PART I

It was a bit before 1 PM when we started our final game of the day. It was the third game of a four-on-four, the rubber match, and we were playing to 11. We were up 6-2 and I stood at the top of the three point line. I checked the ball to the other team and then inbounded it to my teammate on my right side. I started off in his direction to set a screen when I heard a loud pop. Instinctively, I turned around to check for the ball. Hadn't I just inbounded it to my teammate? How was the ball behind me? Then I crumpled to the ground, my right leg no longer able to support my weight.

I laid on the ground and stared up at the sky. It happened again.

My friends helped me up to the bench and I sat there in disbelief. There's no way right? Both achilles tendons?

David and his fiancé Hemi rushed me to the emergency room at a Seoul National University Hospital. Check in was slow and arduous. It took nearly an hour to see a doctor IN THE EMERGENCY ROOM and the doctor's diagnosis was that it feels like a tear, but we can't be sure. You'll need an MRI. Which we can do, but not until tomorrow. If the MRI confirms that there is a tear, then we can schedule you for surgery.

Aside: I suffered this exact same injury in 2013 on my left achilles tendon and went to this exact emergency room at this exact hospital and here's how it went down. Check in. Within minutes a doctor is there and he literally just squeezes my left calf and says, yep it's torn. Let's schedule you for surgery.

Ideally, achilles tendon surgeries should be performed within 48 hours of the tear. The sooner the procedure is completed the less likely the tendon is to retract. So time is important here. I could not wait until tomorrow at some indeterminate time to get an MRI and then schedule surgery for some indeterminate time in the future. Option B was to get an MRI done at another hospital, bring the results back to SNUH and then schedule surgery. So, I dragged my decrepit corpse outside and David, Hemi, and I searched for a nearby hospital that could do an MRI immediately. We found a clinic about 20 minutes away and off we went.

An MRI is a pretty incredible piece of technology. Through magnetic resource imaging it can produce detailed images of almost any internal organ of the human body non-invasively. I was in the MRI machine for 25 minutes while it performed its voodoo to confirm what I almost certainly knew was true—my achilles tendon had snapped.

After I re-dressed, the doctor at the clinic confirmed that I had a full tear of my achilles tendon. She gave us a CD (in 2023?) of the images and sent us on our way.

PART II

It was now late afternoon and the sun was setting. With MRI results in hand, we got back in the car and then fought rush hour traffic to SNUH. We checked in again and then the ponderous procedure to see a doctor began. This time, surely with a freshly printed CD with my MRI results after we had been here earlier in the day, the process would be expedited.

6:00 PM: Please sit outside the emergency room.
7:00 PM: Please come inside the emergency room and sit on this bed.
7:30 PM: Please lie down on the bed.
8:00 PM: We can't perform surgery here because the surgeon and anesthesiologist are away at a two week conference. Okay, so byeee. Go die nowww.
8:10 PM: We will send you to our partner hospital to get the procedure done. We need to put your leg in a splint beforehand though, please wait.
9:00 PM: Doctor administers splint with David's help. What?
10:00 PM: Leave "emergency" room and depart for greener pastures. I hope.

While sitting on the sole bed in the emergency room I observed several different emergencies of differing severities including: An older man who had been slugged and had a gnarly black eye, an older woman who had fallen in the shower and broken her hip, a young girl whose nose would just not stop gushing blood, and the most tragic, a little baby who had stuck a bean up her nose.

Back on the road again to hospital #3 which is about 40 minutes away. We drop off Hemi and their dog Simba at home before hitting the road.

This partner hospital is significantly smaller than SNUH and located in a seedier area of the city. Concerning. Once inside though, everything changed.

The clerk at the reception desk knew who we were, processed us with haste, and instructed us to go to the emergency room ward. There were two young male doctors there waiting for me. I stepped out of the wheelchair and the two of them immediately grabbed my arms to help me up and onto the hospital bed. I cannot stress enough how much of a contrast this was to SNUH. I felt cared for and that they were treating the emergency room patients AS IF THEY WERE HAVING AN EMERGENCY. Immediately I was given an IV, a blood sample was taken, and a Covid-19 test administered. Soon afterwards, I was sent to get a chest x-ray and then a CT scan of my calf. This all happened within 10 minutes.

Then they wheeled me up to the 7th floor and into room 723. My bag, jacket, and documents were neatly put away upon arrival. Nothing to do but rest. In the morning I’d consult with the doctor about the procedure.

Part III

At 7:50 AM the next morning, the doctor wheeled me out to his office. He detailed the procedure and the recovery process. The surgery was set for later in the day, so there was nothing to do but wait.

Amidst a nap, I was gently shaken and heard "수술. 수술." Right now? Yep, no time to waste. I put away my things and off we went. A male nurse urgently wheeled me to the elevator which took us to the 9th floor. Lying on the hospital bed, you stare straight up at the ceiling which very quickly disorients you. As you fly from room to room with doctors and nurses everywhere, you lose a sense of context almost immediately. Before entering the operating room, the nurse confirmed the details of the procedure and I signed off.

The operating room was sterile and cool. There were six doctors inside at the ready. The nurse wheeled me to the operating table and two of the doctors helped center me on it. Then another doctor attached electrodes to my chest and a heart rate monitor to my thumb. The room filled with the sound of my rapidly pounding heartbeat. Beep. Beep. Beep. Then two of the doctors turned me to my right side and lifted up the back of my gown. The anesthesiologist deftly probed my spinal cord and injected me with a spinal anesthesia that almost instantly made the lower half of my body numb.

