[December 2, 2011 3:07PM]
The other day, [my team and I] were finally able to submit a report on our medical assistance in the disaster sites over the past year, as well as the issues we will be facing from now on and specific cases that need the government’s attention to the Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare.
We need to have them build as many new hospitals and clinics in the affected areas as possible, ideally a clinic inside each temporary housing complex, but now that the government is tending to direct its attention to international issues, I’m not sure how much of a change we can make. Although united as one, it is, after all, nothing more than the opinion of a small medical assistance team.
I hope our opinion will bear fruit.
Luna’s aunt in Rikuzen-Takata has let me know that Luna is now living far away, with relatives in the Kansai region.
I heard Luna has been feeling down lately, because she lost one of the dolls that her mother risked her life to save, knowing that she treasured them so much.
I heard about the “100 Santas” project, so I asked Luna’s aunt to invite her to come and stay with her in Rikuzen-Takata for Christmas, and to keep the Santa project a secret from her. I hope Luna will be able to receive something new and precious from Santa, after losing that little doll, and I hope more than anything else that she will be able to laugh and smile from the bottom of her heart.
I hope that all those children who stepped outside of the evacuation site at the gymnasium and into the cold on that one night after the earthquake when the moon and stars were shining brightly in the sky, those children who lost their family and friends—Yu, who was crying that “That picture book we just got said that everyone who dies becomes a star in the sky. That star shining over there is Grandpa,” and Jun and the other kids who said “When we grow up, we’ll fly to the stars on an airplane and bring everyone home, and we’ll build houses that won’t be washed away in tsunamis,” and made the adults cry—I wish they could all have smiles on their faces [this Christmas].
I’ll be traveling to provide medical assistance at some clinics in Rikuzen-Takata around that time, so I’m looking forward to seeing Luna and everyone from the evacuation site.
It has been growing colder and colder every day, but we will work harder than ever to do all those things that we can still do, to help keep the disaster from being forgotten.
The kinds of assistance and other things in need have been changing since those days right after the earthquake.
Just because this year is about to end, it doesn’t mean we can press a reset button and pretend 3.11 never happened.
I hope to go on finding even the smallest things than can give [us all] warm feelings, or make [us] smile.
Translated June 5, 2012.
Original entry in Japanese: いつもと違う冬に。
Showing posts with label JKTS. Show all posts
Showing posts with label JKTS. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
For my new friends in Minamisanriku-cho.
[October 15, 2011 6:24PM]
I went to Minamisanriku in the end of September to perform health check-ups and to help with night shifts at a hospital. The role of medical workers seems to have changed quite a bit from the period right after the earthquake and now.
When I climbed up an embankment at Minamisanriku and looked across the landscape, there was nothing but an infinite expanse of vacant land and some piles of rubble here and there.
I also passed by a government building where many staff fell victim to the disaster. It was much larger than it appeared on TV, so large that you really have to look up at it.
There were very many people who requested check-ups, but they went on without a hitch. I also made rounds in temporary housing and provided check-ups and other assistance. It seems like the general environment has improved since the period immediately after the disaster, but there are many, many problems ahead of us, such as improvements that need to be made for babies and the elderly to live comfortably through the winter, or the need to provide vaccination for free in the affected areas.
I am currently back in Tokyo, working on a report on these problems to send to the government.
During this visit, I met a woman my own age who lost her husband, her child(ren), her parents, her sister and her brother-in-law, her house, her workplace, her coworkers, everything—all at once in just a single instance on 3.11.
She said to me that “Even now, after half a year and with so many people giving me encouragement, I still can’t put myself in a positive mindset. Right now, I’m just living because I have no choice. I want to hurry up and join them in the afterlife, but everyone left so much work for me—Buddhist ceremonies for the first anniversary of their death, the third anniversary of their death, and so on, and as long as I keep on taking care of these duties, I’ll be able to meet them on the other side some day. But I wonder why I didn’t die along with them. It’s my biggest regret.”
Her devastation is far beyond the imagination of someone like myself who is living such a normal and carefree life. I was at a loss for words as she stared at her cell phone and cried, saying that “Most of the people in my address book are dead.”
As I sat beside her, rubbing her back, the words that I was finally able to find were, “Let’s be friends!” I had her add my contact information to her cell phone that had been stopped in time, and we made a little promise for her to visit me any time, if she ever feels like it. I was truly happy to see her smile, even just for a split second.
