-view after a few days of observation. I came to realize that the real reason she was angry at me was because I had refused, in no uncertain terms, to accept a renewal of my teaching contract; I had had enough of the nefarious activities associated with the University, and to tell the truth, was ready to fly on back to civilized Seoul like a bat out of hell by the time she had taken over the position. She had been hired shortly after a financial scandal had rocked our small department, so she had inherited a real mess from the previous position-holder. She was also a female administrator at a male-dominated university, which is no easy position to be in rural Korea by any stretch of the imagination. Upon further reflection, I discovered that I actually secretly admired her. I still do.

So I compromised. I began to take small helpings of everything on offer, even the fish, which caused me to become nauseous every time I saw it (the fish in Korea is served whole, complete with eyeballs) or smelled its rancid odor. I became quite proficient at pushing food around on my tray to make it look like I had eaten more than I had; rice, soup, and occasionally some bits of meat were the only things I ever actually ate. I suddenly began to understand how a person with a closet eating disorder might feel, although I was also perfectly aware that I would have vomited if I had tried to eat anything else. My appetite never did fully recover after my illness, although the significance of this escaped me for several months thereafter.

My only intentional rebellion against the university surfaced during the Human Jeopardy tournament. Human Jeopardy is actually quite a fun activity when it is not taken too seriously. A hybrid between Jeopardy and Tic-Tac-Toe, Human Jeopardy consists of five columns of clues, one column per category. As in regular Jeopardy, the clues are ranged from top to bottom by difficulty, the bottom row being the most difficult. Here is the human twist: If a teammate gets a clue correct, they go and sit on the spot occupied by the clue. The other teams then try to strategically block each others progress towards an entire row (up-and-down, diagonal, or vertical). Just like in Tic-Tac-Toe, the first team to get a full row wins the game.

Each instructor was instructed to create their own category, give a lesson with notes about the selected category, and create the clues for their own category. The teachers would then rotate around the camp, teaching their topic to one class each evening. The students would then study the worksheets and the information given until the test day. On the night of the competition, each teacher would MC their own category. The unwritten rule was that the category had to be something purely educational and, one might say, esoteric - for example, US Presidents, Canada, Mountains of the World...you get the idea. I decided to shake it up a bit.

Keeping in mind the average age of my students, I created the category "Gross Guts." In order to give the students a little taste of American summer camp fun, I decided to do my unit on the digestive system. I gave a general description of the mechanics of the digestive system as an opener (with diagrams), then launched into a discussion of the main causes of burping and farting. To exhibit the mechanics of burping, I talked about the histories and mysteries of pizza burps. I then gave a fart demo with a generally biologically accurate blown up balloon. The real kick, however, was the competition. I pitted boys against girls, and taught the class what every grade school child in America knows - the armpit fart and the skin-suck-and-blow fart. I also taught interested students how to swallow air for the most effective burps. Oh, did I mention that this "class" was scheduled right before the children were supposed to go to bed? The camp counselors were not particularly amused, but they were, I noticed, very attentive to the lesson!

My homeroom students acquitted themselves very well in the various camp constitutions, although they did not win any prizes. The highlight of the competitions was when I gave Jack, the class troublemaker, the lead in "Doorbumble's Magic Goose," our entry in the drama competition. I figured if he was busy memorizing lines, he would stay out of trouble. I kept my class clowns busy with court jester activities. As it so happened, Jack took to his part like magic, and he did manage to avoid trouble for at least a week - so did the class clowns. At the end of camp, when we were saying our goodbyes, Jack shyly passed me a note thanking me for the best camp ever (which I still have), then burst into uncontrollable tears. He could not be consoled at all, but instead clung to me with a sort of stoic desperation that I had never, and still have never, seen in any child before.

I really felt sorry for Jack. Had I just made things worse for him? This was a clearly intelligent and charismatic kid who did not get along well with his submissive Korean classmates. Through no fault of his own, he simply did not fit in. Because he had always been in trouble, no one had apparently bothered to see what this child could actually do. Of all my students, Jack's English improved the most dramatically, especially after the drama. Having given him the opportunity to shine, I now wondered if he would ever get an opportunity to show his talents again. Maybe he would have been better off not knowing he had ability. The harsh reality is that Jack was the son of economically challenged parents from a rural school district with limited resources. If he had been born in Seoul, he might have had a chance, but out in the agricultural community, his chances were pretty slim.

With these disquieting thoughts in the back of my mind, I returned to my apartment, exhausted. I slept through the entire weekend following the camp. Monday would begin a new adventure.

