Discharge and Becoming Just Like Keith Richards - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 9

The previous installment of this series is here: Meetings, Matsuri Festivals and the Future - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 8 )

The day of my discharge was just like any other day. I woke up at 6 and then made my bed and went to breakfast. Everyone knew I was getting discharged and they all treated me like the "Birthday Boy" which, in a sense, I guess I was.

After breakfast I met with Doctor Watanabe and the kindly old nurse. Doctor Watanabe had helped me to to arrange for weekly counseling once I was out of the hospital, which I went to for two years religiously, and he was there to give me some final words of encouragement.


He shook my hand and said to me, "I never want to see you back here again. Now you have a wonderful wife and a wonderful family and a good job. Make sure you keep them." I thanked the doctor for all his good help and then thanked the nurses.


For my friend Rusulan, who had no family to visit (and, I'm sure the hospital would not allow any more visits by his girlfriend) I gave my drinking cup. This might seem a strange present, but all ones possessions were provided by family. I had asked my wife to give me a good drinking cup that had a lid on it. Rusulan had nothing so I gave him mine.


I said to the nurse, "Tell Rusulan to leave this place as soon as he can and good luck."


With that I said my final "Goodbyes" and I was out the door. It was good to be alive.


The first place I had to visit was the shoes shop across the street from the hospital. It was an old mom and pop store. When the owner of the store greeted me at the entrance he looked down at my shoes and saw that I had no shoelaces. He knew exactly what that meant. I was, at first, embarrassed, but he smiled broadly at me and said, "Congratulations! I know exactly what you need!"

I reckoned he did know exactly. He must have seen a thousand people before me who walked in just like me without shoe laces too. He knew they had just been released from an ordeal at the hospital across the street. After I paid for my shoe laces he sat down with me and while I laced one shoe, he laced the other for me. As I walked out I thanked him and he wished me "Good luck."


My next stop was a few shops down and it was a corner sushi shop. I was dreaming of sushi! Funnily enough, for some reason, I had cravings for natto sushi. I ordered three rolls of that and off I went to the train station.


Everything seemed fresh and new. I was able to see things just like when I first came to Japan. The surroundings were an interesting view in every direction and the air smelled fresh. Finally, I walked to a cheap haircut barber shop and got my hair cut for ¥1,000 (about $10). Then I was on the train, eating natto rolls and heading home.


It was nice to get back home and I can honestly say that I have never been back to Matsuzawa hospital nor have I done any speed again. The weird thing is that I haven't had the desire. I was diagnosed with Bi-polar disorder and then given drugs to control it. Strange, it was. As soon as I began the counseling and the therapy, I was a very happy person!


There was one last thing, though, about this entire episode that I would like to relate about what a twisted world we live in. I have worked in the music business since 1978. In that time I can honestly say that I personally have known several people who have died from drug over-doses or committed suicide. I also cannot count how many people I've know who were arrested and spent time in jail for drugs or drug possession related offenses; that includes Japan and the United States. I even know a few people who, at one time were on top of the world, their show business career's a smash success, only to have a drug arrest or similar episode ruin their career overnight.


It is always a big story whenever a TV star or a famous musician is busted for some drug offense. 


But like the old story about cockroaches; If you find one in the kitchen, it's a sure bet that there are hundreds, if not thousands, more around it. 

There is never just one

When I returned back to the radio station, I had my head low and was ready to apologize for inconveniencing my staff and the station Program Director (PD). I opened the door to the office and the looked up at me. Normally he would scowl and treat me poorly, but on this day, no! On this day, he smiled broadly and ran to shake my hand.


"Wow! Mike! You are so cool! You are just like Keith Richards, man! Wow! I so envy you!" He was serious! He was beaming from side to side and I almost thought he was going to ask me for my autograph!


Just then, several others saw me too and they joined into slapping me on the back and adding the "Wow! Cool! I wish I could do that!" type of comments.


I thought they were nuts. But I know well what they are doing and I know very well what goes on in the "dark side" of show business. I know that they, too, have thought many times, "Do I need help?"


There's a reason why they say, "Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll."

But I thanked them all and I was relieved that they didn't think poorly of me because of it. To this day I am astounded how they think going through something like the troubles Keith Richards did with drugs, arrests, rehab, etc. is "cool!" 


There are many people around you and me who have trouble with some sort of sickness or addiction. And they need help and understanding. First off, people need to understand exactly what an addiction is. 


Please refer to What is an Addiction? This is a post I wrote a while back so I'd like to quote it at length: 

I "graduated" from Matsuzawa Hospital. Matsuzawa is the oldest and most famous drug and alcohol rehabilitation hospital in all of Asia. It is said that if you can graduate from Matsuzawa that is equal to the level of graduating from Japan's number one university: Tokyo University.

I did that. And I had some of the best and most famous doctors as teachers in all of Japan. Let me tell you what Dr. Watanabe taught me when I was at Matsuzawa Hospital.

Of course, there are many kinds of addictions and I believe they all stem from different reasons that have to do with different personality types of people and psychological causes... But there is one thing about all addictions that is common: Addictions are not the problem of alcohol, drugs, gambling, sex or whatever. Addiction is not a problem of the substance abuse in and of itself... Addiction is a problem of human communication.

For example, drug addiction is not a problem of drugs. Drug addiction, like all addictions is a problem of human relations. This is the part about addictions that people fail to recognize for what it is. Drug addiction, like all addictions become a problem when they start to interfere with your human relations and communications with the people around you.

There will be many people who will scoff at this, but ask any professional doctor who deals with addictions and they will say what I am about to partake to you is true: In the case of, say, drugs consider; You could go live on a desert island, all by yourself, and do speed and heroin or LSD everyday from morning until night, everyday of the year, for years on end and you would not be called a drug addict. 

That's true. You could do, say, heavy psychedelic drugs everyday 24/7 and yet you would not be considered a drug addict. You would, most surely, be a heavy drug abuser and have many problems, but you wouldn't be considered a drug addict. 

The term "drug addict" would not be applied to you until your drug abuse became a problem with your relations and communication with the people around you... No people around you? Then it's no problem.