I always thought that the people at the disaster site were so strong, but I understand now that it’s because they need to plant their feet firmly on the ground in order to keep themselves from being crushed by a reality beyond their control. But keeping up the fight is terribly tiring, and I feel that we are entering a period when ‘people’ or ‘music’ or ‘books’ or ‘pets’ or ‘memories’ that can provide emotional support are especially important.
It’s not easy to support someone, but I’m sure there are things that can be communicated through even the simplest of words and actions, and this experience has made me want to be someone who supports and is supported by someone else.
As someone who is broken easily, even by the tiniest things, I will surely have much to learn from my encounter with these people who have the courage to keep looking straight ahead even in the midst of such deep sadness and devastation.
And given all this, I have renewed my intent to keep on doing whatever I can, in the form of medical assistance. For a restoration to come even just a day earlier, and for myself.
The people of Minamisanriku-cho said this to me:
“The hardest part of all this is that such a tragic disaster is gradually being forgotten.”
Winter is coming soon. There must be much, much more that we could do.
By the way: I enjoyed the Dreams Come True concert very much!!
They opened the show with “Nando demo”, and as soon as I heard its first notes, I was crying so hard that all my make-up came off. My memories of those days when that song gave me the courage to go on, [as I worked in the disaster site] with rolled-up sleeves, came back to me with intense clarity.
I remembered those nights when there were so many things that we couldn’t do anything about, no matter how hard we worked; how I would keep on telling myself that something might change tomorrow, that a miracle might occur, whenever I was about to give up; those drivers who transported supplies and medical equipment without a wink of sleep; all those SDF troops who were working so, so hard that I wish we could give every single one of them a People’s Honor Award; all my friends and family who supported me; and all the people in Rikuzen-Takata whose hearts are still connected with mine. I cried so much that the people around me started worrying.
I felt so encouraged by all these wonderful songs, and I cried and I smiled, and I was so full of gratitude for how I am so fortunate to be able to come to this concert, that it isn’t something to be taken for granted.
Translated June 5, 2012.
Original entry in Japanese: 南三陸町で出会った友よ。
I went to Minamisanriku in the end of September to perform health check-ups and to help with night shifts at a hospital. The role of medical workers seems to have changed quite a bit from the period right after the earthquake and now.
When I climbed up an embankment at Minamisanriku and looked across the landscape, there was nothing but an infinite expanse of vacant land and some piles of rubble here and there.
I also passed by a government building where many staff fell victim to the disaster. It was much larger than it appeared on TV, so large that you really have to look up at it.
There were very many people who requested check-ups, but they went on without a hitch. I also made rounds in temporary housing and provided check-ups and other assistance. It seems like the general environment has improved since the period immediately after the disaster, but there are many, many problems ahead of us, such as improvements that need to be made for babies and the elderly to live comfortably through the winter, or the need to provide vaccination for free in the affected areas.
I am currently back in Tokyo, working on a report on these problems to send to the government.
During this visit, I met a woman my own age who lost her husband, her child(ren), her parents, her sister and her brother-in-law, her house, her workplace, her coworkers, everything—all at once in just a single instance on 3.11.
She said to me that “Even now, after half a year and with so many people giving me encouragement, I still can’t put myself in a positive mindset. Right now, I’m just living because I have no choice. I want to hurry up and join them in the afterlife, but everyone left so much work for me—Buddhist ceremonies for the first anniversary of their death, the third anniversary of their death, and so on, and as long as I keep on taking care of these duties, I’ll be able to meet them on the other side some day. But I wonder why I didn’t die along with them. It’s my biggest regret.”
Her devastation is far beyond the imagination of someone like myself who is living such a normal and carefree life. I was at a loss for words as she stared at her cell phone and cried, saying that “Most of the people in my address book are dead.”
As I sat beside her, rubbing her back, the words that I was finally able to find were, “Let’s be friends!” I had her add my contact information to her cell phone that had been stopped in time, and we made a little promise for her to visit me any time, if she ever feels like it. I was truly happy to see her smile, even just for a split second.
