I went to the hospital this morning, for one of my check-ups. I saw a new doctor - Dr Min, an oral cancer and post-op oral specialist (sort of a "cancer dentist"). His English is quite good - which sometimes is not such a good thing. You see, doctors have a tendency to digress on "worst-case scenarios." This is not information I really can use, and it creates a lot of anxiety for me.
The news is not entirely bad. I guess there has been some slow closure of the exposed bone at the back of my lower jaw, but he's quite concerned over just how slow. Mostly, it didn't feel positive. "It could open up again," he mused. Hygiene will remain an ongoing problem. There are some other "lesions" too. No reason for biopsy at this point, given the periodic CT scans, but something we should keep an eye on.
Dr Min has given me a prescription of a medication which "might" help accelerate the recovery of healthy flesh in the affected area. This use of the drug, called pentoxifylline (under brand name 페렌탈 in Korea), seems to be "off-label," but the doctor suggested that in my unsual case it could help, since the consequences of the necrosis in my mouth are similar to the "peripheral artery" problems for which the medication is normally indicated - specifically, the scary-sounding gangrene.
With respect to neuropathic pain (i.e. "ghost pain" related to severed nerves in my mouth and tongue), he was less helpful. He said in most cases, unless it is incapacitating, the best approach is to simply "endure" it. Most non-opioid painkillers aren't useful (which I already knew), and opioids, of course, have other issues.
I certainly am not feeling particularly positive. Lately, I have felt like the quality of my teaching is declining, I feel uncreative in my my creative pursuits (writing or art), and of course I continue to reliably make zero net progress on my Korean ability.
Last night, coming back on the subway from my effort to be social and active in Seoul yesterday, I just felt tired and frustrated. I had a weird epiphanic insight, as I sat watching the people around me. One reason I used to enjoy traveling is that I have always enjoyed "people-watching." One reason that I don't seem to enjoy traveling any more is that I find people-watching to be a much less positive experience. Instead, it has become a kind of burden. It's not that I've lost my interest in and curiosity about those around me. Rather, it seems that the problem is that this curiosity and interest is now tempered by a kind of simmering background jealousy. That is not a becoming emotion, I realize. Perhaps it is not wise for me to confess it, here. But it's a real thing, definitely - I have this sort of anger or frustration at the fact that most other people seem to lead these relatively (relatively) carefree existences, without looming health issues or limited horizons of the possible. I feel that I am at risk of becoming a bitter old man. That is not a desirable outcome.
It's easy for me to find optimism about humanity, but harder to find it about myself.
[daily log: walking, 10.5km]
I am saddened to read your feelings about people watching. It can be an overload or just not rewarding. Do you sometimes feel that you are in some invisible bubble estranged from your surroundings? I do, but it is because of my hearing loss. After a while in a crowd, I just shut down and want to get out. Aural overload.
Posted by: Elizabeth Wieland | 2016.03.28 at 16:51