"Can you lift your right leg?"
"No. I can feel the doctors touching my leg though...should I be concerned?"
"No, even though you can feel them, you won't feel any pain."

I was then flipped onto my stomach and a mask with oxygen (I think) was fitted around my head. From that moment, all I was focused on was the sensation of the first incision into my calf. But it never came. As soon as it started it was over. I can't recall if I fell asleep or if it was all just a hazy waking dream. The procedure was efficient and the pain was minimal. Modern science really is a marvel.

A splint was set to my leg and then I was wheeled back to room 723. The lower half of my body was still completely numb and despite my efforts I could not move either of my legs. I poked them vigorously to no effect. It's a surreal experience to look at your legs and have absolutely no control over them. Soon afterwards, I passed out.

Part IV

At 9:30 AM on the day of the fateful basketball game, breakfast was some chicken and beans. From the moment I heard the pop, I was nearly certain that I would require surgery which meant no more food or drink. Fasting before surgery is standard procedure.

The night I arrived in room 723, I informed the nurse that I hadn't had any food or drink in the past 16 hours and would she kindly allow me a small snack or glass of water? To which I received a prompt no as fasting before surgery is standard procedure. I should have snuck something in when David dropped me off because I was famished and there was nothing I could do about it. The next morning I awoke to the sounds of dishes rattling on trays and metal chopsticks and spoons clinking and clanking. All around me, other patients were gleefully devouring kimchi, seasoned spinach, bean sprouts, soy eggs, and braised potatoes along with a steaming bowl of rice and seaweed soup.

I informed a nearby nurse that I hadn't had any food or drink in the past 24 hours and would she kindly allow me a small snack or glass of water? She shook her head apologetically, so I put on my headphones to block out the sound of dining and daydreamed of food. When I awoke, I found that a fairy had left me four small chocolate pieces next to my bed. Thank you blessed cacao fairy nurse. Your kindness will not be forgotten.

Post-op, I was optimistic. Surely, now I could embark on a taste expedition of delicious hospital food. But no. You must wait several hours to eat after surgery and this meant that dinner time had passed by the time my eating window had opened. I wouldn't be able to eat until morning. My sadness was infinite. I went to sleep dreaming of hospital food.

At 8 AM sharp, after a near 47 hour fast, I had a breakfast of seaweed soup, rice, and side dishes. My dreams had come true.

Part V

The days blend into one another. My days start at 5 AM when the nurse gently wakes me and measures my blood pressure with a sphygmomanometer. Then she takes my temperature and changes my IV bag. If the pain is bad that day, she'll inject some extra painkillers into the IV tube. After that, I pass out until breakfast at 8 AM. The food is rather bland, but it is well-prepared and varies each day. After that I prepare the wheelchair for the bathroom to wash up best I can and brush my teeth. I can't shower, so I smell lovely after four days without a proper wash. The nurses must love me.

Other highlights of my day include lunch and dinner and naps.

I've been watching movies and cleaning up my Vault to pass the time (and sweet afternoon naps). Yesterday was Barbenheimer day and I must say that I really enjoyed both movies. Nolan is one of my favorite directors and I love Cillian Murphy, so Oppenheimer was a layup. I wasn't expecting to enjoy Barbie, but it was very subversive and the Margot Robbie/Ryan Gosling combo was excellent. Gosling was a scene stealer and got some real laughs from me. #KENERGY

Recovery from the surgery will be the most trying. Later this week I have a post-op appointment at the hospital to get my wound cleaned and stitches removed. Then my leg will be put in a cast or soft splint for two weeks and I'll use crutches to get around. If rehabilitation has gone to plan, I'll be in a walking boot for the next 6–8 weeks or until the tendon has healed sufficiently enough that I can walk on my own.

Part VI

There are so many what if's. What if I declined the invitation to play basketball that day? What if we hadn’t played full-court? What if we decided to call it quits before that last game? What if I hadn't inbounded the ball? What if I had pushed off with my left leg instead of my right leg? Would any of this had happened? I do wish critical muscles in my legs would stop exploding, but alas, c'est la vie.

When you suffer such a severe injury, your vulnerabilities immediately become clear. Without the basic ability to walk, my independence was stripped of me.

From the moment I went down, David and Hemi were there to help me no questions asked. They sacrificed their day from 1 PM when the injury occurred all the way to midnight when I was finally checked in to room 723. They did so with grace and never made it feel like I was burden. Honestly, I couldn't have done it without them. All the back and forth between hospitals and the language barrier would have proven a formidable challenge for me.

When I needed him the most, he was there for me and that means a lot to me. Thank you David.

Stray Thoughts

Former PEAI sixth grade teacher and friend Philip Kim planned his wedding for summer of 2013 in Hawaii. I purchased my plane ticket and was super excited for the event when my left tendon decided it's splodin' time two weeks before the wedding. David's wedding is on November 25.
The average cost of achilles tendon surgery in New York with medical insurance is about 17,000,000 won. It was much much less in Korea. Despite my qualms, the healthcare system in Korea is affordable.
In Room 723, the man in the bed to the left of me does not have his right arm. There is an older gentleman to my right who must be hooked up to a special machine to help him sleep. Keeps things in context.

Brenden's Tendon