I always thought that the people at the disaster site were so strong, but I understand now that it’s because they need to plant their feet firmly on the ground in order to keep themselves from being crushed by a reality beyond their control. But keeping up the fight is terribly tiring, and I feel that we are entering a period when ‘people’ or ‘music’ or ‘books’ or ‘pets’ or ‘memories’ that can provide emotional support are especially important.
It’s not easy to support someone, but I’m sure there are things that can be communicated through even the simplest of words and actions, and this experience has made me want to be someone who supports and is supported by someone else.
As someone who is broken easily, even by the tiniest things, I will surely have much to learn from my encounter with these people who have the courage to keep looking straight ahead even in the midst of such deep sadness and devastation.
And given all this, I have renewed my intent to keep on doing whatever I can, in the form of medical assistance. For a restoration to come even just a day earlier, and for myself.
The people of Minamisanriku-cho said this to me:
“The hardest part of all this is that such a tragic disaster is gradually being forgotten.”
Winter is coming soon. There must be much, much more that we could do.
By the way: I enjoyed the Dreams Come True concert very much!!
They opened the show with “Nando demo”, and as soon as I heard its first notes, I was crying so hard that all my make-up came off. My memories of those days when that song gave me the courage to go on, [as I worked in the disaster site] with rolled-up sleeves, came back to me with intense clarity.
I remembered those nights when there were so many things that we couldn’t do anything about, no matter how hard we worked; how I would keep on telling myself that something might change tomorrow, that a miracle might occur, whenever I was about to give up; those drivers who transported supplies and medical equipment without a wink of sleep; all those SDF troops who were working so, so hard that I wish we could give every single one of them a People’s Honor Award; all my friends and family who supported me; and all the people in Rikuzen-Takata whose hearts are still connected with mine. I cried so much that the people around me started worrying.
I felt so encouraged by all these wonderful songs, and I cried and I smiled, and I was so full of gratitude for how I am so fortunate to be able to come to this concert, that it isn’t something to be taken for granted.
Translated June 5, 2012.
Original entry in Japanese: 南三陸町で出会った友よ。
Half a year.
[September 17, 2011 9:23PM]
In the midst of these terribly hot last days of Summer, half a year has passed since the earthquake.
Since then, I have returned to the basics and studied disaster medical care all over again, and I am spending my days doing research and doing clinical work with the intent of becoming certified in sanitation and medical care for contagious diseases, alongside with concerns about my work environment.
I asked a friend of mine who was providing medical aid as a nurse in Kesennuma on September 11, right at the half-year mark, what the situation is like [in the affected areas].
“Half a year has passed; has it passed quickly, or has it felt like a long time?”
My friend’s response was that “It’s felt long. It feels long because the situation still hasn’t improved.
Even now, as media coverage and features [about the disaster and its aftereffects] have decreased, there are still many, many people who are facing reality and working hard to deal with the situation, and I believe it will be much longer before all the feelings hurt are healed.
I saw a feature on the ‘sunflower field of hope’ in Rikuzen-Takata on the news the other day, and my tears wouldn’t stop at the sight of the landscape gradually being restored, the people who have done so much for me in those days looking lively, and children the same age as Luna planting sunflower seeds in this field.
Back home, my grandmother plants sunflowers every year, and we have plenty of seeds, some of which we were able to send to Rikuzen-Takata for this project. When I think of the fact that some of the sunflowers blooming in that field are connected to my family, it feels as though my hometown and my second home of Rikuzen-Takata have come together, and I am terribly happy about this.
I have plans to visit the affected areas again this month, to Minamisanriku for just a few days. My purposes for visiting have changed as well; I will be visiting in order to give medical check-ups and to get a better idea of the kinds of medical care that are lacking at this point.
It has also been decided that I will also be going to Fukushima to give check-ups there during this year. I love Fukushima Prefecture, and I would like to study about the accurate notion of radioactivity, so that I can help as much as I can.
—I guess reporting on what I’ve been up to makes me sound like a dead-serious person who is studying all the time, but I’ve also been enjoying my hobbies and going out for a change, making my parents worry sometimes.
Tomorrow, I will be going to a Dreams Come True concert!!
I hope they’ll play that song “Nando demo” that gave me the courage to go on back in those days. I’ll definitely cry.
Even though I will be listening to the song with different feelings from my feelings back then, it’ll be the same thing in the sense that it will give me the courage to go on.
I’m sure I will be thinking of all my loved ones, everyone from back in those days, and my family, but the tears I will shed will be clear ones!