The Vacation (June 2007)

Disclaimer: The following story is a work of creative non-fiction. All of the events are as true as I remember them to be, but some creative license has been allowed as pertaining to the timeline, people involved, and some conversations. Names and certain minor details have been changed or disguised to protect privacy.

Hong Kong? Tokyo. Maybe. Ah - Mongolia by horse trek. Tibet. The more exotic, the better. Get me out of here!

I cautiously sipped my coffee as I screened through the vast internet of possibilities. My stomach had been grumbly all night, and the coffee wasn't helping. This vacation was long overdue. What to do with two and a half weeks of vacation?

Urghhhh. The coffee fought back. OK, maybe the coffee was a bad idea, all things considered. I put on my sandals, and went out the door.

Byeongjeom has never offered much in the way of entertainment for non-hookers or young people, but, as I reasoned it, it was better than staying indoors. I strolled under the public bathroom (which most people might call a freeway overpass), past all of the anmas (low-class brothels), and through the veritable gauntlet of boshintang joints (boiled dog meat - for virility). I noticed that one of the anmas has its doors open in broad daylight. I peered inside. The small room is divided by cheerfully-patterned curtained alcoves, much like a hospital room might be divided "for privacy." Must be airing the place out, I thought to myself. The green-haired hostess saw me staring, so I hurried past.

I stopped at the Family Mart on the corner to buy milk. For some reason, the thought of drinking milk seemed mildly repulsive at that moment, but I needed it for my cereal in the morning. I purchased the milk, queasily trying not to think about its taste or smell. My energy and enthusiasm for shopping suddenly evaporating, I returned to my apartment. I turned on the A/C, and lay down on my bed.

Five hours later, I woke up. I had missed lunch completely, but somehow I wasn't hungry. In fact, my stomach felt very queer. I pulled a package of mandu (vegetable and pork filled dumplings) and put on a pot of water. When it was boiling nicely, I added the mandu. I ate about four pieces of boiled mandu when the queer feeling in my stomach finally evolved into full-blown nausea.

I am a person who would rather die than throw up - to me, it is a matter of dignity and self-respect. To vomit means to lose the battle; I was this way as a child, and I will be this way until I die. Send me a sinus infection, pneumonia, a head cold, or any other annoying disease you want - I can take it. But mess with my stomach, and I am knocked to the ground.

I held it in for as long as I could, but it would not be denied. Sweat poured into my eyes as I grimly held on to my dignity. Then, my abdomen began cramping. Food poisoning? I wondered, as I dashed to the bathroom. Both the cramping and heaving were uncontrollable; I did not know whether to sit or crouch over the rim of the toilet. Somehow, I managed to avoid making a mess. After it was over, I lay curled up like a fetus on the floor, my arms wrapped firmly around my stomach. I had never been so miserable in my life.

For three more days, green bile continued to spew out of my body in any and every way it could. I did not eat, but I did keep myself hydrated as much as possible. Each day I trudged down to the Family Mart to buy a 2 liter bottle of Pocari Sweat (a sports drink), and I forced myself to drink at least one bottle a day. I had learned this trick from a bout with bronchitis; neither the local doctor or his nurse had been unable to find a usable vein to give me liquids through an I.V. (a genetic inheritance from my mother), so he had prescribed two full bottles of Gatorade per day to keep me from getting too dehydrated.

On the third day of illness, I decided it was time to see my doctor. I hailed a taxi, and spent the next half hour in agony as the taxi driver hit every pothole, and there are many, on the way to Bongdam-eup.

I sat in the waiting room for about five minutes before the waves of nausea became uncontrollable. Just as the doctor came out to call my name, I held up a cautionary hand, grimaced, and dashed for the squatter bathroom down the hall just outside the clinic (which had no toilet).

If there is anything more miserable than vomiting over a Korean squatter toilet, I don't know what it is. A squatter is basically a porcelain-lined hole in the ground, and if one doesn't quite have the knack for squatting while doing his or her business, one can end up with quite a nasty dunk into everyone else's filth. Given the state of this rural squatter, it was clear that cleanliness was NOT next to Godliness in this particular building, at least as far as bathrooms were concerned.

After the waves of green slime subsided, I returned to the doctor's office.

"Oh, you look bad, " the perky nurse tcchhed sympathetically as she escorted me in.

