The Longbow Papers

While I undoubtedly have an emotional personality with intensity as its stamp, throughout my life I have mostly demonstrated a physical stoicism during crises--work or activity coming first, doctors and hospitals be damned. That is no longer true.

Last Thursday (September 8), after three days of progressing chest pain and a strange numbness and throbbing pain radiating down my left arm, I mentioned the symptoms to Ellen while on our balcony during a brief respite from the Katrina horrors on television and the frustration of repeatedly failing to reach loved ones back home on the telephone.

Within an hour I was in the emergency room of one of the best hospitals in China surrounded by medical folks administering every test and using every high-tech diagnostic device imaginable to ensure that a foreigner did not die of a heart attack on their watch. This took many hours of fitful dozing and being rolled from one medical-gadget room to another.

They found an elevated count of one type of white blood cell that told them I had an infection of some kind somewhere, and the presence of pneumonia in both lungs. Neither fact however accounted for my symptoms. Consequently, late that afternoon, I was sitting in the lobby of the ER about to go home with a fuzzy diagnosis, zero prognosis and a bunch of antibiotics when a tall, distinguished, middle-aged Chinese doctor came and sat next to me with stethoscope in hand.

He did a lot of listening to all parts of my upper torso; at one point he pulled up my shirt. Upon seeing two small areas of a "rash," one just below the left breast and one on my back just below my left shoulder blade, in pretty good English, he immediately ordered me back into an ER bed. Once there, he assembled all of the ER staff of doctors, nurses and technicians and started teaching--one of the functions of the Beijing Hospital of the Ministry of Public Health.

He pointed out a small red "ridge" that clearly connected the two areas of "rash" and prompted questions. There was much clucking recognition and approval from all. It was then that the young ER doctor who had been with me for most of the day proudly explained that the tall doctor was the "Chief of Staff." I was honored; albeit still confused. And was even more so when all of these folks up and left.

Then a woman doctor appeared with an upbeat manner and excellent English. She was a dermatologist. She looked at the "rash" that was blistering quickly before our eyes, and said: "You have Herpes Zoster."

I yelped: "Herpes? I haven't had sex with anyone but my wife!"

"No. No," the doctor said. "This is a different disease." Ellen had returned from paying the bill at this point and asked, "Shingles?"

"Yes, Yes," the Chinese dermatologist answered. Then she asked what was going on in my life of late, had I been under any great stress, or perhaps too much work for too long?

When Ellen told her about Katrina and my family's experience with the hurricane, the doctor was even surer of her diagnosis. And all too soon, I learned exactly what was wrong with me and just how bad of a time I was in for: major league pain for an indefinite period--from a few weeks to a few months.

I had heard of "Shingles," but knew absolutely nothing about it. I know a great deal more now. If one ever gets chicken-pox, the virus that causes it will lie dormant in one's nerve cells until it is triggered into horrific action by extreme stress, physical exhaustion, or any of a number of immune deficiency conditions, AIDS being the worst.

The disease is incurable; it will run its course in its own time and fashion. The symptoms can be treated, and somewhat mitigated. It is estimated that two out of every ten adults will get the disease, most commonly after the age of 50.

I am taking a lot of medicine and I am under orders to rest as much as possible. The university and my department are being wonderful about the problem, and have cancelled my classes for the immediate future.

It flat-out hurts like hell--excruciating is the word, but it is a cliche. It is also very ugly, with a large band of red and blistering skin from mid-chest to mid-back. Wearing a shirt is like a visit to the nearest torture chamber.

While almost everyone that witnessed Katrina firsthand was traumatized far greater than I was, that damnable storm was still mean enough to enact a "gotcha anyway" from a distance of some 10,000 miles.

I suspect there are any numbers of folks who might say I had it coming. I might even be one of them. After all, I am not there while the people I love most in this world are going through a living nightmare.

I am still waiting for pictures of our family home; however, the photos below pretty much tell the story. They are all from the Sun-Herald, my hometown newspaper until I was almost 25 years old.

This is what's left of the bridge between Biloxi and Ocean Springs. If you look at the right end of the far Ocean Springs treeline, our house was only a long hickory nut's throw away

This is the Ocean Springs end of the bridge. The pilings on the right are all that's left of the Ocean Springs Yacht Club; this is also the beginning of historic Ocean Springs Front Beach Drive. Our house was a little under two miles up the beach from here.

This is all that's left of a small condo complex just a few thousand yards from the old Bosco beach house. We have very dear friends who lived there. (They are safe and sound.)

 

8:19 PM / Editor / permalink    3 comments

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3 Comments:

Good health to you!

Ah... so that's where your family home was. I'd only gotten to the other end of that bridge before turning around to go to Biloxi.

Have you checked the link to the Satellite Photos at the Sun Herald? I've only poked around the ones for East Biloxi and those were mighty disturbing.

By  Tom - Daai Tou Laam, at 11:43 AM  

Tom,

Thanks for dropping in and taking the time to leave a comment. Yes, I have used the Sun Herald link to the Satelite Photos--it ain't pretty!

The destruction in East Biloxi (known to locals as Point Cadet) is exceedingly disturbing. On almost every block, I knew someone who had lived there.

After Camille in 1969, it took almost 25 years for the Mississippi Gulf Coast to fully recover. With the attention being paid to Katrina's aftermath, let's hope it will not take as long this time.

All the best,

Joseph

By  Joseph, at 3:01 PM  

I have just returned from Ocean Springs. I was with the Red Cross mobile feeding unit for 3 weeks. I still have Red Cross friends in the area if there is anything you need from that area, please let me know and I will do my best to hook you up with the information.

I have many rolls of film taken mostly from that area. The people I met and the stories I have heard are phenominal. Ocean Springs is a beautiful place because of the people that live there. I have made lifelong friends.

Hugs to you all!
Sue
emt_sue@yahoo.com

By  emtsue, at 11:17 PM  

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