Translated June 5, 2012.
Original entry in Japanese: 半年。
In the midst of these terribly hot last days of Summer, half a year has passed since the earthquake.
Since then, I have returned to the basics and studied disaster medical care all over again, and I am spending my days doing research and doing clinical work with the intent of becoming certified in sanitation and medical care for contagious diseases, alongside with concerns about my work environment.
I asked a friend of mine who was providing medical aid as a nurse in Kesennuma on September 11, right at the half-year mark, what the situation is like [in the affected areas].
“Half a year has passed; has it passed quickly, or has it felt like a long time?”
My friend’s response was that “It’s felt long. It feels long because the situation still hasn’t improved.
Even now, as media coverage and features [about the disaster and its aftereffects] have decreased, there are still many, many people who are facing reality and working hard to deal with the situation, and I believe it will be much longer before all the feelings hurt are healed.
I saw a feature on the ‘sunflower field of hope’ in Rikuzen-Takata on the news the other day, and my tears wouldn’t stop at the sight of the landscape gradually being restored, the people who have done so much for me in those days looking lively, and children the same age as Luna planting sunflower seeds in this field.
Back home, my grandmother plants sunflowers every year, and we have plenty of seeds, some of which we were able to send to Rikuzen-Takata for this project. When I think of the fact that some of the sunflowers blooming in that field are connected to my family, it feels as though my hometown and my second home of Rikuzen-Takata have come together, and I am terribly happy about this.
I have plans to visit the affected areas again this month, to Minamisanriku for just a few days. My purposes for visiting have changed as well; I will be visiting in order to give medical check-ups and to get a better idea of the kinds of medical care that are lacking at this point.
It has also been decided that I will also be going to Fukushima to give check-ups there during this year. I love Fukushima Prefecture, and I would like to study about the accurate notion of radioactivity, so that I can help as much as I can.
—I guess reporting on what I’ve been up to makes me sound like a dead-serious person who is studying all the time, but I’ve also been enjoying my hobbies and going out for a change, making my parents worry sometimes.
Tomorrow, I will be going to a Dreams Come True concert!!
I hope they’ll play that song “Nando demo” that gave me the courage to go on back in those days. I’ll definitely cry.
Even though I will be listening to the song with different feelings from my feelings back then, it’ll be the same thing in the sense that it will give me the courage to go on.
I’m sure I will be thinking of all my loved ones, everyone from back in those days, and my family, but the tears I will shed will be clear ones!
Translated June 5, 2012.
Original entry in Japanese: 半年。
Five months
[August 12, 2011 5:54PM]
Five months have passed since the earthquake. As I spend these hot summer days, I find myself thinking back to those days of shivering in a bath towel and feeling the transition of time and seasons.
The videos and photographs that have been sent to us from the affected areas have not changed so much since those days. Only five months, already five months—the days that have passed can be interpreted in different ways.
The evacuation site that I was stationed at for medical assistance has been closed down, and everyone has moved to temporary and other housing.
That evacuation site, where we all shed tears with no way to release our anger and profound sadness over the disaster that could not be averted.
That evacuation site, where tears of joy and relief from reunifications were also shed.
That evacuation site, where we discussed what to do all together and felt terribly lost.
That evacuation site, where we were also able to find small signs of hope and happiness, even while feeling lost.
That evacuation site, where someone would notice when you were feeling lonely, and where someone was always there for you.
Honestly, I feel a little sad about the closure of this evacuation site [with so many memories of my own], and while I am happy that everyone has been able to find some kind of housing (even if it’s temporary), I am also worried about the mountainous pile of problems and issues, such as whether there will be someplace where everyone can share their sense of solitude and anxiety about what will happen “from now on”, or whether there will be sufficient care for such concerns, now that the evacuation site is gone.
We too must rethink our role and existence more carefully.
It is now the Obon time of the year and I’m sure the spirits of the victims of the disaster are coming home from heaven now.
They are surely watching the fireworks next to their loved ones, and gently pushing them forward in encouragement.
After five months, the situation has changed in various ways, and my own surroundings have been changing gradually as well.
At times, I could not stand this environment and I have actually considered quitting this job.
But at times like this, I would read the comments on my weblog and feel strongly encouraged to keep going on.
