I had just pulled onto the main road in what would turn out to be a vain attempt to keep pace with the ambulance carrying Satomi, her mother and father to the hospital about forty-five minutes away when I flipped on the radio and heard (from the band Chic, 1979):

Good times, these are the good times
Leave your cares behind, these are the good times
Good times, these are the good times
Our new state of mind, these are the good times

“How true,” I thought to myself.  I’m in a new country, having new experiences (like trying to follow an ambulance in traffic) and I surely have a new state of mind and plenty of good times. Well, maybe I’m not always having good times but at least the times I expected when we decided to move to Japan.  We did come here partly because we feared that one of her parents was going to get sick or injured from working too hard.  Someone was injured but it definitely wasn’t work related. It was still a bummer and I am glad we were here to lend a hand. Truthfully, the situation was by no means overly bad and if what I had just watched had been on a prime time sit-com, I would have laughed…a lot.  The good part was that despite the fact that three family members were in an ambulance, only one person was injured and not too badly on the scale of how bad things can get.

We had arrived at Satomi’s parents’ house about 9:30am to deliver some unbelievably delicious mandarin orange bread pudding that Satomi had made. I am not really a dessert person but if you watch me work my way through a plate of that bread pudding you would think differently.  In addition to delivering freshly baked happiness, we also wanted to talk her dad into going to see the doctor.  He had fallen heading to the bathroom, in the dark of night, a day earlier and had some pain in his side that he claimed wasn’t too bad.  We had seen him briefly the night before.  He didn’t look perky but he had convinced us that he was fine to wait a few days and see how things felt then.  We were happy to heed his wishes since we were headed to a rare night out with another couple.  Still, after we left him I had the feeling that he has in worse shape than he was letting on and resolved to talk him into a trip to the doctor the next day.

So, bearing gifts we entered the house to find her father curled into an very uncomfortable looking position on the floor where he had slept the night before.  He looked bad.  His lips were a little purple too but things didn’t seem life threatening. We said, “let’s go to the doctor today,” and without much hesitation he grunted his agreement and I could sense his relief.  One hurdle was that it was Sunday and his normal doctor doesn’t work on Sunday.  Satomi called around and found another doctor who could see him and we started to prepare for the journey.  Her father wiggled his way out of his pajamas and, with excruciating difficulty, into a regular shirt.  He managed the shirt and getting his pants on (but not zipped and belted) without getting off the floor.  It was an impressive feat.  Things were going very well, I thought. Then he stood up to put the finishing touches on hitching up his pants.  Bracing with his left hand on the low Japanese table, he pushed up to a position that resembled standing (about two-thirds of the way along the “evolution of man” diagram that supposedly shows our ancestors transition to upright and presumably upstanding human beings).  He worked his way to a supported standing position with one hand on each knee and that’s when things became a little bit like an episode of All in the Family.  He weebled, woobled and made some less than reassuring sounds but he kept upright and for a few minutes it was a little like Archie, Edith, and Meathead has been masterfully directed into performing a scene of well scripted chaos.  I can’t do the scene justice so I won’t really even try but I’ll give a quick run down. In his three-quarters standing position, the pain in Satomi’s father’s (hereafter referred to as Otosan, or father in Japanese) side became too much to bear.  Later, we learned that he had three broken ribs so, in retrospect, it doesn’t so strange that he began to panic and started having what resembled, and probably was an asthma attack.  How is is an asthma attack like a sit com you might be asking?  It really isn’t but from my perspective, mostly outside of the action and unable to understand the details of their dialect-ridden conversation and left to fill in the blanks with my imagination, it was much better than reality. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a hidden camera.  With Otosan barely standing and struggling heartily to breathe  it became clear that he would not be walking himself to the car in order to get to the hospital.  With the pain in his ribs, there was also no chance that we were going to carry him.  Without hesitation, Satomi said, “let’s call an ambulance,” and I chimed in in agreement. Otosan plopped down on the couch and, seemingly out of thin air, conjured up a bottle of compressed air with a red funnel-shaped front and began puffing away.  Then things got sit-comy.  In Japan you call 119 for an ambulance.  Easy right?  We didn’t make it easy.  Satomi asked me if we should just call 119.  I should have said “yes”. Instead, I said, “things don’t seem life threatening and I don’t know the protocol for calling 119 in Japan…”. Satomi has been away from Japan for quit a few years so we looked to Okasan (mother, in Japanese).  Okasan didn’t know either but she said she would call a neighbor who knew and ask.  So she called.  Otosan puffed away on the oxygen can that reminded me in shape and color of a can of Raid insect killer.  Somehow, I wasn’t reassured that he was doing the right thing but I didn’t know what else to do so I kept my mouth shut.  It’s a technique that has served me well in Japan and that I need to use more outside of the country as well.  Okasan got through to the neighbor and quickly ascertained the proper course of action.  But, she didn’t let us know what that course of action was because she was fully engrossed in a very leisurely conversation with the neighbor.  Even if she had told us we couldn’t have called until she got off the phone so in that respect it didn’t matter.  Otosan and his purple lips were getting the breathing problem under control.  That was good.  Satomi was becoming exasperated by the length of the phone call and began to seethe with impatience. That wasn’t good.  Satomi is not a woman who likes to wait.  Okasan was still casually talking.  I was watching with an increasing detachment from reality as the absurdity of what the scene might look like from a distance began to dawn on me; In short, a grown man sucking down raid bug killer with one hand and at the same time he tries to fasten his pants with the other while his wife chats casually on the phone, oblivious to the action around her and the daughter boisterously futilely tries to wrangle the situation to a satisfying conclusion.

