when science stays silent

Hospitals are sick-white, the kind of white that makes you feel bitter and uneasy. I stared at that white for too many times within the past few years. I go visit a doctor whenever I have some time off, ask whether they've seen anything like my case, get no as an answer, and silence as the bonus when I ask about possible reasons or cures. It has become a safe habit. The tests change, the scans change, the-best-of-the-breed doctors change, the disciplines change, the hospitals change, the cities change, the countries change, the puppy-eyed patients in the waiting lounge change, but the end result stays the same. Experts have only more question marks to offer when it comes to diagnosing rare cases... let alone unique cases like mine. 

I mastered a new language when researching for this unique problem. I must confess, the medical language is harder to learn than Japanese. The jargon is a bother, reading about malfunctions/deficiencies/deaths is depressing, but the worst thing is trying to figure out which claim comes closer to truth when comparing possibilities and hypotheses. The stakes are high: the amount of money involved is enormous. Not to offend decent professors who devote their life to saving lives, but there is a lot of incentive to bend the truth in this business. The more you learn, the more you see that no one really knows much beyond airy assumptions. It is a shaky ground. And it's a painful one. Yesterday, I was paying one of the best-of-the-breed to stick injections deep into different parts of my body and to give electroshocks just to make sure that I was aching the right way. It turns out that I'm very well capable of feeling pain. 

As per the blank results of these sadist tests, I'll be staying at the hospital for some time now. The doctors are determined to cut me open, and more than just once. I'll be wandering in the half-homey-half-scary corridors of worry for a while. I'll stare at the sick-white walls, trying not to die.