Everyone is Your Teacher: Out of the Mouths of Babes Comes Great Wisdom - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 5

(Part four of this series is here: (Mr. Cool, Chocolate Addictions and a Paradox of Insanity in Today's World - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 4)

"He who doesn't know says he does; he who does know says he doesn't." - Zen Buddhist saying 

Arguably, the origin of the title of this post, "Out of the mouths of babes comes great wisdom," can be traced back to the bible in Matthew 21:16: "God ordains strength out of the mouths of babes and sucklings." There are several old sayings that are similar to this one. My favorite - that is also quite well known - probably is, "Fools and madmen speak the truth." 

This old proverb implies that since it is "Fools and madmen" speaking the truth, then most ordinary folks don't. I'd agree. In spite of it not seeming that way, the people inside of Matsuzawa hospital were forced to see and live the truth. 

On the outside world, people can hide their true feelings and live behinds masks in plastic houses in plastic neighborhoods going to plastic jobs and it is even considered "normal" to act like the plastic person you are not.  

This is what amuses, frustrates and causes me great wonderment about most people; it seems to me that most people live a life behind all these perceptions that they want to create for other people (most of whom they don't care about nor will ever meet); they live such a display of masks that they rarely ever show others their true self. (I think this is one reason why divorce is so prevalent today, but that is a topic for another post.)


This topic is so wide and vast that I could write for weeks on it, but that is not my purpose here today. Today, I'd like to teach you about lessons I learned in the most unexpected places and from the most unexpected people.

I had written a long dissertation about debates I often see that are tossed my way from people who are totally confused and continually asking the wrong questions. It seems to me that a terrible symptom of our current economic, social and political problems is that far too many people have an opinion on something that they haven't a clue as to what they are talking about. God gave us two ears and one mouth, but too many will gladly use that mouth at 50 times the rate of the use of ears. Oh, if just more people would study and read books! 

In my time at Matsuzawa hospital, there were all sorts of people who were patients in D-41. I suppose you could call them patients or you could call them "inmates." I figured the ones who were suffering from some kind of psychosis were patients, the ones suffering from some kind of addiction were inmates... But, I guess that's arguable since everyone, inside or outside of the hospital is suffering from some degree of psychosis. It's just that some people are able to hide or control theirs better than others. As psychologist Dr. C. George Boeree wrote in "Personality Disorders":

"Personality disorders are great examples of how mental illness is usually a matter of degree, rather than an either/or situation. At what point, for example, do you go from saying someone is creative to saying they are eccentric to saying they are "crazy?"  The line is really impossible to draw."

There isn't a person that you or I know who isn't mentioned in the above list of Personality Disorders.

All of these people, with all of their disorders... Call them patients, inmates, normal people or whatever the term, they are all teachers of a sort....


Even though the days went by at an excruciatingly slow pace, there was a wide variety of all sorts of extremely interesting people at D-41. Besides the already mentioned, Mr. Halloween and Mr. Cool, some notables was my room-mate (whose name escapes me) who seemed like your ordinary everyday average 30-some-year-old Japanese guy. I couldn't see anything wrong with him in the least and expected, at any moment, for him to get up and walk out of the hospital forever. The only thing he did do that I thought was a waste of time was that he slept just about all day... But, then again, most everyday average 30-some-year-old Japanese guys that I know would do the same the first chance they got.

There was also a Buddhist priest in the hospital who seemed to have nothing in the world wrong with him either. He often spent time by himself deep in reading and his studies. Sometimes I'd talk with him and ask for his advice and wisdom of which he was always kind enough to dispense to me. Sometimes we even played Shogi together (Japanese Chess). Not wanting to be impudent nor to seem disrespectful, I never inquired the reason for his being there, but did ask the doctor once. The doctor said, "Even if he seems to have no problems at all... He has a very serious one that he cannot seem to control, Mike." And that was all the explanation I was to receive. The priest seemed like a very nice man to me but the other patients seemed like they didn't like him or want to associate with him at all. That struck me as strange. "Perhaps, since he was a man of the cloth, the other patients were ashamed of themselves?" I wondered.

On the other end of the religious spectrum was a Japanese Catholic guy who became my friend. His name was Maki. Maki always carried his rosary beads and prayed constantly. That didn't bother me because people practicing their religions, whatever they may be, have never really bothered me. Of course, if they start sacrificing cattle that might be another story (if they sacrifice naked young virgins, I might hang out to watch the show - as long as it is just really "a show.") Maki was a nice guy but had to be one of the most nervous and incessantly fidgety people I have ever seen. He could not sit for more than a few minutes in one place before he'd have to get up and move somewhere else. It got irritating after a while when he'd ask that we sit in the lounge then a minute later want to go sit in the cafeteria (for no apparent reason) then want to go sit in a different place or in his room to study the bible.

