An “Embarrassing” Situation

We went back to the doctor on Friday night, and he said that there was definitely something there and a heartbeat could be heard. However, he wants us to go back again next Friday, just to be sure. I wonder at what point he’s going to be sure? Perhaps when Rie’s crowning on the delivery table. Still, it is a very nice clinic, and I’ve already gotten to know some of the other patients’ faces. For example, last Friday evening when we were leaving, there were two women sitting on one of the sofas. They looked very young, I’d say around twenty. Well, when we went back this week, They were both there again. Rie went in to do her blood pressure and whatever else it is that takes her so long to do. I sat on the sofa behind the two girls and started reading my book.

Now, these girls aren’t your average Japanese women. They look and act like they’re used to a wild life. One of them is heavyset and is clearly following the lifestyle of a kogyaru. Kogyaru are girls who follow a mid-1990’s trend of excessive tanning, extreme make-up and outrageous fashion. The other one is also heavyset (now that I think about it, all the women at this place are fairly heavyset…duh!) but is a little more reserved in her appearance. They both notice me sitting there and start whispering to each other and looking around at me. This is the typical reaction that I have gotten for the last ten years here in Japan. To begin, foreigners are stared at simply for being foreigners. It takes awhile to get used to, but that’s just the way it is. Second, I am 193 cm tall (6′4″), I literally stand head, shoulders and in a large number of cases, chest over much of the population. A third reason here might be that, in Japan, husbands never go to the OB/GYN with their wives, and so I have, for the last two weeks at least, been the only guy there in a room full of women.

Anyway, as I sit reading, the nurse calls out a name in Japanese. Both the girls stand, and in a rapid re-telling of the incident, the heavier girl’s sweatpants drop down to her knees, revealing her covert agenda of deciding not to have worn underwear on this particular day. Of course, her first reaction is not to bend down and pick them up, or even look over at her friend all embarrassed-like and say something like, “I can’t believe that just happened!” No, her first reaction is to look back at the big foreigner who goes where no man dares to go to see if he’s looking.

Here’s my first question: When you’re sitting in any kind of waiting room, and they call the name of someone sitting in your vicinity, do you not look up at them? Whether out of mild curiosity or just plain jealousy, don’t you at least give them a slight glance? Think about it. I’m fairly sure your answer will be a resounding “Yes. Yes I do look at them”. Well, I can safely tell you that you are not alone because when she looked at me our eyes locked as if she were a hypnotist in some cheesy Vegas nightclub, and I was some poor fool up on the stage getting ready to bark like a dog.

My second question is more of an introspective one that I asked myself at that very moment which, when boiled down to its core essence, went something along the lines of, “So when you go tanning, do you just get into the tanning bed totally naked, or do you use some kind of spray for that part of your body?”

Thankfully, she was unabashed by the incident, hiked up her pants and entered the doctor’s room with her friend. Situation…resolved. Rie came back, but before I could tell her what had happened, we too were called into the doctor’s room. It wasn’t until we were walking home that I got the chance to tell her the story. As it turns out (according to Rie), “Ms. Flash of the Pants” isn’t even pregnant. She just goes there with her friend (who is pregnant, I imagine) and offers support. I thought it was so sweet for her to that. Not many people would take time out of their schedule to go to a doctor’s office with their friend, where there is an average wait of about an hour, and sit there with him/her. My perception of her had definitely changed.

I then told Rie that I wanted to change our appointments to Saturday mornings.

Gomen for the Somen

The day started much like most mornings have for the past week: Rie woke up, ate some crackers, waited for about twenty minutes, got up and took a shower, dressed, and rested before going to work. I waited until she was taking her shower to get up. I made some tea, turned on the computer and waited to see what she wanted to eat.

She wasn’t in the best of moods as she criticized my breakfast making skills, and assigned me my objective for the day: go to the supermarket and buy, in order of importance: somen (a type of Japanese noodle), cucumbers and paper towels. Recently, she has been finding somen agreeing with her stomach. I cooked the last packet last night, so it was up to me to keep her somen habit going. She saved the package that it came in so I would be able to get the exact same kind.

After she left, I took a shower and got ready to go to “Life”, the supermarket nearest us (about 10 min walk). I decided that I would ride her bicycle to the store, but both tires were flat, so I had to go through our closet looking for the hand pump. I got the tires inflated, and set off for the store. Taking the bike was a lot faster, but the wheels are very small, and the seat, although set to the highest position, isn’t made for someone my height.