You know, there are drug abusers and alcohol abusers all around us. Many people are abusing illicit drugs but the biggest problem in our society today is the massive abuse of prescription drugs, over-the-counter medicines. 

Different chemicals affect different people differently (I include alcohol in the term "chemicals"). In the case of alcohol, consider: There are many people who can have a drink of scotch and go to work, no problem! I even know people who have a bottle in their desk and they seem to function normally. I've always admired and envied those kinds of people. I can't do that. I am the personality type that is either sober or drunk. So I do not drink at all before work is over... Even one glass of beer until work is over? No way!

You see people like that in the movies. Ever seen "The Great Lebowski"? He would grab a Black Russian and head out the door for whatever adventure he was on at the moment... People like that are cool, I think. Me? If I had the one drink, I'd lose all desire to do anything but sit down and vegetate and drink more. The one drink would make me useless. I'd stop working and could probably only have fun and function with other people who are drinking.

Anyway, like I said, different chemicals affect different people in different ways. Upon drinking some people get happy (that's me) and start singing (that's me too!)... Others get melancholy; some get aggressive and want to start fighting; others start to cry; some fall asleep! There are many types of people and many types of chemicals so it is obvious that there are many different ways these chemical react in each person's brain.

This is the great misunderstanding about "Drug addict" or "Alcoholic." Some people can do drugs or drink everyday and function normally in a normal society (if you can call our modern society "normal" but that is a different subject).

Just because your spouse or co-worker drinks everyday, doesn't mean that they are a alcohol-addict. The moment their drinking starts to affect their home life or work or relations with other people, that's the moment then they can be labelled to have a "problem". 

There are people around us right now who are doing drugs (legally or illegally) and, not to make judgements on morality as that is not my issue here, but if they can function normally, then they haven't a problem.

Then there are others. Most of us, like me, either abstain or we have a problem. When you look at it like this, it is pretty "Black and White". 

Now that I understand and recognize drug and alcohol addiction for what it is, I can cope and control myself. I never do drugs, no longer wish to yet I drink often...But since I understand what I am dealing with, my drinking never conflicts with work nor does it make it a problem at my home.

Trust that I, like many others, have had problems at home with drinking too much... It hasn't happened recently... Understanding these problems for what they are cannot allow me to say that they will never happen again. No one knows the future, but.... Hopefully, as we get older, we get wiser.

Understanding what addiction is and what it really means can help people to control their behavior better... It can also help those who live with such a person to know how best to handle the situation and where to seek help.

There are many people around you and me who have trouble with some sort of sickness or addiction. And they need help and understanding. 

Meetings, Matsuri Festivals and the Future - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 8

(Part seven of this series is here: Nowhere to Run to Nowhere to Hide - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 7)

About once a week every patient had meetings with the doctors. I never could figure out, really, what the purpose of my meetings were. There would usually be about 4 or 5 doctors sitting in a room and they would call you in. It was always a cordial affair for me but I can imagine that some of the other patients would make the meetings antagonistic.

In my case, it was always questions about how I felt and how I was doing. My answers were nearly always the same: I'm fine coupled with; when do you think I can I go home?


Sometimes they'd sit me down and ask me all sorts of questions that seemed to have nothing at all to do with my current situation. The questions were frustrating and, I realized later, that generating frustration might have the purpose of the entire line of questioning. I think, perhaps, the doctors wanted to see if you could keep your cool or how fidgety or irritable you'd get.


I could never figure out why, for example, they'd want to know if I had ever been to Italy before or if I liked pizza better than spaghetti... Who knows? Maybe it was all just small talk after all.


Besides these meetings, as I mentioned before, sometimes one or two of the doctors would sit in upon my visits with my wife. Of course, not the entire visit, just for a while and with our permission.


At the very last of these meetings, soon after they requested that my wife curtail her visits, the top doctor of the entire rehabilitation ward showed up. His name was Doctor Tanaka. I heard that he was (and probably still is) one of the most famous doctors for this sort of thing in all of Japan. Doctor Tanaka was there along with my regular doctor and a a male nurse and one of the kindly old female nurses. 

Not my doctors... But you get the picture

Forgive me for not introducing my regular doctor to you until now. His name didn't seem important then, but his name was Doctor Watanabe. Doctor Watanabe was a very good doctor and a nice guy. It was his shoes that I saw the first time when I was in the cooler. It was him who was the one who first asked me if I was alright. 


It was my final meeting with the doctors, I didn't know it at the time, my wife was also was present. So, in total, there were doctors Watanabe and Tanaka, and one of the kindly old lady nurses and a male nurse sitting in as observers and my wife.


Of course, since I did not know that this was my final meeting, I didn't expect anything different from the few times we had such meetings before. I'd find out much later, long after this meeting was over, that it was very much dependent upon my wife's opinion if I were to be released or not. As I mentioned before, the doctors wanted me out of there as soon as possible. The reason being that, from their experience, they knew that the longer a person was inside of Matsuzawa hospital, the harder it was for them to reintegrate to society and become a productive member again. 


The doctors wanted me out. I think my wife wasn't too sure. Perhaps this meeting was for her more than me.


But, isn't that an amazing contradiction? You have to go to the hospital to do something about a chemical or alcohol addiction, but the longer you are there, the worse off you will be. I'm sure this created a huge dilemma for the doctors and the people who would be the guarantors for the people who were released. I mean, just how long is "long enough?"

The guarantors of patients to be released were usually spouses or parents or relatives who promised to look after the recovering addict and guaranteed to look after them and provide them with food, support and a place to sleep. It wouldn't do at all for the government to help someone through rehabilitation and spend all that public monies only to have that patient leave the hospital and become homeless or an extra burden on society. What would the purpose of the the entire affair have been for if that were the result? It was a government run institution so they had a system whereby they had a very high percentage of success... Or they had a good reason to believe that releasing you was a safe bet. Otherwise, why take the chance? You won't be raising hell and bothering society in D-41. 


The final meeting for me was a group discussion about whether to or not release me from the hospital's care and into my wife's care. My wife sat silent throughout most of the meeting. The doctor's kept asking me what I wanted and my answers were predictable; and stupid. I kept pleading for release like a little kid. I should have known that I needed to keep a level head and, whether I was or not, act competent enough to be released.