I'd find out later that Maki was a hard core abuser of pain killers which, while not usually reported in the mainstream media, is one of the most abused class of drugs in the world. Not only that, they are over the counter medications! Pain killer dependence and pain killer addiction. How many people are abusing pain killers? Well, you definitely know someone who is. In the USA today, pain killer abuse is second only to marijuana use for illicit drugs. So, in Maki's case, if he wasn't mollified on pain killers he was like the lit fuse on a firecracker: sparking every which way about to go off.

Generally, though, for me, whenever I would be biting my nails in frustration and climbing the walls (which was all the time); when my entire being was focused on one thing: Freedom! That's when I'd search out the priest. I'd often ask him for some wisdom about finding some peace and how to relax more in that place that I was beginning to consider more like a prison than a hospital. 

One day, the priest and I sat together at the window looking out over the enclosed grounds. I came to ask for help in controlling the monster that was exploding for release inside of me. He looked at me and asked me why I was there at D-41.

"Because I was a drug addict, that's why!" I answered.

"No. Not that" He said, "I mean in this place, with these people. Why are you here with these people?"

"I don't know! That's why I'm asking you! Why am I here? How did I get here?" I pleaded in frustration. We went around in this line of questioning but when it became apparent to him that I wasn't the brightest bulb in the place, he volunteered the answers.

"You are here to learn. You are here because all of these people are your teachers," He calmly said.

"These people!? These people are my teachers!?" I protested. I thought that was absurd! "These people are all crazy. They have nothing to teach me! What could I possibly have to learn from a room full of crazy people?" I insisted in a not too subtle, yet extremely derogatory-towards-my-peers manner. I was beginning to think this priest was just as nutty as the rest of them were.

Just then, as if on cue for a TV drama, one of the other patients, who was in the hospital for some sort of substance abuse, started raising a commotion and arguing loudly and quite abusively with one of the kindly older lady nurses. This particular patient was a guy who I thought was rather distasteful and was quite disliked by all the other patients. I never really got close too to him because he was loud and rude to everyone he spoke to and, when he talked, he seemed to intentionally spit on people at the same time. Yuck! I didn't need that! 

He was arguing with the nurse. He was saying, "I'm not going to do it! I'm not going to do it!" Over and over this went. What had transpired was that the nurse was trying to get him to brush his teeth. She was telling him that he had to brush his teeth because he hadn't brushed his teeth "in two weeks!" It was probably true. It was the nurses job to keep track of what people were doing and keep a log on their behavior. I'm sure if one patient was uncooperative and failed to do something like brushing teeth, they'd know all about it... They'd write it down and, if the situation continued without respite, they do something to rectify it. In spite of the nurse insisting that he brush his teeth, he insisted that he wouldn't and started cursing her so loudly and waving his arms like he was going to strike her and making such a commotion that everyone in D-41 could hear. 

That was mistake.

Soon several of the male nurses came running along as backup to the woman nurse. I could see the patient's face clearly from where I was sitting because they were just about 10 meters away from me. He had glasses on that were as thick as Coca-Cola bottles and he looked a horrendous mess. His hair was everywhere and even his clothes looked like he hadn't changed in weeks. His mouth was so overloaded with debris it looked like it was a backed up garbage disposal! His mouth looked like the mouth of that monster from the movie, "The Creature from the Black Lagoon," you know, moss and weeds hanging out if it? It looked so bad in there that if he didn't do something about cleaning that sewage area, life would have probably started evolving out of there.

Well, this little "Battle of Wills" kept going back and forth; the nurse insisting that he brush his teeth and the patient becoming even more obstinate in his refusal to do so; especially since he was being ordered to do so! Finally, with heavy reinforcements to back her up, the lady nurse said, "If you don't brush your teeth by yourself, we are going to brush them for you!" (Or she might have said, "We'll make you brush them" but that doesn't seem like something a Japanese would say so my memory fails me here.) That made the man angry and suddenly he started throwing punches at the nurses and kicking and fighting with them.

Oh, no! Not a good way to make friends and influence people!

Next thing you know there was a massive commotion! The man was screaming and trying to break free as four male nurses were doing their best to restrain him without hurting him (it wouldn't do to injure the patients). A second later there were two more nurses running up. If this guy kept it up at that rate, he was "...heading for a nice long restful vacation at the cooler!" I thought to myself. After much rigmarole and screaming, kicking and slapping, the nurses wrestled him to the ground. There they began to forcefully brush his teeth all the while he was screaming bloody murder through a mouth full of Crest toothpaste. The kindly old lady nurse stood there smiling and watching over the entire episode with a "Serves you right, Mr. Whatever-his-name-was!" smug look on her face.