Eventually, Okasan did get off of the phone and 119 was called.  With the ambulance en  route, Otosan really wanted to get his pants belted properly so that he was presentable.  He tried to stand up again.  Not a good idea.  He was unsteady from the get go and Satomi barked at him to sit back down.  He plopped back down on to the couch with a shot of pain flashing across his face.  While it was the smart thing to do, I really wanted Otosan to get the pants situation squared away but it just didn’t happen. I am a big fan of having your dignity squared away before face the first big trial of the day.

I couldn’t help much.  I view myself somewhat like the family dog but slightly better.  I can drive and I have opposable thumbs.  I did my part to make a clear path for the paramedics.  I moved the kerosene stove to another room, opened the shoji doors between the entranceway and the house, moved our car out of the way, and basically tried not to be a bad dog.

Within a few minutes we could hear the sirens approaching ever so slowly.  I imagine that there are times when Japanese ambulances move with great haste but I have yet to see what might precipitate that haste.  A minute or so later the ambulance reached the end of the driveway.  I couldn’t help but notice that “HIMEDIC” was emblazoned in all capital letters across the top of the ambulance.  A sense of absurdity hit me and I imagined a long haired Japanese snowboarder-type, who pays the bills by working as a medic, taking one last toke off of a joint before saving the day.  Oh, how I wanted to see that! Alas, no suck luck. In short order, a paramedic with a slight build and impeccable grooming emerged with his back pack of medical gear. He moved as casually and unhurriedly as the ambulance itself had.  His grace and composure was very calming.  The fact that he looked about 16 years old was less so.  He went in the house and debriefed Otosan about the events that led to his predicament.  Eventually, two other paramedics showed up with various modes of transport that could get Otosan from the house to the ambulance.  In addition to what they ended us using there was a stretcher and a rigid orange plastic board used for neck and back injuries.  They were clearly over prepared and I appreciate that.  In the end it took all three paramedics, using a vinyl sling chair to wrangle Otosan around the furniture and down the big step into the genkan (entranceway).  From there, they loaded him onto one of those stretcher/gurney contraptions with wheels that always looks too tall to be practical. They casually wheeled him past a gaggle of neighbors and relatives watching and lifted him into to the ambulance.  Originally, they were going to take him to the doctor that Satomi had found but after conferring, by cell phone, to someone higher up the command chain, they decided to take him to the national hospital about 45 minutes away.

Otosan, Okasan,and Satomi hopped in the ambulance and I was given the job of following in our car so that we could get back home.  After using my best Japanese to thank the neighbors and relatives for their concern, I jumped in the car in a vain attempt to follow the ambulance to the hospital.  Hence, I found myself grooving to:

Good times, these are the good times
Leave your cares behind, these are the good times
Good times, these are the good times
Our new state of mind, these are the good times

The song was reassuring.  Nothing unfixable had happened. The story I had imagined around the actual events was the most fun I had had all week.  Yes, Life is good times and we should all leave our cares behind and have a new state of mind.

When it was all said and done, I couldn’t keep up with the ambulance.  Not because it went fast but because the next town over had a 10k race that day and traffic was stopped mere seconds before I reached the intersection where the race would soon pass.  The ambulance got to continue on and I was left with with my new state of mind to have some good times watching a sport I really love.  I settled in for the show. Like most road races it was a sport for some people, for others a test to endure, and for others something uniquely personal that only they can fully comprehend.  With this in mind, I watched the runners stream past, their running styles, their pace, their expressions and everything else about them hinted at a different story that each was playing a part in even as they trod down the same path. When the final stragglers had trundled by, the intersection reopened and I continued on down my own path to play my small role.

When I got to hospital about 40 minutes after the ambulance I found that Otosan had three broken ribs and had pneumonia.  That explained the pain and purple lips perfectly.  It’s now a week later and he is still lounging away at the hospital.  In the U.S. he probably would have been home the next day but here in Japan people stay in the hospital for a long time.  The role I play is chauffeur.  I doing the driving between our town and the hospital. We visit everyday and there are always a few memorable things in addition to hanging out with Otosan. I love looking a the patients in line at the ATM, bedecked in their PJs, some wheeling IV carts or sporting casts or neck braces and all wearing slippers as if it were just another lazy day at home.  There is a cute wild rabbit in the courtyard outside Otosan’s room.  There is also a poster on every floor that encourages breast feeding.  It has pictures of women from all over the world breast feeding their newborns.  In one of the pictures a baby boy has the happiest expression I have ever seen as he stares at his mother’s breast.  I assume that he is excited about food but it’s also possible that he is a prodigy when it comes being a female breast aficionado.  Maybe the thing that I like the most is how when the hospital staff members catch themselves staring at me, the only foreigner in the building, they break eye contact by bowing.  Genius!  Possibly, I have stumbled onto the real reason the Japanese bow…to avoid eye contact.  But, I’m starting to really digress so farewell for now.

-The Green Tea Dreamer