Finally, after going around for an hour, the head doctor, Doctor Tanaka seemed like he had heard enough. With an extremely serious scowl he pointed his finger straight at me and said, 


"Rogers san, if I order your release today, do you promise me that you will never, ever do any drugs again as long as you live?" 


The question caught me off guard. I wanted to jump out of my seat and yell, "Of course! Never again! You kidding me?" But, I sank back, instead, towards the back of my chair. Everyone in the room was staring right at me. I looked at them all. In my paranoia, I thought, "Is that a trick question?" From trading stocks and financial instruments, as well as being an avid reader of Hemingway and the likes, I knew that no one can predict the future. I was sure that this was, indeed, a trick question. I gathered my thoughts and slowly replied,


"Do I promise to never do drugs again?..." I stalled to find the correct answer... And the room grew dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone stared at me. "Well," I continued, "No one knows what the future holds so I cannot say for sure. I cannot say exactly... I want to be happy though. I want to try to return to enjoying life and being with my family and loved ones again...." I paused...


In my mind and in my heart, I know that I am an excellent public speaker, but this time, I couldn't find the right words exactly. I knew that I had to show the frailty of humanity to these people or I couldn't garner their sympathy. Perhaps I wasn't ready for discharge, my head wasn't clear. I continued, repeating my last sentence...


"I want to try to return to enjoying life and being with my family and loved ones again.... But, like I said, no one knows the future. I think that if my entire family were killed in an accident tomorrow that I probably would be so depressed that I'd want to die and I'd probably start doing drugs and drinking and who knows what else? So, I'm sorry to say that, Doctor Tanaka, since no one knows what the future holds, I cannot honestly promise you that I will never do drugs again. I'm sorry." And I bowed as humbly as I could.


There was a pause and suddenly, Doctor Tanaka slapped his palm on the desk and stood up and pointed to me and said, "Release him!" and he grabbed his papers and books under his arm and then just walked out of the room without saying another word. Just like that, he was gone.

Inside my head, it was like one of those courtroom TV shows where everyone anxiously awaits the jury's verdict... The entire room holds their breath. When the jury stands up and announces the decision, "Not guilty!" the entire room erupts into chatter and the movement of chairs and smiles and handshakes. Only this time it wasn't a courtroom and I wasn't expecting any sort of decision like that at all. In my heart, I never expected that these sorts of decisions were even made in such a way at all. Doctor Tanaka's reaction came as a total surprise.


When Doctor Tanaka left the room, Doctor Watanabe came up to me and smiled and patted me on the shoulder. He said, "We'll get all the paperwork necessary for your wife and you will be home day after tomorrow." I couldn't believe my good fortune.


Inside myself I was jumping and screaming for joy like I had just won the lottery but on the outside I tried to act cool and not overjoyed. Nevertheless, I'm sure the happiness showed on my face. I'm also sure if I did jump up and down like an over-joyed eight year old, that might have been greatly frowned upon. I knew that I had to act like an adult and not my normal immature self.


My wife smiled at me and we hugged. She had to go meet the doctors to discuss some matters and sign some documents. She said that she'd leave money for me and that the first things she wanted me to do was buy some shoelaces and get my hair cut before I came home. I asked if I could buy some sushi and eat it on the way home and she laughed.


Later on, still a bit shell-shocked by what had transpired, I saw the kindly old woman nurse and asked her if she would talk to me for a few minutes. She agreed and I asked her why, all of a sudden, Doctor Tanaka agreed to release me at the meeting a few hours before. She told me,


"I have seen Doctor Tanaka ask that very same question to over one thousand patients before you, Rogers san, and you are only one of about two or three who ever gave the correct answer. Most times the doctor will ask that question and nearly everyone answers like a ten-year-old boy; they all swear to god that they will never ever do drugs again. But, when you stop to think about it, it is as you answered, Rogers san, no one knows what the future holds. To make a promise that you will never ever do something again is foolish and immature. Only a child would make such a promise. So many before have made that promise and they all wind up staying for another month or two or even more..." She smiled at me. 


"Thank you," I said to her. In my mind I thought about how she always did extra things for the patients like bring flowers to the ward and tend to the garden in her break time. "What a kind person this woman is..." I thought.  


The next morning, my final day at D-41 was the day of the "Matsuri" (festival). There were several young college student interns who were volunteering to help at D-41 over the time I was there and it was their duty to help out where ever possible and to make life a bit more enjoyable for the patients. 


They had received permission from the doctors to hold a small Matusuri in the fenced off D-41 garden area. I wasn't so enthused about this event because I was counting the seconds towards my discharge and that completely occupied my entire mind. Even so, each patient, yours truly included, was assigned a job. There was duties that involved making Yakitori (chicken on a stick), cooking  other sorts of festival delights, manning booths, and cooking Yakisoba. It wasn't a large affair, but just a nice time for the patients to go outside, sit under a tree, enjoy the grass and the birds singing and spend a short time remembering the wonders of freedom and how much they are missing. 


I was to help with decorations, which I did, and also to help with cooking Yakisoba. Yakisoba is noodles, mixed with vegetables and friend on a flat pan. It is a staple at all festivals all over Japan.


I've never liked it particularly. In fact, I could say that I had always hated it.


I have never cooked Yakisoba before so was very hesitant to do so. I thought it would never do for me to muck up such an important part of the festivities. I protested a bit, but when I went to the Yakisoba booth and saw two of the old timers cooking up Yakisoba, they so touched my heart. Here they were patients of this hospital with nowhere to go and no future, but they were eagerly and enthusiastically cooking the Yakisoba for everyone. I could tell by the expression on their face that they were thinking, "This is going to be the best Yakisoba ever made!"

They seemed so very happy to have, if even for a few minutes, a useful purpose in life. One of the gruffy old guys who had never even seemed to notice me before looked right at me and smiling said, "Welcome! Delicious Yakisoba! Won't you try some?" as if he were really in a real Matsuri in a real Yakisoba stand. I smiled and said, "One please!" I threw them a ¥100 coin and had some Yakisoba. It was the best Yakisoba I had ever eaten in my life.


Since that day, I have come to enjoy Yakisoba. I will never forget the face of that old guy giving his all for that one moment of enjoyment for everyone. I hope he is doing well.    