Soon enough, the man's teeth were brushed and dental plaque had been dealt a devastating blow for another day.

A soon as "Mr. Act Like a 5-Year-Old Brat" realized he was beaten, he relented and stopped fighting back against the onslaught of males nurses. Then the rest of the chimpanzees in the zoo all soon began to lose interest in the show. Soon, we all returned back to whatever it was that we were doing to pass the time away before the fight had started. Our moment of entertainment over.

The priest and I stopped looking too. I took this little vignette as proof that what I was saying was gospel truth and that what the priest was saying was just some platonic feel-good nonsense that is neither here nor there and isn't relevant to the situation at hand. I smirked to the priest. "See? I told you. What could I possibly have to learn from these people?"

The priest shook his head and repeated; "Whether you wish to see it or not, everyone here has something important to teach you."

This time I scoffed and pointed to the guy getting his teeth brushed, "What could that stupid fool possibly have to teach me?" I triumphantly questioned.

The priest said, "There are those here who are teaching you how to be patient. There are those here teaching you how to better yourself. There are those here teaching you how to make friends... Him? He is one of the most excellent teachers of all. For he is teaching you the best way how not to get out of here!"

It was like I had been stuck by a bolt of lightening right between the eyes! That crazy old guy who wouldn't brush his teeth was teaching everyone the best way not to get out of that place. I couldn't believe it. The guy I thought who was the most useless and inept excuse for humanity at all of D-41; the guy who I held in total disdain and had zero respect for; the guy everyone hated - was the best teacher there! He taught me one of the greatest lessons in life: That everyone can teach you something! And he did it all within a few minutes.

It was an epiphany for me; "Out of the mouths of babes..." I thought. 


The priest was completely and totally right.

After that lesson with the priest, I don't really remember seeing him too much. And I did, of course, look for him. It seemed he wanted time alone, though. I did see him twice in the cafeteria off by himself reading some religious books but he seemed deep into study so I didn't want to disturb him. I'd never see him again after that and don't know what happened to him.


Even though I never saw him again, I heard about him... 


One day, a week or two later, there was a ruckus in the cafeteria area. Several of the patients were upset and they had demanded a meeting with the doctors. It seems that these sorts of meetings are a sort of "group style consulting" meeting so I was also summoned to attend. I figured that it might be a good chance for me to show the doctors that I could hold a conversation and a logical train of thought and that, maybe, one of them would hear my brilliant repartee and think to himself, "Wait a minute! That Rogers guy shouldn't even be in here!" and I'd be out the door quicker than you could say "Express ticket to Siam!"


At the meeting, there were several extremely pissed off patients who were angry that someone had been sneaking into the cafeteria at night and stealing other people's natto (fermented beans) and eating them.

Natto. 

Now, if you've never been to Japan, you won't know what natto is. But, for 99.9% of all westerners, it is disgustingly putrefied fermented soy beans. It smells bad and it is all gooey like phlegm. I think a close approximation for most westerners is that natto looks, smells and tastes like baby sh*t....Even lots of Japanese people won't eat the stuff. I know few foreigners who will. I like it but it took me years to finally acquire a taste for it. Most people from the west will experience a pleasant gagging reflex when tasting natto for the first time. Japanese almost always eat natto with rice (this is an important point). As I said, natto is sticky, stinky and gooey so you definitely need chopsticks to tackle this stuff. Handle with care.


Where was I? Oh yeah. Someone had been waking up in the middle of the night and sneaking into the cafeteria area and raiding the communal refrigerator and stealing other people's natto. From the sound of it, this has been going on a long time and the patients wanted action to be taken. 


The leaders of the vigilante patients group seemed like they'd probably prefer a hanging or a severe beating for the perpetrator of this heinous crime, but their demands had been softened to sending the culprit into the cooler for a week or two.

It was like a scene from Munity on the Bounty meets the doctor Quincy show! One one hand, a ragged group of rabblerousers were demanding the head of the scoundrel who was stealing their booty, on the other hand, the men in the white suits were observing and jotting down notes about the demands (and I imagine behavior) of the protesters.


Suddenly, out of the blue, one of the doctors stood up, pointed to me and said, "Why don't we ask Rogers san what he thinks?"


