Life can be tough

You know life is tough when at the end of the day the biggest thing you have to complain about is your straw having a crack in it and you having to work a little harder to not become dehydrated. 

How do you know?

Lucky for me, this last Monday morning I met with my third doctor for my third appointment and x-ray on my finger. Oh how I love consistency. This guy was no HOD, but I had to give him a chance.

He starts off the conversation by asking me, “What’s wrong with you?” I should have straight away asked for a second opinion.

“I broke my finger four weeks ago.”

“So you want x-rays?”

I am not sure doctor. What would you recommend when a patient is told to come back for a check-up in four weeks time? I was sent for round three of x-rays.

I came back and he started beating around the bush about whether it is healed or not. I explained to him that last week I had some extreme pain, and I wasn’t confident it was healed because of all the pain with it still in the splint. Then I told him that I was diabetic, which could complicate the healing process.

“Are you sure?”

“That I have diabetes?”

“Yes…”

“Yeah. I have had it for 17 years.”

“How do you know?”

I almost fell off my stool. I don’t know. Maybe I knew after drinking any type of fluids I could get my hands on and sleeping non-stop when I was a child. Or maybe it was when I almost died because it took so long to diagnose me. No, I think I really figured it out when I would get sick if I didn’t inject myself with insulin before/after eating. Yeah that must have been it.

Finally he gave me his opinion. It is not healed. He showed me the x-ray. Ok. Now what? Three more weeks of this splint?

He then proceeds to take off my tape and splint. I wish he would have let me do it.

He was not impressed with the angle the splint and talked as if I had shaped it. Then he pulls and moves my finger. Did you not just tell me it wasn’t healed? Of course it hurts. He surprised that I can barely bend my ring finger. Well sir, I haven’t moved it in 4 weeks. It has been taped to my pinky.

In the end he and the nurse decided together they would have a go at taping my finger. He wrapped this massive piece of gauze around my pinky, but it wasn’t tight. Then he put a piece of tape loosely around it, and then tapes the splint only to my pinky finger. I asked if I could put the tape on since I have ample experience doing it. He said no, and then asked me with a surprised face, “You have tape at home?” No, sir, I went 4 weeks doing all sorts of things without retaping my hand. Yummy…

Here are some pictures of what it looked like. It was a mess and offered no support. This guy was a reminder of why I hate doctors and try to avoid them at all costs. I arrived home frustrated and in a lot of pain. I had a nap before going to work, and the pain got a little better. Let’s just say it was not my finest teaching day.

Teri, what is that large white thing on your hand?

What a nincompoop. Not a chance this is going to do anything.

Fig 1 & 2: How a profession should tape a hand

 

So this got me a thinking. It is just a lil ole pinky. Why don’t we just cut it off? It serves very little purpose. I would save myself from arthritis when I am older, and I may even be able to get a discount on custom made mittens for using less material.

Here’s to three more weeks.

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XOXO

They Call Me Pinky

Most of you or maybe some of you know the story about my finger. I broke it about a month ago. I was in Maolin on a weekend getaway with some friends! It was an amazing trip minus the fact I broke my finger playing football in the rain.

I caught the ball wrong. I thought it was just dislocated, but I wasn’t so lucky. This was Saturday night in the pouring rain in a village with no hospital. No one had tape and it was far too swollen and painful to even try taping my fingers together or have it popped back into place. Ice and Advil had to do for the night.

Maybe I should get this checked out.

The next day was a slow day for pretty much everyone on the trip due to the festivities the night before. We had a wonderful relaxing day before heading back to Kaohsiung. The pain was ok until I started driving my scooter. We were driving through places where the roads were still washed out from the Typhoon three years ago. Every minor bump equalled a jolt of pain through my hand and finger. It was a long drive home. I made it back with Laura, went home to drop off my stuff, and headed to the E.R.

Talk about service! I was immediately taken to the trauma section of the E.R. They taped my name to my chair and I plunked down. It was a pretty busy night. People on beds dying in the hallway. Everyone was staring at me. Oh joy! But what was I staring at?

I was staring at the man in front of me in the wide open with a trache tube. His family and a doctor were surrounding him. He looked in rough shape, possibly dead? Why didn’t they close the curtains for some privacy?

A young chap comes over to take me for x-rays.

“Please spread your fingers.” How about I just deliver a massive Karate chop to your neck. It would not involve me spreading my fingers and would hurt a lot less.

I returned to the E.R. to find Will setting up shop beside me! Hilarious!!! A bunch of messy foreigners in the E.R. after a fantastic weekend. All we needed was Laura with her mangled toe. Will kissed the pavement a few times after crashing his scooter the same night I broke my finger.

Will just loves having his wounds scrubbed out!

