COLORS:
Jinyoung
Doctor
Father

Chapter 2: Bundles of Jinyoung

It’s been four months since Jinyoung’s heart attack. In that whole time, he can probably count the times he have left this hospital room unsupervised on one hand. Four months is a pretty long time when you’re left alone with your thoughts. So he had plenty of time to come to terms with his situation. Arrhythmia. A strange word. A foreign, alien one. One that you don’t want to be in the same room with. A rare condition. It causes the heart to act erratically and occasionally beat way too fast. It can be fatal. Apparently, he had it for a long time. They said it was a miracle that he was able to go on so long without anything happening. Is that really a miracle? He guesses it was supposed to make him feel better, more appreciative of his life. It really didn’t do anything to cheer him up. As he thought, his parents were hit harder by the news than he was. They practically had to hemorrhages apiece. Jinyoung already had a full day by then to digest everything. To them, it was all fresh. They were even willing to sell their house in order to pay for cure. Of course there isn’t a cure. Because of the late discovery of this . . . condition, he had to stay at the hospital to recuperate from the treatments. When he was first admitted, it felt as if he was missed. For about a week, his room in the ward was full of flowers, balloons and cards. But, the visitors soon dwindled and all the get-well gifts began trickling down to nothing shortly after. He realized that the only reason he had gotten so many cards and flowers was because sending him their sympathy had been turned into a class project. Maybe some people were genuinely concerned, but he doubts it. Even in the beginning, he barely had visitors. By the end of the first month, only his parents came by on a regular basis. Eunji was the last to stop visiting. After six weeks, he never saw her again. They never had that much to talk about when she visited, anyway. They didn’t touch the subject that was between them on that snowy day ever again.
The hospital? It’s not really a place Jinyoung would like to live in. The doctors and nurses feel so impersonal and faceless. Maybe it’s because they are in hurry and they have a million other patients waiting for them, but it makes him feel uncomfortable. For the first month or so, he asked the head cardiologist every time he saw him for a rough estimate of when he’d be able to leave. The doctor never answered anything in a straightforward way, but told him to wait and see if the treatment and surgeries worked. So, he idly observed the scar that those surgeries had left on his chest slowly change its appearance over time, thinking of it as some kind of omen. He still ask the cardiologist about leaving but his expectations are low enough now that he’s not disappointed any more when he don’t get a reply. The way the cardiologist shuffles around the answer shows that there is at least some hope.
At some point Jinyoung stopped watching TV. He doesn’t know why, he just did. Maybe it was the wrong kind of escapism for his situation. He started reading instead. There was a small “library” at the hospital, although it was more like a store room for books. He began working his way through it, one small stack at a time. After consuming them, he would go back for more. He found out that he liked reading and he think he even became a bit addicted. He started feeling without a book in his hands. But he loved the stories.
That is what Jinyoung’s life was like. The days became increasingly harder to distinguish from each other, differing only by the book he was reading and the weather outside. It felt like time blurred into some kind of gooey mess he was trapped inside, instead of moving within. A week could go by without him really noticing it. Sometimes, he’d pause in realization that he didn’t know what day of the week it was. But other times, all the things that surrounded him would painfully crash into his consciousness, through the barrier of nonchalance he had set up for himself. The pages of his book would start to feel sharp and burning hot and the heaviness in his chest would become so hard to bear that he had to put the book aside and just lay down for awhile, looking at the ceiling as if he was going to cry. But that happened only rarely. And he couldn’t even cry.
Today, the doctor comes in and gives Jinyoung a smile. The doctor seems excited, but not very. It’s like he’s trying to make an effort to be happy on Jinyoung’s behalf. Jinyoung’s parents are here. It’s been a few days since he have last seen them. Both of them are even sort of dressed up.
“Is this supposed to be some kind of special occasion? It’s not a party.” He thought.
There is a ritual the head cardiologist has. He takes his time, sorting his papers, then setting them aside as if to make a point of the pointlessness of what he just did. Then he casually sits down on the edge of the bed next to Jinyoung. He looks him in the eyes for a moment.