I froze. "Me? Surely they don't suspect that I was the one stealing the natto!... Of course, not!" I thought. "Maybe they do know about the spoons!?"... I regained my composure and tried to do my best courtroom lawyer imitation. I wasn't even sure if I understood the entire story as the whole thing seemed just too bizarre to me. I started asking questions. At first I thought that the patients didn't know who the culprit was and wanted the doctors to do a gestapo style search (ala what I feared they were going to do with the missing spoons that I had returned. Whew!) But then the angry patients told me that they knew who the culprit was. They knew exactly who it was! And they said that it had been going on a very long time.


I tried to gage the mood of the doctors and was relieved that I could see that they weren't too keen on metting out punishment to anyone for stealing natto. I mean, we're already in a hospital for crazy people! What are they going to do that's worse to the guy? I asked the patients how it was possible that they knew who the culprit was? They grew angry with me and said,


"We know. Everyone knows! The doctors and the nurses know! He has to go by the nurses station every night to get to the cafeteria." The leader shouted.


I thought, "Whew! At least they didn't suspect me!" (Nah, I have no paranoia!)


He continued, "The doctors and nurses all know!" With that at least a dozen of them started shouting things like, "We know!" "Send him to the cooler!" "It's not the first time!" "He's a crook!"


That I was asking these guys lots of questions was not gaining me any popularity points with them, I could tell, but I wasn't concerned with what the "peanut gallery" thought. I was only concerned with what the doctors thought. I said,


"So, this guy wakes in the middle of the night and sneaks into the cafeteria and opens the fridge and eats someone's natto, right?"


"Yes!" Angrily came the answer from the group's leader.


"But, the cafeteria is closed at night. There is no rice. There's no soy sauce, no chopsticks or anything. How does he eat it?"


"Straight from the container with his fingers!" Came the reply with an exasperated ("you dumb foreigner!" tone added for effect). The rabble began grumbling loudly again.


"Aha!" I had them there. The way I see it is that anyone who wakes up in the middle of the night, sneaks past the nurses station in their pajamas to steal someone else's natto, then eats that natto straight from the container with their fingers must be nuts! (Ice cream? Yes. Natto? No!) I almost wanted to say, "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury...." but I didn't. I said to them and the doctors, "So this guy wakes up in the middle of the night and sneaks into the cafeteria and, without any rice or soy sauce, no bowl or no chopsticks, he shovels natto (a bunch of gooey slime) into his mouth and then goes back to bed..."


Suddenly they interrupted me, "And he's been doing it almost every night for over two months now!" 


I continued, "...Okay, and he's been doing this for over two months now and you guys want the doctors to put him in the cooler for this?"


"Yes!" Came the screams and shouts. It was almost like a scene from a movie about the Salem Witch Trials; the case would be going on and the peasants are yelling, "Burn her!" "She's a witch burn her!"

They quieted down and I said, 


"Look, this is a hospital. This guy is sick. I'm sick. You're sick. We're all sick here. That's why we're here. I don't think that it is good to give such punishment out like the cooler for something like this. The cooler is for violence or really bad things and breaking the rules. That a guy is a thief and has kleptomania that he cannot control is no reason to throw him in the cooler." I continued, "...For all we know, the reason he is in the hospital in the first place is this sort of thing."


The other patients got angry at me for saying this and then one of the doctors interrupted. He said,


"Rogers san is right. We cannot be putting patients into the cooler for such minor infractions. You patients just have to be more careful with your items from now on."


I was glad the doctor agreed with me. Of course, I think it makes complete sense that I was right. There's a big difference between justice and revenge. I think these gentlemen were out for revenge. And, I wonder just how sure they could be that the person they suspected really did steal all the natto.


A few days later, I would talk to the doctor again and tell him that, once again, I thought that I had demonstrated that I should not be in that hospital. Actually, he said he already knew that but there was paperwork to do and that he wanted to release me as soon as possible and he asked me to be patient.


I also asked him, "Doc, by the way, the other patients said they thought you doctors and nurses knew for sure who was stealing the natto. Is that true?"


He responded in the affirmative.


"Who?" I asked.


"The priest," he said.

(The next part to this series is here: Teenage Jesus Pours Vodka on Cornflakes & Listens to Metallica! He Really Does! - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 6 http://modernmarketingjapan.blogspot.com/2012/02/teenage-jesus-pours-vodka-on-cornflakes.html) 

Why Having Compassion for the Handicapped and the Mentally / Physically Ill and Less Fortunate in Our Society is So Important For You and Me:

Why I write about having compassion for the handicapped, the mentally ill, the unfortunate in our society... 

My third daughter at 10. She is now 18. Some say she is "handicapped,"

I say she is "beautiful and perfect!"