I got to the store and immediately realized that I had forgotten the package to help me get her the right kind of somen. I found the section where they keep the dried noodles, and tried to remember what the package looked like. I picked up one pack, and almost got it, but then I saw another package that I knew had to have been the same one that was at the apartment. I quickly picked up the other things and sped off for home. Total mission time: 22 minutes. When I got home, I saw that I had been way off on the package, but figured as long as she could eat somen, then all would be okay with the universe. I put the things away and proceeded to waste the day away in front of the computer.

Rie came home around 6:30, feeling really good. She said that her sickness was at “level 1″ (on a 1-10 scale). This means she was feeling almost no sickness. I apologized (“gomenasai”) to her for not getting the right somen. She looked at the package and said that what I had gotten wasn’t even somen, but udon, another kind of Japanese noodle. Now, I might not be the brightest person, but I do know some kanji (Japanese writing) and I definitely know the difference between somen and udon. I showed her the last two characters on the package, the ones I had interpreted to mean somen. Apparently, “-men” is applied to other types of noodles, so I had just overgeneralized its meaning. As for their appearances, Udon is long and really thick, whereas somen is almost like angel hair pasta. This distinction was was laid to rest by the simple explanation that there are many kinds of noodles, and each noodle has varying degrees of thickness, and what I had bought was thin udon. My bad, but she was happy with the effort and complimented my preparation of the udon.

Over the years, one of my biggest gripes is the lack of selection when it comes to buying many products. For example, in Japan we are limited to one brand of peanut butter: Skippy. Whenever I sound off about this to Japanese people, I am inevitably asked the same two questions:

1). Why do you need more than one brand of peanut butter?

and…

2). Why would you want to eat peanut butter? (It’s not a very popular condiment in Japan, and most Japanese people have never never eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich).

I tell them that different brands of peanut butter taste different, but more importantly, the freedom to choose which peanut butter I want to buy is something that I miss.

Their reply: “There are many different kinds of Japanese noodles to choose from.”

Christmas

Merry Christmas! It’s Christmas today and although I don’t have to work, Rie does. I told her that she doesn’t have to go in, but she said that she needs to tell her work that she’s pregnant. Yesterday wasn’t very good for her, and she spent most of it sleeping. As I write this post, it’s 6:30 a.m. We’ve both gotten up early so that she doesn’t have to rush to work. She promised that if she gets really sick, she’ll come home.

Christmas in Japan is very different than in the west (i.e. United States). The big celebration comes not on Christmas Day, which passes as just another day, but on Christmas Eve, when couples (mainly boyfriend/girlfriend) go out to restaurants for extravagant dinners. Reservations are often made months in advance in order to get a table at a top restaurant.

The meaning of Christmas here is also a little distorted. About 9 years ago, I was living near Tokyo, and went to look around for a present for my then girlfriend. There were many decorations up around the city, and it seemed to be like any other Christmas. Suddenly, my eyes gazed upon a sight which is still etched into the back vaults of my eternal memory. There, in one of the shops was a big cross. Nothing special, except for the fact that on the cross was a depiction of the crucifixion, only instead of Jesus on the cross, it was Santa Claus. His mouth was pulled back into a grimace, and his suit was all torn and tattered. A disturbing image that will never be forgotten, and which still pops into my mind at this time of year.

So, as I write this, I’m waiting for Rie to get out of the shower. I’m going to take the train into work with her, and then grab some coffee at Seattle’s Best. I wish you all a Merry Christmas, and hope the holidays find you safe.

A Good Act

Today was a much better day in terms of the sickness Rie has been feeling throughout the past week. She actually felt like going to lunch at the soba shop in Namba (an area in downtown Osaka). The only thing that could have possibly gone wrong was that some odor would cause her to become sick. Since the bouts of sick have started, she has become very sensitive to the faintest odors. A few days ago, I had drunk a small glass of juice. About four hours later, she asks me, “Did you drink the juice in the refrigerator?” It’s very acute to say the least.