I would be out of D-41 the next morning. I could hardly wait. Oddly enough, though, I wasn't even out of D-41 and was already beginning to miss the place.




(Part 8 of this series is here: Discharge and Becoming Like Keith Richards - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 9  http://bit.ly/ytIi68)

Nowhere to Run to Nowhere to Hide - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 7

(Part six of 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)

Rusulan was gone!  My best friend in the hospital had made a daring escape with his high school Japanese girlfriend and everyone envied him and wanted to be just like him. I envied him because he had a pretty high school girl as a girlfriend. Everyone else envied him because he escaped. Funny the weird priorities people have! Nevertheless, we all cheered him on and wished him well.


I knew I'd never see him again.

Is it better to live a long boring life or a short exciting one? (Especially if that short exciting one involves running around with a sexy Japanese high school girl?)

I suppose now that I should take a moment to explain about the rules at the hospital for someone who enters then escapes. I mentioned before that, at that time, one could join into the drug rehabilitation program and be admitted into the hospital for treatment, but there were a few "catches." The biggest catch being that one wasn't allowed to leave until the doctors said "OK!" This is because Matsuzawa wasn't a private hospital, it was government run. That meant that it was really inexpensive and there were lots of people trying to get in (still are) but can't because of a long waiting list. Staying in a hospital -any hospital - costs lots of money. If it were a private hospital and you paid them $15,000 a month, they probably wouldn't say "no!" if you wanted to come and go as you wish.  


Back in the heyday of the Japanese bubble economy, cash was over flowing. I reckon that this made the government take a very charitable view of people who wanted to stop any dependence on drugs. Hence, it was basically free to stay in a drug rehab ward in a public hospital. Since everyone in Japan knew of the reputation of Matsuzawa and that many famous Japanese had come and "graduated" there, it didn't hold such a negative stigma as smaller, less well-known hospitals did. So that made it really difficult to get in. That I got in was simply blind luck and incredible timing (maybe they had a foreigner shortage)!


Think about this: I got my own bed, care by several nurses and doctors, three meals a day and treatment at one of the most famous drug rehab hospitals in all of Asia and it cost only about $10 a day! I hear that rehab centers in the west cost $10,000 a month and more. Rich movie stars and musicians pay in the neighborhood of $25 ~ $50,000 a month (and then wind up never being cured).


But the great care at an unbelievable price was the tradeoff. The public run hospital will take care of you and make it super cheap for you and your family for you to stay there, you just don't leave until the hospital says you can. It is the agreement that nearly everyone, who was a patient at Matsuzawa hospital, made.


That being said, this also meant that they weren't really going to send the police off after you if you decided that you've had enough and escaped. The rules were that they'd make it difficult for you to escape, but if a patient did escape from Matsuzawa hospital and didn't harm anyone in doing so, and could "stay escaped" for one week,  they would not come looking for you as they considered your "project" over budget! That means that if you escape and stay "escaped" for one week, they'd give up on you. I also imagine that this would mean that if you escaped and didn't come back that, later on, if you did want back for treatment, they'd decline you. So you'd be best to make up your mind. I found these rules to be quite curious!


Understanding this, if you can, should require much consideration by anyone if they want to enter that hospital in the first place. It is not a decision to be made lightly and, in Japan, as with many things like this, is a decision made with the consultation of immediately family or parents. 


But paperwork and details can be such a boring task and so tedious, especially compared to the goings on back at D-41... 

At breakfast everyone was abuzz with the news of Rusulan's escape. How did he do it? When exactly did this happen? Tell me more! Of course with all the chatter and the lack of actual facts, the story got wilder and wilder as the day went on.


While not nearly as exciting as what everyone was imagining of a well-planned and organized escape, what I gathered that had happened, after getting many versions, and made the most sense to me, was that his girlfriend showed up in a taxi at the hospital that day. Then she told the driver to wait - not an unusual occurrence - and the driver would not be suspicious - as people are often using taxis to pick up loved ones at the hospital upon discharge. She then went to meet Rusulan and, once meeting him, they acted as calm and nonchalant as possible and, instead of a mad dash to the cab, they simply walked to the taxi, got in, closed the door and off they went; the two love birds and escapees gone! Not even raising a single eyebrow of suspicion. The driver would probably not think anything was amiss because he's probably picked up people in pajamas at the hospital a hundred times before.


Once in the car it was probably wine and roses for the young desperadoes as off they sped - not a care in the world. I suspected that I'd never see or heard about Rusulan again. I figured he was long gone never to be seen again.


The excitement was anti-climatic back inside of D-41. There was nothing more to it than what had already been said. The excitement soon wore off by mid-morning and the slow boredom of the days returned. The rest of the day, like all the others that came before that one at D-41, passed by uneventfully. The TV played; patients stood around and smoked cigarettes; we ate lunch, then brushed our teeth and readied for bed. Even though nothing had happened to me, I was happy that Rusulan had made his getaway. I wondered if he and his girlfriend would get married someday?


Tired from the events of the day, when "lights out" came at 8 pm, I went to sleep immediately. As they say, "snug as a bug in a rug." I slept well as I was satisfied.


In the middle of the night, as I usually do, I awoke to go to the bathroom and have a glass of water. I walked past the nurses station and the single light bulb above it and the low hum of some machinery in the distance breaking the dead silence of the night. I stood there for a few moments drinking in the atmosphere and the silence. I wondered about my friend Rusulan. I finished my water and went back to bed.


The next morning, to my great surprise and utter shock, though, D-41 was again abuzz with news! I sat up in my bed and my room mate looked at me and exclaimed, "Rusulan's been captured! Rusulan's been captured! He was caught last night!" I couldn't believe it!


"So fast? That's impossible! How could that have happened?" Once again the stories were spread like wildfire.


I could picture the entire episode in my head: Immediately after their escape, Rusulan and his girlfriend went straight to a dingy and dirty hotel room that was to be their hiding place for the next weeks. After cooking up a little something to eat in the kitchen, along with a few drinks, they began to argue and start blaming each other for the miserable predicament they found themselves in. As the fighting got more and more heated, in a rage, she began throwing things around in the room. 

This actually looks like Rusulan sort of...