I have received a mail asking why I write about the recent episodes concerning time spent in drug rehabilitation in a mental institution in Japan... Well, I have, in the past, written much about sharing our time, money and lives with the less fortunate like children with incurable diseases and about my own daughter's fight with a deadly childhood cancer. The episodes on drug rehabilitation begin in Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 1 (Life in the Cooler) Upon Arrival to Rehab Everyone Must Detox in the Feared Cooler


At first, the goal of these posts was to place "on paper" what had happened as a record before time completely destroyed the memories. It was also a sort of purgatory for my soul and to cleanse myself of some of my past deeds. On a more mercenary note, the stories, I think, are great stories and exciting and make a fascinating read (if I am able to write and do justice to what I witnessed). I wanted to, and still intend to, do something with this material whether it is a book or a screenplay.


I do that for posterity and for money... If I could get those...


As I began writing the episodes for Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital at first I wanted to make people laugh at the absurdity of the entire thing... I still do, but there is also something that I think needs to be said about it all. As I began writing more there is something to be said that is, of course, just not funny about this situation and how these poor folks are treated like outcasts. I also want people to understand a few very simple and important things about hospitals and people in them.


First off there is a fine line between what is insane and sane in our society. I'm certainly not the first to ever say that. We need to show more compassion, humanity and kindheartedness to people who are sick and in hospitals whether those people are there for physical or mental handicaps, incurable or terminal diseases...


Secondly, there are a very many of us who are quite fortunate in this world. We need to give back some of our good luck to those less fortunate. There are also those in this world, the vast majority who don't wish to admit their illnesses who also need our compassion and understanding.


Thirdly, even though they are not in a hospital now, there are so many right next to us who have all sorts of problems and addictions. There are families right next door to ours that are suffering from children with illicit drug problems or parents who have the same with over-the-counter drugs and pain medicines. There are many who are living secret lives of shame by having affairs or gambling or drink problems. There are many who do, or are on the receiving end of, domestic violence. There are many who have small children who will fall to the devastation and unfortunate occurrence of an incurable disease within the next 24 hours! 


Living a happy a productive life in this mixed up confused world is more and more difficult as the days go by. Let those of us who can and do live good lives show the world that we do care by our actions and not just by our words.


They say that "What goes around, comes around." I know the shock and devastation that comes with having your healthy child one day stuck down with a deadly disease. I also know the struggles and life shortening battles that come with.


I hope by reading some of these blog posts that you can become more thankful of what you have. 


But that's not everything and don't think that I am such a magnanimous guy. No. Even though I went to war with a childhood cancer and have a loving daughter who is wheelchair bound for her entire life; and even though I have suffered through terrible drug abuse and all sorts of marital problems... Even though I have been through these things. I am lucky. I am fortunate. I am thankful.


As they say, "It is not happy people that are thankful. It is thankful people who are happy."


We need to share what good we have. We need to spread hope. A little kindness and compassion go a long way. We need to be thankful and we need to share that in the short time we are here.

Sexy Japanese Female Nurses? Schizophrenics and Jail Breaks! - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 3

(Part two of this series is here: I Was an English Teacher in a Japanese Insane Asylum - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 2 (Life in D-40))


I was transferred to D-41 early in the morning and made it there just before breakfast. The orientation for D-41 was very short as most of the rules were the same as D-40. I was so relieved to be away from Tanaka and his incessant pestering me about teaching him English.

Posing at D-41 in order to case the joint...

I walked into D-41 with the purpose of getting a feel for the layout of the joint. That sounds like I was cool and tough, but it was more like I was a nervously shaking and shivering with fear chihuahua dog frightened out of half his piss  looking for a place where he could stand where people wouldn't kick him so much. D-41 was much larger that D-40 and had many more patients than D-40 did. I looked for the hot chicks that I was told about and found them. They were two very plump middle-aged women in their late fifties. They looked like someone's kind old grandma. You know, the kind that likes to look at old photos of when we were little and bake stuff for us kids? These two ladies were very sweet to me during my stay at D-41 so you won't hear me saying anything bad about them. They were real sweethearts. As opposed to the white uniform worn by the males nurses, the female nurses wore pink with the typical nurses cap on top. They were cute... I mean, as far as old ladies go.

Slide shows of uncle Harry and baking sh*t and she's fine!

I took my clothes and personal belongings into my room where I was introduced to my three room-mates who didn't even bother to look up from their slumber. Nice guys. After that, I heard my name being called,


"Rogers san! Rogers san! Please report to the nurses station." I walked over to the nurses station past a couple of guys who were dancing in the hallway and one guy who, everyday, from morning until night-time, would march back and forth up the halls in a sort of military precision. He looked angry. I always tried to stay out of his way when he came by. He looked like he rather punch you than say "Hello!"