She got through her shower okay and we left to go to the subway (about 3 minutes walk from our apartment). It had just finished raining, so the air was very clean; no trace of stagnation. We got onto the train, and immediately I winced at the overpowering smell of daikon. Daikon is a Japanese radish which is very popular in many dishes. It’s about the size of a giant zucchini, and although it tastes very good, it has the unfortunate attribute of smelling like…well, like a giant fart. Even more unfortunate is that since it is such a popular vegetable, the chances of encountering someone in possession of one is fairly high (although I’m sure there are some people who carry them around to mask their own indiscretions; a license to flatulate, if you please).

I looked at Rie and she just said, “Oh, my…” I suggested that we move to a different car because by this time, I was becoming sick from the smell. We managed to work our way through the crowded car and into another one that was much more pleasant. We finally made it to the restaurant and had a great lunch of tempura and soba noodles.

On our way back, she wanted to stop and do a little Christmas shopping. Since she’s been sick, she didn’t get the chance to go out and buy me something for Christmas. So we went to a big shopping area, and she suggested that I wait for her at this one coffee shop that wasn’t far away, but not as convenient as the Starbuck’s that was right in front of us. I told her that I would just wait at Starbuck’s.

Rie has never been one to mask her feelings (unless she’s very irritated at me, then she holds it in for hours/days until it bursts forth in extreme fits of verbal attacks). So, when I said that I was going to wait at Starbuck’s, she gave an audible wince of distress. At that point, I knew I needed to go to the other coffee shop so she could buy me a present at Starbuck’s. Ever one to think quickly on my feet, I said that I would only go to Starbuck’s if there was a table open outside. Thankfully, there were no open tables outside (except for the three tables right in front of the doors, but I managed to make it look like I didn’t see them). She rushed me off to the other coffee shop, saying that she was going to buy some decaffeinated beans. I guess she forgot that I had bought 200 g of decaf just two days ago. I was going to say something, but felt content with the power that I wielded at that point.

We met up about half an hour later and made our way home without any mention of the decaf purchase. The rest of the night has been fairly uneventful. She feels a little sick, but is functioning okay. Hopefully, the coming weeks will see more days like this or better.

Cabin Fever

Today we had planned to go into the city and eat soba. Last night when we went to bed, Rie said that she was feeling better, and thought that she could make the trip into town. By noon today, those plans had gone bye-bye. She woke up this morning, and as pre-determined last night, ate some soda crackers about twenty minutes before getting up. After getting up, she felt a little queasy, but nothing she said that would keep her off her feet.

About two hours later, both she and her feet were sprawled on the sofa, double swallowing to keep from vomiting. I felt bad for her because 1). She really wanted to eat soba, and 2). She can’t stand being inside the apartment all day.

In the afternoon, I went to 7-11 to buy her some ice cream (because that and the tuna fish/cucumber sandwiches are all she can really stomach at this point). Speaking of which, a friend of mine (also American) and his wife (also Japanese) had a baby girl last July, so they know a lot about the whole pregnancy thing. He said that since tuna fish contains mercury, she shouldn’t be eating it. I passed the information on to Rie, who just kind of gave me a defeated look and then asked me to make her a tuna fish and cucumber sandwich. I’m not sure if it is really that harmful, but I figure it’s okay at least during this stage when she can’t really eat anything else.

Later in the afternoon, we went to the video store to get a movie. We rented Ocean’s 13. Now it must be said that the last movie she made it all the way through without falling asleep was Erin Brockovich, which we saw in the theater…on our first date. Since that time, it is guaranteed that she won’t make it through a whole movie. Occasionally, she will be out even before I have fast forwarded through the coming attractions. Well, tonight was no different. However, I totally understand that she doesn’t feel well, so I don’t begrudge her a bit. The odd thing is, I too, fell asleep halfway through, and didn’t wake up until just before the end. As the credits rolled, I got up to take out the DVD. She woke up and looked at me sheepishly. In the past, we have had our share of arguments because, although I don’t care if she falls asleep, I don’t want to rehash every plot detail that she missed for every movie during which she falls asleep. This is a special time though, so I felt obligated to at least relay what happened. The problem was that I had no idea, but my pride wouldn’t allow me to reveal to her that I had fallen asleep. So, I just told her the plot to Ocean’s 11 and she seemed to accept that.

We had planned to go see I am Legend tomorrow night, but the way things look, that probably won’t be happening, I am not complaining though. I thrive staying in the apartment all day. As long as technology exists, I will be content under any conditions!