"Stop it!" Rusulan orders. But she doesn't stop. 


"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" She screams. Rusulan suddenly grabs her as she is about to throw more dishes his way. Tightly, in his arms, she shouts as she then begins to beat on his chest.


Rusulan then lifts her into the air with his powerful arms and off her feet. Their eyes meet and suddenly they begin to kiss deeply and passionately on the lips. Soon, he throws her onto the bed and, unable to control their savage sexual desires any longer, they rip each other clothes off and dive into a unstoppable orgy of teenage lust. 


It is dark and hours later. They are both exhausted. She turns over in bed and lights a cigarette then heads to the shower. Rusulan is still fast asleep.


But unknown to the teenaged fugitives, as the hot water of the shower greets the tender young and sexy flesh of our nubile Japanese high school girl heroine, there are a dozen SWAT team policemen silently climbing to stairs to the hotel room. Someone has tipped off the police. On the street there are another two dozen or so more police and the building is surrounded. There will be no escape this time. 

Suddenly, with the swift kick of a policemen's boot, the door smashes open and a shock grenade is thrown into the room. Bang! All hell breaks loose as smoke fills the room and, within a split second, all the policemen are inside and shouting at people, "Freeze!" The girl tries to get a towel over her wet and naked body as two police men order her to the floor and, in the bedroom, there is a half naked Rusulan, still halfway asleep in bed, with seven Swat police officers with guns point blank at his head. The lead policeman cracks a sideways grin as he shoves his revolver up against Rusulan's cheek. He laughs and says, 


"We've been looking for you!... Don't move!.." Within minutes both the girl and Rusulan are in handcuffs and within seconds after that, Rusulan is back in custody.


...Well, at least that is what I had imagined had happened for a few minutes of daydreaming there. The scenario I just recanted was the "made for TV version" I concocted for you. The real version of what actually happened would never make it to a TV drama. No way. What actually happened was too stupid to be believed. But, I knew Rusulan, so when I heard what had happened, I thought, "Oh, yeah. That sounds like Rusulan."


What had really transpired and the facts of the escape and capture had become clear to me by breakfast. This is hilarious and, as they often say, "You just can't make this stuff up!" Truth is, indeed, stranger than fiction.


Here's roughly the truth: It seems that Rusulan's girlfriend did pick him up and they did escape in a taxi that she had waiting for them. After that, the events take a comical turn. Of course, I wasn't there in the taxi with the two when they made their getaway, but after hearing the entire story and getting verification from my doctor about Rusulan's capture, and knowing Rusulan, I have a pretty good idea of what went on.


It was like this: Rusulan told his girlfriend to bring a taxi and wait for him as he wanted out of that hospital. Of course, Matsuzawa hospital being what it is and all, it's not exactly the kind of place you go bragging to your friends about when you go in there (my case was different and I will talk about that later). So she probably wasn't too sure of why he was in there.


Anyway, she agrees to bring a taxi along and, when she visits, she and Rusulan get in and off they go. They've escaped! Free! They are on a date just like any other! Where do they want to go first? Why, where do they always go on dates? To the game center to play video games, of course! Wheeeeee!

What a romantic date!

They get to the game center and start playing. What fun! I wonder if they've bothered to stop and buy Rusulan some shoe strings for his shoes? I would imagine that they did. And what of his clothes? Aha! Rusulan planned that part! He knew that he was going to meet his girlfriend. The also told the doctors he was going to meet his girlfriend, so no one would think twice that he'd want to be at least partially presentable and be wearing regular street clothes such as at least a polo shirt and jeans.


Once at the game center and shopping center, they have a blast. I'm sure Rusulan didn't have any money but his girlfriend loved him so much that she brought all of her money, all of it! She probably carried a grand total of about ¥5,000! A kings ransom!


After playing some games, they probably went to McDonald's and, after that, being an alcoholic and all, Rusulan wanted a drink or two. Well, as anyone whose ever spent hours on end at any game center in Tokyo knows, ¥5,000 including McDonald's and a beer or two doesn't go very far on two people.


Well all good things must come to an end. Soon, it becomes late and the girlfriend must go back home. Her parents won't like it if she is out too late and, after all, tomorrow is school. She tells Rusulan that she must go. Rusulan begs her to stay but she cannot. He asks her if he can come to stay at her house. 


"Absolutely not!" Comes the answer. Her parents would never allow that in a million years! Rusulan quickly relents and then asks her to lend him some money but she hasn't any money left, excepting ¥300 (about $2.50). She gives it to him. They kiss goodbye and give a hug and off she goes to return to the safety of her parents home.


"I'll come to visit again!" She says. (I'm sure the doctors won't be looking forward to that occasion!)

"Mata ne!" (See ya!)

Rusulan, sits dejectedly, staring off into the distance looking like he hasn't a friend in the world. Shortly, Rusulan will take the last coins he has and buy a small can of alcohol that won't last 15 seconds as he chugs it down like a Shinkansen bullet train heading through a tunnel for Osaka. Zoooooooom!


He throws the can down and his stomach growls. A few hours later is it 10 pm and very dark. It is also getting cold and Rusulan hasn't a jacket either. He is also famished. 


Well, that's how I envisioned what happened to Rusulan up until that point. Being cold and starving does something strange to people. It kicks in a self-preservation instinct. Suddenly, for Rusulan, things back at D-41 didn't seem so bad after all. His impending capture is something that I needn't imagine nor create a secnario in my head. It seems that Rusulan was captured late at night back at the hospital grounds!

This guy has it right: You're supposed to think about how to break OUT of these places, not break IN!

While Rusulan was actually trying to break back into the hospital by prying open the bars to the D-41 cafeteria from the outside, some doctors passing by saw him. It was probably the first time in history anyone ever was caught trying to break-in to the hospital. Up to then, it was always the other way around.


"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" The doctors said. 


And with that Rusulan was back in custody and back in the cooler.


It all now made sense to me why the hospital didn't really bother with a massive manhunt whenever anyone escaped from Matsuzawa hospital. After all, experience showed; they weren't really going anywhere nor did they have someplace to go.


The fact that Rusulan escaped from the hospital and then was able to actually walk back, showed that, once in Matsuzawa hospital and D-41, there really was nowhere to run for most people.


