Random: a pervert speaks

I have to pay respect to those with asthma and those with chronic pneumonia. Up to then I had a vague idea what it might be like for them, but after contracting pneumonia, a present from the damn flu, I pretty much have a clear idea now. To be honest I don’t know how to articulate how it has been. I think, probably, it’s because I’m still in shock. Heh.

It had never occurred to me it’d affect those outside three major groups (the elderly, the children and the heavy smokers). I nursed so many misconceptions, too. When the GP suggested I should check into hospital for a test as he didn’t think I had bronchitis, which W and I thought I had, because he suspected I might have pneumonia, I laughed. I wasn’t in the right age group, I rarely smoke (read: I smoke when drunk) and blah blah. So I refused to go. I don’t like hospitals and, admittedly, I thought the GP was overreacting. Will basically bullied me to go, mostly because he was sick of hearing “whistling, rasping and other fucking weird noises”. We made a compromise: if a test (x-ray, it turned out) shows no sign of pneumonia I come home and if it doesn’t, I stay. So I went.

Roughly a day later I was glad we went because by then, it was incredibly hard to breathe. There was this relentless need to cough, but it seemed utterly impossible to cough “properly”. Like having a splinter you can’t remove, however hard you may try. Like I say I can’t quite describe it. It’s boring, anyway. A nice doctor – Hi ho Dr. Singh, you adorable thing! – decided to put me on IV fluids and antibodies. This helped.

I spent most time in Slumberland. The other times? Will came in often, mostly to piss me off by using this opportunity to share his opinions and knowledge on the world’s most boring subject: science. I couldn’t tell him to shut up or change subject so I had to listen to all this. I did, however, learn his view why time travel is plausible in theory but implausible in reality. He even demonstrated this theory with a paper sheet and a pen.

I still think it’s cheap and dirty of him to take advantage of my inability to run away. At least his other favourite subject is a little more interesting: archaeology, particularly Giza. I learnt from him the original states of the Great Egyptian Pyramid and the Sphinx. I found it quite interesting, actually. I do realise why he focused on talking about those subjects – he knew me well enough to know I’d overthink and get depressed, but I always listen. Hence his long talks.

As a reward for tolerating his abuse of this opportunity, he read from the ebook reader: Angela Choi’s Hello Kitty Must Die. I laughed a bit, which wasn’t good because it caused a crack or two in my dried lips. He had to stop reading when it got a bit dodgy because of other patients in the ward. So he read out Thomas Mullen’s The Many Deaths of the Firefly Brothers, which was somewhat interesting.

Will got bored half-way and switched to another book from his own ebook reader: Edmund de Waal’s memoir The Hare With Amber Eyes. It was actually good. I hadn’t heard of de Waal, but according to Will, he’s a well-known British potter. I got suspicious. He isn’t the type to be into pottery. He admitted JR (best friend from their junior high school days) recommended it, which got me really suspicious. JR is definitely not the type to be into any form of the arts including reading. His idea of a “book” is a porn mag. In fact – pornography is, in his view, the finest form of art.

Will pointed out that JR works for a publisher. Yeah, but there are plenty of producers and film critics who don’t even watch films. Besides, he works in production not editorial. A huge difference. Aside my attempt to do a character assassination this discussion, Will said JR read it after his latest fling recommended it. Oh, that’s more likely, but I’d believe it a lot more if JR recommended it without reading a single page of it. That’s so JR. Throughout all this, Will eye-rolled and sighed like a martyr.

[By the way, after Will asked what would I like him to read:
ME: Romance?
WILL: I prefer to cut my balls off with [mite]‘s plastic dinner knife. Choose something else.
ME: Your pride matters more than my mental health?
WILL: Yup.
ME: I’d read you a science book if you were in my position. Same with fantasy novels. Lords of the Ring, even!
WILL:  Don’t lie. You’d rather eat a bowl of baked beans.
ME: …
WILL: …
ME: True.]

I have to say: the most interesting thing about pneumonia is that it can generate hallucinations.

First time it happened when I was drifting between sleep and wakefulness while trying not to listen to those horrible sounds my breathing was making, I noticed a white dog in a corner. A bull terrier. I thought, “They allow dogs in?” It just sat there on its haunches, not really looking at anything. So I put my hand out and said, “Hello there, cutie. Come here if you want a pat.” A nurse came up and asked if I was all right. I pointed at the corner and said a visitor’s dog was there. She looked and said there isn’t a dog. I looked at the corner. The dog was no longer there. I was so disconcerted that I wondered if I was still asleep.

Next time, a few hours later I think, I was half asleep when I “heard” water swooshing above me. I looked up and there were a few fishes swimming across the ceiling. Carps, I think. Koi, sorry. I immediately recognised them as the ones from Coppola’s Rumble Fish. That was when I realised the dog earlier must be from a film as well. Oliver!, probably.

I asked Dr. Singh about these experiences. He explained it’s a somewhat common side effect of having pneumonia, drugs and probably sleep deprivation. Who knew? Once I learnt this, I didn’t find them so nerve-wrecking any more. I find it interesting because I had never heard anything like this in relation to pneumonia. I’ll have to investigate this later.

There is another thing I didn’t anticipate: the psychological factor.

Not being able to breathe is basically a wrecking ball against a person’s common sense. It really does put a fear in you that you might not wake again if you sleep. You try so hard to regulate your breathing as well as you could possibly make it during waking moments that you begin to develop an idea you’ll die without realising if you can’t regulate your breathing in your sleep. The very fact that you regulate your breathing makes you tired anyway so you need to sleep. It becomes an odd fighting circle of survival instincts and these little irrational fears with sleep-related exhaustion never far behind. So it was basically an act of psychological warfare. I didn’t expect this at all.

Wow. Will’s just came in to say that my three-hour slot is up. It took me three hours to write this post? Why are you so slow, fingers?

He wouldn’t let me return to work for another two weeks. My access to the internet is restricted to two/three lousy hours per day, too. Then again it’d give me a chance to put a sizeable dent to the towering TBR pile. I have to figure out how to download some blog posts so I could read them offline, though. There are some programs that can download the entire sites or blogs, which isn’t what I want. I wonder if I could configure one to download just one post? Hm.

I’m really glad to be home.

I do feel depressed after learning it’d take up to eight weeks to recover. Not having the energy is getting dull. I don’t even have any to whine, which doesn’t please the Moanin’ Minnie in me.  An hour with the mites earlier was exhausting, which I find upsetting. Yes, I know. Time. Everyone says that but right now, I’m ready to punch time in its face.

And I’m really tired of sounding like a dirty old man. Heavy breathing and all that. Anna suggested I should join her going to a corner shop as part of return-to-the-world exercises. I refused because I worry some will think I’m lusting after their bodies because of the way I breathe. Anna thought I was an idiot. I don’t care. As far as I can hear, I sound like a pervert so I’m waiting until I sound a bit more like, I don’t know, Grace Kelly. Hell at this point, I wouldn’t even mind Margaret Thatcher.