There was a group of twenty or so patients at the nurses station and they were all getting their daily dose of medicine. I got in line. When I walked to the front the nurse looked at me and, said, "Mr. Rogers? Right. Here is your medicine." She handed me a small paper cup with a few pills in it. I grabbed it and started walking off. One of the males nurses barked at me, "No! You have to take your medicine right here where we can see you!" I was taken aback. It wasn't necessary to be yelling at me like that! "Of course," I thought. I took the medicine and drank it down and then chased it with a cup of water.

If you don't cooperate, we may have to do a very 

thorough rectal examination, Mr. Rogers... Your call!

"Stick out your tongue!" The male nurse grumbled. I stuck my tongue out and got the feeling that, while D-41 might be better than D-40, this was not going to be a picnic. In D-40 there were some very sick individuals. Of course, there were sick folks in D-41 too but they weren't as bad as D-40. I also gathered that the male nurses were more sympathetic to the mental patients than the druggies. It made sense. The mental patients couldn't help being in the hospital, but the folks in drug rehab? They were total f*ckups. Completely and totally useless. And I was one of them. 


They were such washouts that they didn't deserve to be treated nicely or even with one iota of respect.


And you know what? That's right. They don't. Here's a hospital full of mentally ill people who should and would probably love to lead normal everyday lives but they can't. And, on the other side, guys like me, who had all they could possibly want going for them and they throw it away with chemical or alcohol abuse! Think about that! What a bunch of losers! Talk about spoiled brats in a consumerist society! What low-life scum! 


I realized this and pondered about it often. I also realized that I wasn't getting out of this place in the next few week, hell, next few months? I didn't know for how long I would be there, and I became depressed. I slumped over to sit by myself on the sofa and wondered how it was that my life had come to this? 

Sexy Japanese Nurse! Nothing to see here. Move along, folks. Move along...

Me? I had everything. A great job, a wonderful family, I made lots of money... What a worthless piece of sh*t I was! Think about it! My baby daughter had just spent nearly two years of her life in the hospital for incurable diseases and she  defeated a rare and deadly childhood cancer. You wouldn't know it to look at her. She was the happiest most positive kid you could ever hope to meet and was always smiling and bright. Me? Look at me. In pajamas and unkempt and unshaven in a mental asylum. I was in drug rehab and felt that I didn't have a friend in the world who would even talk to me... Excepting Tanaka in D-40, of course. He'd talk to me all I wanted as long as I traded him English lessons for it.


I was the lowest of the low. What a waste of a human life. Dejectedly, I sat on the sofa in the communal area. Just then a tall lanky Japanese kid of about 25 came up and stood next to me. He benevolently smiled at me for what seemed like 30 seconds. Then he leaned over and said,


"Excuse me, Are you a gaijin (foreigner)?"


"What?! Duh! Do I look like a foreigner?" I thought. But not wanting to make a fuss or bad feelings, I answered very politely. I smiled and said, "Yes, I am a foreigner." He smiled back and then looked down to his feet. He paused for a few seconds again, seemingly like he was collecting his thoughts, then he looked up to me again. He said,


"Excuse me, are you a gaijin?"

Author's self image at D-41

"Yes. I am a gaijin." I answered again. I looked down and my eyes grew wide. He stopped and pondered. I stopped and pondered. He shuffled his feet then he looked at me and said, 


"I was wondering if you are a gai-gai-gaijin?"


"Yes. Yes, I am a foreigner." I nervously responded. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead. Was this guy the psychotic Japanese slasher who hated all foreigners and wanted them to die? Is this the guy who thinks, 'The only good foreigner is a dead foreigner?' He continued with urgency and panic became apparent in his voice; the volume growing by the second,


"Are you a ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-gai-gai-jin?" His stuttering became uncontrollable.  As he was trying to fight the stutter, he did it by raising his voice and made his face into grotesque twisted contortions. I didn't like that one bit because all the people around were dropping what they were doing and started staring right at us; and all I wanted to do was keep a low profile while I was in D-41. I didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention towards myself. His voice grew louder and louder... The stuttering became a scream!


"Are you a ga-ga-ga-GA-GA-GA- gainjin?"


"Yes!" I sqeeked like a little mouse.


The trumpets in my head were blaring! I put both hands over my ears and to cover my head! 


"Ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-GA-GA-GA-GA-GA-GAIJIN?" He warped his face into comical but frightening contortions (kind of like the singer of a punk band would do - they're all crazy too) as he nearly screamed at me. His fingers were pointing towards me yet they were all twisted up in every which direction like a sort of disheveled and broken Japanese Edward Scissorshands. 

I was trapped in a madhouse with insane people!!! I jumped from my chair and said as calmly as I could, without showing fear or panic on my face, "Excuse me, won't you? I'm not feeling well. I think I should go and have a lay down in my room. Pardon me, won't you?" not waiting for an answer I shot from that place and into the mad safety of my cot in my cubicle protected by the invisible walls of rules constructed by male nurses in white suits and ladies in pink suits and caps.


I had definitely fallen into a sort of Twilight Zone. I was an extra, with no escape, on the set of the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.


Oh the pain! I pulled the covers over my head and hid from the monsters lurking outside. I knew it! This time I had finally done it. I had f*cked up REALLY big time this time and there would be no mommy or daddy or anyone to save my ass. I was doomed. 


Later on, I'd ask my doctor about what had happened and he told me not to worry. He said there were a very many schizophrenic patients there and that most of them couldn't remember what had just transpired a few seconds before hand. He told me not to worry about seeming like I was rude because that guy probably doesn't remember it all all. Wow! A forgiving guy!


Oh, if only supposed sane people could be so forgiving about minor transgressions within a few seconds in the outside world!


It was about this time that I think my body had basically flushed out all the chemicals and drugs that caused me to have bizarre delusions of grandeur and wild ideas. I could tell that I was getting back to normal.... Well, almost back to normal. Why? Because I started having a very wild imagination again.


In my mind, I kept seeing myself and this entire situation as a movie. Or perhaps, that was a survival mechanism for saving my sanity? I thought it best if I viewed this entire mess as some sort of twisted cinema that would someday win me the Academy Award for Best Script of the Year award. Here I was, the hero of the film, trapped in an insane asylum with a bunch of crazy people. Why was I here? Well, of course, it was all a mistake. I shouldn't have been put here in the first place. Just a little misunderstanding, you see. It would all become clearer and clearer why I shouldn't be there as time passed.... In the end, I get the girl....


Unfortunately, my imagination didn't matter to the masters of this sick experiment. They wanted torture and I knew that I had to get out of there before it was too late. "The evil ones are never satisfied," I thought.


I knew that I had to get free before, before... Well, before I became one of them! A few days before, one of the patients in D-40 had pulled me aside to whisper to me that the doctors of the entire hospital were completely insane. Of course, I didn't believe him at the time. But, when he told me the reasons for his thinking, I thought about it and it made sense. I couldn't argue with the logic.


He told me that all the doctors at the hospital were insane because all the patients were insane too and, it follows reason that it is impossible to stay sane when you are working with insane people all day. Even Nietzsche wrote:

“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

I knew that if I stayed there too long, I'd become like 

my captors.... I'd become one of them!

Now, for me, the seed had been planted. I was beginning to suspect everyone's sanity at D-41; the patients, the doctors, the nurses (excepting the two nice grandma types); I even began suspecting the ladies in the cafeteria. Everyone was possibly stark raving mad at this place and, before I became like them, I had to escape. I had to plan a Great Escape.


Soon the theme song from the sixties cinema thriller starring Steve McQueen started running over and over in my head. And, it kept getting louder and louder as the hours went on. For the first four days in D-41 all I did was plan and consider different methods of escape. But how?

I kid you not! Planning my escape engulfed my first four days there. Sometimes the theme song of Great Escape would be playing so loud in my head I began to worry that other people might hear the music bleeding through my ears! And, if they heard me, they'd ruin my plans. Or I'd worry that I might be humming the tune so loud that a patient might recognize the song and report me to gestapo, er, I mean, nurse station.


This is where this particular episode really gets out there, folks. I investigated every way of escape: I sat and watched the delivery and cleaning people. I looked at what time and when these chores were performed. I had checked out where the deliveries came in, where the cleaning lady opened the door to take in and out her cleaning supplies. Could I have jumped in and hidden in the trash dumpster and been dumped out with the trash outside of the hospital? Or how about strapping myself to the underside of a delivery truck that would be driving out of the compound? Those seemed pretty tough to me. I also considered the possibility of a mad dash out the door... You know, fastest distance between two points and all that. 


I decided that the mad dash idea was no good because I found out that the nurses remove the shoelaces from every one's shoes. So, even if you got your shoes on and you got outside of the door, it's pretty hard to run a 100 meter  mad dash with no shoelaces on. Try it sometime and you'll see.