As I suspected, though, I'd never see Rusulan again. Though I did not yet know it, I was about to be released. Rusulan was sent to solitary confinement at the cooler.

(The next part of the series is here: Meetings, Matsuri Festivals and the Future - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 8)

Mr. Cool, Chocolate Addictions and a Paradox of Insanity in Today's World - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 4

(Part three of this series is here: Sexy Japanese Female Nurses? Schizophrenics and Jail Breaks! - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 3)

So now I realized that my plan to break out of the hospital ward was a wash out. I had to abort the mission. But was it too late? Was I about to be caught and sent back to solitary confinement at the cooler?

I had five teaspoons that I had to quickly find some way to put back into the cafeteria dirty dish tray for washing without getting caught. For every tray of food, the cafeteria staff gave each patient one spoon, one fork, one butter knife. That meant after washing, they should have, for every tray they had washed, one spoon, one fork and one butter knife. It's pretty basic math. But suddenly, over the span of a day or two, five teaspoons had suddenly gone missing. Surely, they had noticed. Of course they did! Because the next day when they put out the same number of trays, bowls and utensils for the same number of patients (it wasn't like people were coming in and out of that place) they'd notice that something was missing.

The first day, when two spoons were missing, they might think it was just a coincidence, like socks missing in the dryer. But when it happened repeatedly, after a couple of meals and for more than a day, they had to have become suspicious. Especially when the number of missing spoons was increasing. Now I'm sure that would be a real head scratcher for the cafeteria staff (or as they do in Japan, cause much air to be sucked between teeth!) and they'd report strange goings on to the doctors and nurse station.

"One million dollars...."

I had taken those spoons to use as shovels in my own version of the Great Escape in order to dig through 2 feet of solid concrete and reinforced steel. It was a brilliant plan excepting for the fact that it wouldn't work. Why wouldn't it work? Well, being the criminal genius mind that I was, I had thought through the plan from beginning to end. Every little thing was considered. In the scenarios run through my mind, everything went perfectly like clock-work; we'd tunnel under my cot in my room, through the floor; we'd take the extra dirt we took from the tunnel and "do something" with it (we'd figure out what exactly later on - minor detail);  We'd take care not to get too dirty tunneling because we could only take baths twice a week; we'd then tunnel out across the hospital compound grounds and out to freedom at last.


Like I said, it was a brilliant plan created by the mind of a marvelous, yet dangerous intellect. A tribute to my genius. A virtual triumph of the will! And, on top of all that, it was an okay idea! But, it wouldn't work. Why? Because I realized that I had no idea where we were in the hospital compound and most likely neither did any of the other patients that I'd have to depend on. If we were to tunnel our way out, who is to know that we wouldn't tunnel our way out onto a busy freeway lane? Or out into the middle of the doctors lounge? Or even out into a cooler holding a patient who really was violent, deadly dangerous and had the strength of a grown male baboon?

Just your typical friendly neighborhood baboon

No, that wouldn't be good at all. 

So realizing that my idea probably wouldn't work also made me realize that I had to get rid of incriminating evidence! I had to get rid of the spoons quickly! Instead of returning them one by one like how I took them, I decided that I had to get rid of the booty all at once. At the next meal time at the cafeteria, I had the spoons in my pocket ready to dump them at the first good chance I got. 


Usually at meal time, the doctors didn't sit with us when we ate, but today, there were 4 or 5 doctors sitting around the cafeteria. They were watching us and taking notes. 

I began to get nervous. Why were they here? Were they watching us to see who had taken the spoons? Was the sting on? Surely they didn't suspect it was me? I watched them as they watched us. I tried to act nonchalant, as they tried to act nonchalant back. 

Three of them seemed to be peering out of the corners of their eyes watching me. I'll bet their notes said:

Doctor 1: "Patient Rogers seems fidgety" 

Doctor 2: "Patient Rogers seems nervous about something."

Doctor 3: "Call the wife and ask about groceries."

I kept my eye on Mr. Halloween sitting right in front of me and tried to time my eating to finish right when he did. The very second he was done, I stood up and said to him, "Oh? I'll take your tray for you!" He smiled and showed me all those teeth he used to have but were now a periodontal black hole. "OK!" he said as bread crumbs flew from the holes in his mouth. I grabbed his tray with the hand that had the five teaspoons in it and quickly threw the trays and the spoons into the dirty dishes tray in front of the cafeteria window and gave out a hearty "That was delicious!" to the ladies. They looked at me smiling and said, "You're welcomed!". With that, I was two steps out of the cafeteria and two steps away from any definitive proof that I had ever stolen the spoons.

I was lucky actually, the timing was very good, the lady that usually watched the return of trays and utensils took her eyes off the return tray for the moment I stepped up there.... I'll bet it was because they thought that it certainly couldn't be that nice Mr. Rogers who was stealing those spoons!... It had to be one of the other evil doers in D-41.

Guys! Former D-41 patients! Sorry about that. Sorry about making the doctors and nurses suspicious of you! I promise that it will never happen again! Honto ni gomen nasai!

I suppose here in the story, I should take a moment to explain about the rules and schedule of D-41. It is because of these rules and schedules that one is able to make plans such as escaping, stealing and then returning spoons. It is that way because everything is so scheduled that it is predictable down to a few minutes. Everything has a schedule and a time limit... Even brushing your teeth...

I will try to state the schedule as I best remember it at D-41:

Lights on at 6 am in the morning. 
6:00 ~ 6:15 am get up make your bed
6:15 ~ 6:30 am line up for medicine

6:30 ~ 6:45 am medicine

6:45 ~ 7:00 am line up for cafeteria

7:00 ~ 7:45 am breakfast

7:45 ~ 8:00 am clean up detail (Cafeteria & living area, ashtrays, etc.) 