My doc came to tell me that it was indeed broke, and I needed to wait for the Ortho doc to figure out what we were going to do. I had a moment of panic. I was convinced my finger was still dislocated. There was no way that it would bend to the side like that if it was only a fracture.

Will and I had quite an enjoyable time playing over all the worst case scenarios. But I was in a lot of pain! All around us there were princesses holding their hands, leg, pony tails, and anything else that could be injured as if they had been hit by a bus. No swelling or bruising. Where on earth is my ice? Then to top it off a nurse comes over to Will and gives him ice for his road rash. Haha ok!?! Finally Will’s people hooked me up.

Apparently it is fun to knock knees with pavement.

I look over, and the man with the trache tube is sitting there talking to his family off ventilation! Ah what? I explain to Will that I thought the man was on the brink of death. So random…

Then this beautiful man walked up to me. Hiyah there. He was my hot Ortho doctor (HOD). Fantastic! He took me to see my x-rays. It was almost fracture the whole way through. That explains the bend to the side. HOD and the other doctors were laughing at my story about how I fractured it. There could have been way better stories that could have resulted in a fractured pinky. Maybe they were laughing because they thought I was some crazy, foreign girl.

Crick, and it was broke, and dat was dat.

He told me they had to put a piece of metal to hold my finger in place. Excuse me??? He must have seen the look of shock on my face because he asked if that was ok. I asked him if the metal would be on the inside or outside of my finger. When he said metal he meant splint made out of metal. Phew!

All splinted up!

Finally HOD splinted my finger up, wrote me a prescription, and sent me on my way with a follow up appointment in three days. My finger hurt prior to the E.R. visit, but I was not prepared for the pain when they forced my pinky together with my other finger. Damn!!!

I would like to introduce you to the Permaclaw!

The next couple days were spent doing a tiny little tasks then having to take a break or nap depending on where I was. I was exhausted and sore! They had only given me T2s for the pain management. Fail! I was pretty excited about the bruising though! I never bruise and here I had a rainbow on my hand!

My camera sucks at catching bruises. This is post scrubbing of the nasty hand.

I arrived at my follow-up over an hour early. Whoops. A nice man helped me and offered to translate the patient information sheet for me while he was waiting for his mother to be seen.

“Are you single or married?”

“I am single”

“Do you live by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Who takes care of you?”

“I take care of myself”

“Oh?”

This was on the actual questionnaire. He checked off boxes after each of my answers.

I looked into the office. There was the cranky nurse and some other doctor. I began wearing my sad face. Where was HOD? Then he came strolling through the waiting room. I went in to see him, and he went through all my medical history.

“You are diabetic too?”

Yes, I know! I am a mess. J

He explained because my finger was crooked, they might have to put a pin in it if the splint didn’t hold it straight. What about the Philippines? I crossed all my available fingers as I went for round 2 of x-rays. I returned to his office, but the other doctor was there. Bah humbug. The new doctor told me the new splint was holding my finger in place! Yay, no surgery.

Now to book an appointment in 4 weeks. He only had appointments for the afternoons. I explained that I worked in the afternoon and mornings would be the only time that would work for me. He gave me bad news. I would have to see the “other doctor.” Oh shucks. Another appointment with HOD. I lied and said it would be alright.

Tomorrow is the big day when I find out if it is healed yet. I would like to say that I will walk out of the hospital with bendy, nimble fingers, but I really don’t think it is healed yet. We shall see though. Being back at work this past week has been extremely painful because I keep using my hand without realizing it. Everyone keeps telling me to put my kids to work. I think I might this week… Suckers!

Luckily I have great friends who help me blend in with a crowd.

I survived...

My adventures to the Philippines was beyond amazing. I did the first week myself. Hiked through parts of the North before I headed South. The following is a video I took after my insane hike to Batad. You can tell it was a long, long day because I couldn't even form proper sentences. For instance, it is "Banueeeeeee Junction" not "Banow crossroads!" Whoops. 

I am extremely proud of myself. I am not sure how I did it, but I survived even with a freshly broken finger. 

I asked my guide at the end of it all if he thought I would actually be able to do it, and he responded with a laugh and a "no." 

BUT I DID!!! And it is something I will never forget!

Lucky Number 62?!?

When I am asked what my lucky number is I find it easy to spout out the number 7. It always shows up in my life in good places. 62 has never held any sort of significance in my life in the past. Not even a little. The number 62 has now consumed my life completely. 124 feet and hands, 620 fingers, hopefully 620 toes (I haven’t counted those yet so it could be plus or minus a few),  62 smiles (sometimes), and 62 completely different personalities. To them I am Teacher Teri and to me they are my new life.

I have been known to be a high-energy person, but sometimes it is difficult to keep up on the best of days with these hooligans!