“Hello, Jinyoung. How are you today?” Jinyoung don’t answer him but he smiles a little, back at him.
“I believe that you can go home; your heart is stronger now, and with some precautions, you should be fine. We have all your medication sorted out. I’ll give your father the prescription.” The doctor hands a sheet of paper to Jinyoung’s dad, whose expression turns wooden as he reads it quickly.
“So many . . .” Jinyoung takes it from his dad’s hand and take a look by himself, feeling numb. “How am I supposed to react to this?”
The absurdly long list of medications staring back at him from the paper seems insurmountable. They all blend together in a sea of letters. “This is insane.” Side effects, adverse effects, contraindications, and dosages are listed line after line with cold precision. He tries to read them, but it’s so futile. He can’t understand any of it. Attempting to only makes him feel sicker. “All this . . . for the rest of my life, everyday?”
“I’m afraid that is the best we can do at this point. However, new medications are always being developed, so I wouldn’t be surprised to see that list fade over the years.” “Years. . . What kind of confidence booster is that? I’d have felt better if he hadn’t said anything at all . . .” 
“Also, I’ve spoken with your parents and we believe that it would be best if you don’t return to your old school.” “What?!”
“Please, calm down, Jinyoung. Listen to what the doctor has to say. . .” “Calm down?” The way his father says it tells Jinyoung he knew full well that he wouldn’t like it. “Am I going to be homeschooled?” Whatever of his concern shows, it’s ignored.
“We all understand that your education is paramount; however, I don’t think that it’s wise for you to be without supervision. At least not until we’re sure that your medication is suitable. So I’ve spoken to your parents about a transfer. It’s a school called Yaksok Academy that specialized in dealing with disabled students.” “Disabled? What? Am I . . .”  
“It has a 24-hour nursing staff and it’s only a few minutes from a highly regarded general hospital. The majority of students live on the campus. Think of it as a boarding school of sorts. It is designed to give students a degree of independence, while keeping help nearby.”  “Independence? It’s a school for disabled kids. Don’t try to disguise the fact. If it was really that free there wouldn’t be a 24-hour nursing staff, and you wouldn’t make a hospital being nearby a selling point.”
“Of course, that’s only if you want to go. But . . . your mother and I aren’t really able to home school you. We went out there and had a look a couple of weeks back; I think you’d like it.” “It looks like I don’t really have a choice.” 
“Compared to other heart problems, people with your condition usually tend to live long lives. You’ll need a job one day and this is a good opportunity to continue your education!” “This isn’t an opportunity, don’t call it an opportunity. Don’t call it a god dammed opportunity!” 
“Well, you should be excited at the chance to go back to school. I remember you wanted to return to school, and while it’s not the same one . . .” “A special school. That’s . . . an insult!” That is what Jinyoung want to say. It’s a step down.
“It’s not what you think. All of the students are pretty active, in their own sort of way. It’s geared towards students that can still get around and learn, but just need a little help . . . in one way or another.”  
“Your father is right. And many of the graduates of the school have gone on to do amazing things. A person doesn’t have to be held back by their disability. One of my colleagues in another hospital is a graduate.” “I don’t care. A person doesn’t have to be held back by their disability? That’s what a disability is.” Jinyoung really hate that something so important was decided for him. But what can he do about it? A “normal” life is out of the question now. It’s funny, he had always thought his life was actually kind of boring, but now he misses it. He wants to protest. He wants to blame this lack of reaction on shock or fatigue. He could easily yell out something now – something about how he can go back to school anyway. But, no. He doesn’t say anything. The fact is that he knows it’s futile.

Jinyoung look around the room, feeling very tired of all this. The hospital, doctors, his condition, everything. He doesn’t see anything that would make him feel any different. There really isn’t a choice. He knows this, but the thought of going to a disabled school. . . What are those even like? As much as he try to put a positive spin on this, it’s very difficult. But he let himself try. “A clean state isn’t a bad thing.” That is all he can think of to get him through this. At least he still has something; even if it’s a “special school”, it’s something. It’s a fresh start, and his life isn’t over. It would be a mistake to just resign him to thinking that. At the very least, he’ll try to see what his new life will look like.