9:00 ~ 10:00 am Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, shower time 

10:00 ~ 10:30 am Free time

10:30 ~ 11:00 am Walk in enclosed compound (surrounded by a extremely high wired 20 meter fence like a soccer field)
10:45 ~ 11:00 am line up for medicine

11:00 ~11:15 am medicine

11:45 ~ 12:00 am line up for cafeteria

12:00 ~ 12:45 pm lunch

I think you get the picture. The schedule above would just basically repeat until lights out at 8 pm sharp; no ifs and or buts. After lunch, there would be doctor & patient consultations but that was only for some patients. The ones without consultations had to watch TV or read books (hard to do when you're doped up all the time) or play chess to pass the time. I'd spend all my time climbing the walls trying to figure out a way out of that place. 

The other thing that I looked forward to every day was the daily visitation by my wife. Visitation hours were from 2 pm ~ 4 pm daily. They were the highlight of my day. 


You may notice in the above schedule that there are times set out for lining up. Yes, they did that. The patients lined up for everything; we lined up for medicine time, we lined up for meal time at the cafeteria; we lined up to take a shower; we lined up to use the bathroom at night so that we could brush our teeth; we lined up so that we go get in line to line up for whatever it was that the people in front of us lined up for. I asked a doctor why they made us line up for everything and he told me that,


"Rogers san, most patients here cannot even do the most basic things like close doors after they use them or close the lids to toilets after use (hell 95% of all guys on the outside can't even do that!) We require lining up as a way to start to teach simple rules." He then went on to tell me how most patients stay for several months, and if they are deemed, "better," they go to stay for a weekend at their parents home. If, while at the home, they show proper manners like being able to line up their shoes correctly at the front door (a strong traditional Japanese custom and basic manners) and closing doors, closing toilets after use, cleaning up after themselves, then after consultations with the parents, they may be allowed out of the hospital for more than a weekend. If they keep improving then, the times are extended until one day they can be released. 


Nevertheless, before the doctor had explained this to me (it made sense upon explanation) It always struck me as odd why it was that we had to line up for the cafeteria. At the shower, yes. There were 60 of us and only six shower stalls. To brush our teeth? Yes. Only four sinks or so... But the cafeteria? Why? There were always a set number of meals for the exact number of patients. Not one more, not one less. Why did we have to line up? Most of the patients would be lining up for food at the cafeteria, as scheduled, fifteen minutes (or more) beforehand. I did line up sometimes too, but only because I was so hungry most of the time and I wanted to eat as soon as possible. It soon became apparent to me why Mr. Halloween was almost always first in line and always taking so much sliced white bread back to his room; at about 190 + some centimeters the guy must have been starving all the time.


Still, there were times I wouldn't want to line up for cafeteria. That was when I  wasn't hungry. When that happened, then I'd hear my name called from the nurses station, "Rogers san! Rogers san! Please get in line for the cafeteria." Oh, I hate waiting in line... If I am starving and there is no other choice, well then, okay... But otherwise, no way. Still, at the hospital you had to line up. It was the way it was.

The hospital was very careful about our meals health wise. The food wasn't greasy or salty. It was very much like "hospital food" bland and healthy. They  monitored our calorie intake as, of course, they didn't want us getting fat while we were there. They (and we) already had enough trouble with our lives without obesity being one of them. Even so, while in the hospital, I think I gained 7 or 8 kilograms... Probably from the chocolate I ate while I was there.

I got so fat from eating chocolate because my wife would come to visit me like clockwork everyday at 3 pm. Everyday at 3 was visiting time whereby loved ones could visit patients. It soon became apparent to me that most of the poor guys in D-41 rarely, if ever, had anyone visit them. Maybe it was because they had been in there so long that their families had moved on with their lives or maybe because when they were high or drunk, they had done something really bad and their families had disowned them. Poor sods.


My wife would come to visit and I'd pester her to pressure the doctor to let me out of that place. Sometimes the doctor would stay in on the visit and I'd try to reason with him.


"Look, doc. These people are all nuts. I shouldn't be in here. These people can't even hold a conversation. You gotta let me outta here, doc." But it didn't work. I think the more I begged, the more I pushed myself away from the door.


For these visits, my wife would, at first, bring a reward for me for being a good boy; she'd bring a few chocolates for me. Chocolates are a big favorite for former drug and alcohol abusers as chocolate, like chemicals or alcohol, cause an unnatural release of Dopamine in the brain. Dopamine is the natural "feel good" chemical that your brain produces. Do lots of drugs or alcohol? Your brain releases an inordinate amount of Dopamine. Stop doing drugs or alcohol? Then you can get almost as good a high with massive dosages of chocolate. 


Take that to its logical conclusion and you'll know why some obese people who are chocolate fiends actually have an addiction problem. Chocolates don't just taste good, they release addictive chemicals in the brain. So when some people jokingly tell you that they are "chocolate junkies" they might laugh, but they probably don't realize just how close to being a junkie they really are!


My wonderful wife would visit daily. She'd bring chocolates daily. As I mentioned, most of the guys didn't have anyone visiting them so I really felt sorry for them. I started asking my wife to bring party bags of chocolates instead of just a few pieces. She did and, soon enough word spread around the ward that Mike had chocolates to pass out to everyone and they would, as if it were written on the schedule for daily activities, all be lined up at the exit of the visiting room where I would return to D-41.


As they stood in line, I'd walk down the line handing each one of them a piece of chocolate. Poor guys. I really felt very sorry for them. 

When many people say that they are "Addicted to chocolate"

 it probably isn't a very funny joke.

I didn't pay so much attention, but I didn't really see too many people sitting in the visitation room at other times. My wife came everyday so I noticed. I think I saw other folks only three other times. Of course, there must have been more. But the lack of visitation demonstrated to me just how lonely these poor folks in D-41 were.


Daily, I'd get my chores done and visit with my wife and eat my chocolates. I got to where I felt very safe at D-41. Oh sure there were some scary looking people there, but that was it; they were just scary looking; they weren't dangerous in the least bit. Once you got to know most of them, they were an alright bunch of guys... Some from rich families, some from poor... One guy that I got to know pretty well was the son of a guy who was the president of a very large and extremely well-known video and CD rental chain!


That was one of the big problems I suppose; one couldn't really get to know these guys all that well; everything was so transient and temporary it seemed. The reason for that is because if you were in that place for drug rehab, you'd know that the mental patients and the rehab patients were all thrown into the same wards, so you couldn't really tell by looking at any of them who were the crazy ones or who weren't. Either way no one knew how long you'd be in your ward. In just a few days I went from the cooler to D-40 to D-41. Was my next stop D-42? 