Dr. H. was one of the few English-speaking doctors in Hwaseong-si, and he had a very mild-mannered demeanor that instantly put his patients at ease; nothing seemed to ruffle him. He seemed a little puzzled over the green bile issue, and never quite gave me a firm diagnosis except to say it was probably not food poisoning. As a precaution, he prescribed a round of antibiotics, and asked me to check in with him often until my symptoms improved.

For the next two weeks, I periodically returned to the doctor's clinic. Sometimes I just checked in, but occasionally, he gave me an IV of fluids as well. My symptoms gradually improved, but I never quite fully recovered. Whatever "it" was had gotten a hold on my system and did not want to let it go.

Three days before I was scheduled to work full-time at our university's summer camp, I began to eat limited amounts of solid food. I had ceased the vomiting and diarrhea, but my stomach seemed to retain a sense of unease.

As it turned out, this was all part of the calm before the storm.

JOURNAL: What is this Blog About?

What is this blog about? Well, I don't exactly know yet. I am a person who has always been compelled to write about the world as I see it. One of the reasons I restarted my blog is to create an intellectual outlet for my otherwise dull academic life. Don't get me wrong, I love teaching ESL and tutoring English composition, but it is, let's face it, sometimes a bit repetitive. Just an observation.I am also "underemployed" at the moment (sigh) which means that I do not get many opportunities to interact with "like minds." Due to the abysmal economy, I have not been able to even find an adjunct position at any local community college; hopefully the latest round of applications will produce fruit!

Here are some things I think I will cover:

PROJECT 1: Asian Entertainment

Over the coming weeks, I will be posting and reviewing the good, the bad, and the ugly of Asian entertaiment, especially the art forms that are most popular internationally, such as Korean dramas, Japanese anime, and Japanese manga. I will also be discussing key issues with Asian entertainment in general as it applies to American viewers. Although there are tons of fan websites devoted to the topic, critical reviews are not always posted or "appreciated" by other fans.

I am even toying with doing some academic-style criticism of tropes and value systems (so as not to lose my touch!). Here are some (tentative) ideas:

1. The "hero" cycle in BLEACH (Japanese anime) with references to Joseph Campbell
2. Wicked mothers, with special reference to BOYS BEFORE FLOWERS (K-drama)
3. Vampires and adolescence in VAMPIRE KNIGHT (Japanese manga)

Feel free to comment or suggest ideas!

PROJECT 2: The Journey to Idiopathic Gastroparesis

For the benefit of those who followed my Korea blog, I will take my readers through the final three months of my stay in Korea - the end of my journey, as well as the beginning of a horrific, but strangely compelling disease. There IS humor in my new journey -without my sense of humor, I would probably be dead now - but there is also a cautionary tale for anyone planning to work in Korea.


PROJECT 3: Teaching Journal

I work in the San Francisco Bay area with a special demographic of middle and high school students labeled as "Generation 1.5" students. These are students whose language abilities are too high for ESL, but not quite adequate for academic English. When appropriate, I will be journaling my experiences in tutoring and teaching this group.

JOURNAL: A New Journey

It has been three years since I last blogged. Due mainly to the "interesting" accommodations (and village) I endured during a year working at a slightly unethical Korean university, I developed critical health issues that could have ended my life journey completely. Instead, it is my world journey that has indefinitely been put on hold, but that in and of itself has become a new journey.

One of the common personal narrative prompts I assign to the students whom I tutor is "Describe a turning point in your life." My students are young (middle to high school aged), and many of them have yet to seriously consider this issue of their life journey. Most students cite their experiences transitioning from Korean school culture to American school culture - a big change in any child's life, to be sure.

As adults, however, it becomes more challenging to mark the points where our journey changes course. One journey ends, and another begins, right? Or do we walk on the edges of parallel journeys? As adults, we tend to categorize our experience into boxes: LOVE LIFE, FAMILY, CAREER, FRIENDS, BELIEFS, ETHICS, etc. These boxes, however do not actually exist. A journey instead comprises of several "trips" that intersect and weave together into long stretches of time and space. They cannot be separated into convenient categories of experience.


My journey of late has been more desert than oasis, but I have learned something - endurance. You never knows how strong you are until you have had everything important in your life taken away. Lovers, careers, friends...POOF! All gone in a blink. What is left to live for? On the surface - nothing. Dig deeper, though, and you will find that if you just KEEP MOVING, you will learn to endure. In the desert, it is best to run over the hot sand so that you do not get burned. If you run far enough, you will make it to the next oasis, but you need to keep running, even if you are "running on empty."

My current journey began during the summer of 2007.