I also figured that idea was no good because if I were running around on the hospital grounds like a lost chicken asking for the exit, some doctors or nurses might see me and ask, "Excuse me, Mr. Rogers? Where do you think you're going?" And, if that happened, I know that would mean another week or two back into the cooler. No! I needed a better idea! I needed to use my American cunning! After all we did win the war against the Krauts and the Japs, right? I figured that I'd escape by outsmarting these guys.


That was it! Genius! I knew there was a reason that the theme song from Great Escape was playing over and over in my head! I decided that the best way out of D-41 was to dig a tunnel through the concrete floor, under my bed and out across the hospital grounds and into safety! Brilliant! 


I could see myself and the other patients chuckling as we lifted the escape on the other end of tunnel and dozens of us fleeing into the night on a daring midnight escape. Why, my picture would even be on the front page of every major newspaper and network in Japan. I'd be famous! My first's wife's parent's would see that and certainly say to my first wife, "See? I told you you shouldn't have married that crazy foreigner!"


I would be a star. Like Jessie James or Ronald Biggs....

"Last one out is a rotten egg!"

To make my plan work, I knew that I would need some dependable accomplishes and decided that I would start to ask around at the "talent pool." I decided that I needed to talk to just about everyone just to see if I could find out which ones were in the proper mental condition to want to break out of this joint with me.


I figured we could do it just like the in the movie: We'd set up some sort of pulley that would lift up my cot. Under the cot, would be the tunnel, covered by some well placed stuff. The tunnel would be dug during the afternoons when most of the nurses weren't around. Two guys would dig. One guy would be on lookout at the door of the room and two guys on lookout all up and down the hall.


Finding five guys who would be dependable and keep their mouths shut while we tunneled out of a mental hospital? No problem! There was also the problem of what t do about having dirt all over you when you were only allowed baths 3 times a week, but I figured we'd worry about that later.


Being a guy who is quite able to multi-task, I also decided that I would start to accumulate the tools we would need to dig out of the ward. I stomped on the floor of the hospital and it seemed pretty clear to me that the floors were your typical, tile covering one ~ two feet of concrete reinforced with steel mesh. It would take a lot to dig through that! I figured I'd need at least 4 or 5 teaspoons.


I'm not kidding. I really thought that.


At breakfast, lunch and dinner, the cafeteria gave each patient one spoon, one fork, one butter knife and one tray. When you were done with your food, you had to return the tray and utensils and the cafeteria ladies would check to make sure that there was nothing missing. 


From watching Hollywood movies you'd think they wouldn't give out butter knives but, at this hospital, they did. Though they were very strict with the utensils. It was simple; you were given the set, you were expected to return the full set. I knew that I would have to be sly in order to steal the tools that we'd need to tunnel through 2 feet of solid concrete: I knew I'd have to have quick hands if I were to steal the teaspoons we'd need for that back breaking job.


I knew that if I took the teaspoons from my tray, they'd notice them missing and then they'd probably call me to the nurse station for a debriefing. I could see it now, the gestapo nurse would be blaring a bright light into my face and demanding "Ze location of ze allied teaspoons!"


"I don't know! I don't know! And even if I did know, I'd never tell you!" I reply in exhaustion....


Come to think of it. Don't want that! Nope. I didn't want to draw attention to me, so I decided that I'd steal the teaspoons from other people's trays so the nurses would think they were the ones planning something. Pretty smart, eh?


So for the next three days, I stole five teaspoons from other patients trays. I overheard the cafeteria people talking with the nurses about the missing spoons and began to get nervous.


What if the doctors or nurses were to call a sudden inspection to locate the missing spoons? What if the doctors were to call a meeting with all the patients and demand that the person who stole the spoons give them back? What if some of the other patients saw me stealing the spoons?


Suddenly, I realized I had dangerous contraband hidden in my cot. If there were an unannounced inspection of our rooms and cots, then they would surely find the spoons and then I'd get grilled on the reasons for having the spoons.


I was in a now in a no-win situation. If I told them that I was planning on digging out of the hospital through underground tunnel using teaspoons instead of shovels, they'd surely think I was nuts and want to keep me there longer. If I didn't tell them about my plan, they'd think I was a Kleptomaniac with a teaspoon fetish and that would probably add another six months to a year on my internment.


No matter what, I told them, I knew that I was doomed. I had to do something to get rid of those spoons as soon as possible. 

The next part is here: Mr. Cool, Chocolate Addictions and a Paradox of Insanity in Today's World - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 4 http://modernmarketingjapan.blogspot.com/2012/02/mr-cool-chocolate-addictions-and.html