I thought it was amusing that the former drug, and now recovering, addicts looked the craziest of them all due to their loss of teeth from sniffing glue or their full body tattoos all the way up to the sides of their heads.

There is this fine line, you see....

Doesn't that seem like a contradiction to you? The supposedly healthy individuals who became druggies did stuff like get tattoos and piercings all over their bodies and faces and huffed paint thinner so that their teeth and gums fell out and looked like a regular freak show; while the mental patients didn't do anything to destroy and vandalize their mind and bodies and looked normal. Of course, I am an old fuddy-duddy, but it seems that there something wrong with that picture: the "normal" people look like they are crazy and the "crazy" people look like they are normal? Don't you think that is a curious situation to say the least? I do.

Thank god for the modern world! 


So you couldn't tell the crazy people in the hospital from the normal people or well, I should say, you couldn't tell the crazy people who were in the hospital because of some sort of physiological or psychological disorder from the crazy people who were in the hospital because of some sort of addiction problem just by looking at them.


As, on the outside world, you can't tell the crazy people from the normal people just by looking at them. But the paradigm on the outside world is different. I am reminded of two very astute and clear-eyed sayings about insanity in our supposedly "normal" society:

"Be normal, and the crowd will accept you. Be deranged, and they will make you their leader." 

And;

"Every great man was thought to be insane before he changed the world. Some never changed the world. They were just insane." 

Not being allowed to sleep through my days, I sat in the lobby. I sat and waited. I did that everyday for most of the time like everyone else did. Since I was like everyone else, I didn't know if the other patients around me were crazy or recovering drug addicts. And, in turn, they didn't know if I was crazy too. I realize now that, because of this lack of confidence and fear, very few of us would have the courage of any sort to strike up a conversation even with someone we'd seen everyday. Usually, it seemed to me, that the people who would walk up to you and start speaking to you and showing you some sort of human kindness were the mental patients. 


"Once again, a curious note." I thought. The particular point that it seemed the people with the mental disorders were the ones who would show more care and concern towards others than the supposedly normal people would was most certainly a cruel indictment of how indifferent and lacking in compassion people are to each other in today's modern so-called "civil" society.

Are these people inside or outside of an insane asylum?

There were two large areas to sit on comfortable chairs and sofas. One area was in front of the television. About 15 or so people could sit there comfortably. The other area was by the ashtrays in the smoking area. I couldn't stand the incessant noise and prattle of TV with the game and cooking shows so I always sat by the smoking area. That shows the disdain I have for TV; both TV and smoking are bad for you and, at that time, I had never smoked cigarettes yet even so, I still chose to sit by the ashtrays.


While the rest of us patients, myself included, might have seemed calm and collected on the outside, inside we were tearing ourselves apart. We were always climbing the walls trying to figure out when and how we could speed up our release - if even by one day. It was a massive frustration that engulfed our entire being and it seemed to grow longer by the second... It grew longer by the moments, by the seconds - that we spent counting them go by... And go by extremely slowly they went.


I had a few conversations with some of the other patients and those invariably would always turn to why we were there; how long we had been there; how much we had messed up; and when, if ever, we expected to get out. Even the topic of our conversations in order to pass time would lead us back to the cause of our frustrations. Everything was a cycle that returned to D-41 in some way.


For most patients, not knowing when they would be released seemed to be very good for a sort of Buddhist training as many of the patients meditated in their rooms or in the study area often... The ones who didn't "meditate" per se did their meditation through smoking cigarettes. 


It was there near the smoking areas that I met a guy who I called, "Mr. Cool." Mr. Cool looked like he played guitar for the Japanese Rolling Stones. He was about 40 some years old, skinny and had long hair. I was to find out later that he worked in a pachinko parlor and was an alcoholic. 


Mr. Cool always hung around with one of my room mates and smoked cigarettes. I liked him because he never seemed to be upset or worried about getting out of D-41. He never seemed in a rush for anything. This dude took it all in stride. He was way cool. Hence the name. 


And after all, why shouldn't he be cool? Why be in a rush? He wasn't going anywhere, I surmised. Neither was his food or his time to brush his teeth, wash or whatever was scheduled. Mr. Cool was always the last one in line. He was last for everything. So, of course, he was last to the cafeteria to get his food too. Even so, the nurses would never get mad at him or call his name on the loudspeakers. I thought that was strange because they'd always call my name and there'd still be a few guys standing in line. I'd find out soon why they never called his name on the loudspeakers too.


Even though the nurses would get frustrated at Mr. Cool at times, they would never get angry and speak loudly at him because, when push came to shove, Mr. Cool would always do as he was told, in his own good time, of course. 


Watching Mr. Cool helped me to greatly calm down and to realize that worrying about getting out of D-41 was a total and complete waste of time. I needed to grow more spiritually for myself and for my family to get out I thought.


One day, when Mr. Cool was standing by himself at the smoking area, I decided to get some wisdom from this wise and great enlightened priest of D-41. I said to him,


"May I ask you a question?"


"Sure!" He drawled as he toked on the cigarette.


"You know, everyone here is going crazy in this place wanting to get out of here as soon as possible. But you! Look at you! You seem so calm and collected and at one with the moment. You don't mind it here?"


He paused as he took a drag on the cigarette, "Sure, I want to get out of here too."


I was surprised that he said that! I never expected it. I reiterated, "But you seem so calm and collected. How do you keep from going crazy? Don't you want to get out of here?"


He said, "What's the point of getting out of here? You're just going to wind up back in here in no time anyway."


Now that answer really blew my mind and frightened the hell out of me!

Why get out? You're just going to wind up coming back.

Later on I'd find out from my doctor that the chances of going into Matsuzawa hospital for drug or alcohol rehab and fully recovering and being released and becoming a productive member of society was about 3 in 100... If you were readmitted after being released after the first time, your chances of a full recovery were about 1 in 10,000. If you were readmitted again, a third time, your chances for a full recovery are nearly zero.


Mr. Cool had been in and out of Matsuzawa hospital's D-41 ward a total of nine times up until that time. He was truly a "regular customer." I knew that I never wanted to be like him.

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