TEACHER TERI…
This celebrity status is starting to wear a little on me. Those two little words firing out of a tiny mouth followed by 2 steadfast eyes staring straight at me are starting to make me shudder. Teacher Teri, Teacher Teri, Teacher, Teacher. I feel like it never stops. I try to hide away in the basement where our office is, but somehow their voices are still able to penetrate through the walls.

I started my job with six classes.

I have 14 bright-eyed and bushy-tailed munchkins in my B class. They range from 5-7 years old, and they all have very different personalities. Some kids will put up their hands to answer every question even when they don’t have a clue what I am asking. These kids are super polite, and I love them to bits… most days! These kids pack a lot of energy, and most of them don't receive any attention at home unless it is negative, so sometimes they act out in class just because they want attention and a little love.  I think I have mastered some techniques with positive reinforcement to keep them on track.

They constantly seek approval in everything they do.  And I can’t help but smile when a student gets super excited about something that has happened, but doesn’t know how to tell me in English.

My C4 class is full of characters. They love, love, love to add  -ah to the end of every word.
“Teacher, I forgot my Bookah!”

I think they started this for fun prior to my arrival, and now they don’t even notice they are doing it. They are getting better because they really, really want their checks. One good thing about a class of boys is they are very competitive. Sometimes I have to stop and take a moment to catch my breath with them-ah. They are pretty freaking funny, even when they show a little attitude.

To my C5 class all I am is some crazy fool who tries to teach them the story of Ali Baba and how cool the magic phrase, “open sesame” really is. Why don’t they teach this story to B classes that still have a little sense of ha-ha? Seriously saying that something is cool is not enough with these kids. Tough crowd. So I tried to persuade them by saying my dad says, “open sesame” every time he approaches an automatic door. Still not enough. Where do I go from here? Damn!

One last shot before I am thrown to the wolves. “My dad is a cowboy and uses chopsticks to eat everything.” Eureka! That is it! If only I had known this tiny piece of information was vital for my survival in this class.

Oh the KETs. I have never seen a group of students that like to touch each other as much as these kids. They are always poking and prodding. My favourite moment was when one of our stories was the lyrics to a Katie Perry song… Oh yeah. These kids are crazy!

My PET class is junior high-ish students. They are jokesters. I often come in to class to find random post-its in high places they know I can’t reach.  It took a while for us to get to know each other, but I can’t blame them.  They work so hard. It’s these students I don’t mind hanging out with after class to help them with assignments. One of the students likes to put his shirt over his head. He is the Asian version of Cornholio. Of course I showed them a video!

My FCE class is made of students who just want to learn English. They have past all their exams. They read English books at home. This is my fun class. Their English is so developed that we can joke around about pretty much anything.  I have taught them colloquial terms, about gingers, and many other random things. I always come back to class after break to find them streaming hilarious British skits. We created an initiation for this class. All the new students have to try pickles.  Pretty much the funniest group of kids.

Even though there are a lot of ups and downs, I truly love my kids. I have built an incredible bond with them already. After one terrible day, I had one student’s parent talk to my director about me. She said that her son was so excited to come to school because he really liked how hard I tried and how fun of a teacher I was. In my place of employment, we are often hit with only the negative feedback. It is the moments when you hear the positive, that makes it worth it and it even gives you a little warm, fuzzy feeling inside. 

I will next time.

My main man, Charlie, fixing my hiking backpack for me :)

I had spent about two months randomly going places and seeing new things. One day I was driving, and I noticed a huge building with tonnes of junk outside. Yay! Looked like hidden gems everywhere. I whipped a quick u-turn on Eugene and pulled up.

An older man started walking towards me. Oh wonderful! Another creepy man who I won't be able to talk to because I don't speak Chinese. 

Quite the opposite! This was the day I met Charlie. 

Charlie is an older Taiwanese gentleman. His leathery skin flashes years of relentless torment from a fierce sun. Light eyes that could tell a thousand tales glazed with a glimmer of hope. A smile bearing a childish nature and restlessness.

My gateway to lucidity and a profound history the young seem to know nothing about.

The stories from Charlie are endless. Whether he is showing me his latest inventions or talking about his time in the military, he never fails to grab my attention.

I go and hang out with Charlie every couple weeks. The last time I went to see him was right before I left for the Philippines, and I needed the braces shortened on my hiking backpack.

Of course he helped me! Charlie is Taiwanese after all.

He was using a grinder.

“Charlie! Where are your safety glasses?”

He didn’t know where they were. That’s ok, though, because only hard metals hurt your eyes. Rocks and whatever my backpack was made out of would only cause minimal damage if he was struck in the eye with a flying piece.

Naturally I lectured him on the importance of eye safety. The conversation moved to my broken finger. I argued I could live a normal life without my pinky, but eyes, that was a different story. He just laughed. I don’t think I was getting my point across.

When I finished, Charlie simply responded to my persistent nattering with, “I will next time.”

Oh Charlie…