I haven’t been able to fulfill my promise of returning to the affected areas again; I better do this by the end of the year!!
[In the meantime,] I must also do more studying.
Translated June 5, 2012.
Original entry in Japanese: ５ヶ月
Five months have passed since the earthquake. As I spend these hot summer days, I find myself thinking back to those days of shivering in a bath towel and feeling the transition of time and seasons.
The videos and photographs that have been sent to us from the affected areas have not changed so much since those days. Only five months, already five months—the days that have passed can be interpreted in different ways.
The evacuation site that I was stationed at for medical assistance has been closed down, and everyone has moved to temporary and other housing.
That evacuation site, where we all shed tears with no way to release our anger and profound sadness over the disaster that could not be averted.
That evacuation site, where tears of joy and relief from reunifications were also shed.
That evacuation site, where we discussed what to do all together and felt terribly lost.
That evacuation site, where we were also able to find small signs of hope and happiness, even while feeling lost.
That evacuation site, where someone would notice when you were feeling lonely, and where someone was always there for you.
Honestly, I feel a little sad about the closure of this evacuation site [with so many memories of my own], and while I am happy that everyone has been able to find some kind of housing (even if it’s temporary), I am also worried about the mountainous pile of problems and issues, such as whether there will be someplace where everyone can share their sense of solitude and anxiety about what will happen “from now on”, or whether there will be sufficient care for such concerns, now that the evacuation site is gone.
We too must rethink our role and existence more carefully.
It is now the Obon time of the year and I’m sure the spirits of the victims of the disaster are coming home from heaven now.
They are surely watching the fireworks next to their loved ones, and gently pushing them forward in encouragement.
After five months, the situation has changed in various ways, and my own surroundings have been changing gradually as well.
At times, I could not stand this environment and I have actually considered quitting this job.
But at times like this, I would read the comments on my weblog and feel strongly encouraged to keep going on.
I haven’t been able to fulfill my promise of returning to the affected areas again; I better do this by the end of the year!!
[In the meantime,] I must also do more studying.
Translated June 5, 2012.
Original entry in Japanese: ５ヶ月
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Letter from the disaster site
[June 6 7:18PM]
I received a letter from an evacuation site in Rikuzentakata today. They say that things are moving toward restoration, albeit slowly.
They wrote about the unchanging landscape and about the support from our country; about people leaving Rikuzentakata, one after another; that there are many whose families are still missing; about the decreasing number of volunteers and press, and the swift fading of public interest.
There was also news about Luna.
Luna was recently adopted by relatives somewhere in the Kansai or Kyushu regions, in western Japan. They say that she wanted to live with her aunt, but her aunt has also lost everything, and she would not be able to provide for her. It was decided that it would be best for her to be raised in an environment where she will have want for nothing, and so she had to go far away. I can empathize with her aunt so much that it hurts—I’m sure this must be for the best.
They say that Luna left Rikuzentakata with her worn-out Hello Kitty mask, a tiny Miffy table, and that backpack filled with her favorite things that her mother had held onto with all her might.
There’s no way of knowing where I will be able to see Luna as a grown-up, but I’m sure we will meet again as long as we’re living, so I will make sure to keep this in mind.
I wish that Luna’s long, long life that lies ahead will be surrounded with nothing but smiles and kindness all around. Not just Luna—the same goes for everyone else in the areas affected by the disaster, of course.
Even now, when the evacuation sites in Rikuzentakata appear on television, I see familiar faces from the days that I spent there. On one hand, I’m relieved to see they are doing well, but on the other, I am strongly concerned about the fact that they still have not found a new place to live, temporary or not.
As it was mentioned in the letter, those in the affected areas are living in fear of being forgotten, even though we are only approaching the three-month mark.
I intend think of the loads of issues that are sure to pile up in the face of the rainy season and summer in planning my actions in the days to come.
Translated June 7.
Original entry in Japanese: 被災地からのお手紙
I received a letter from an evacuation site in Rikuzentakata today. They say that things are moving toward restoration, albeit slowly.
They wrote about the unchanging landscape and about the support from our country; about people leaving Rikuzentakata, one after another; that there are many whose families are still missing; about the decreasing number of volunteers and press, and the swift fading of public interest.
There was also news about Luna.
Luna was recently adopted by relatives somewhere in the Kansai or Kyushu regions, in western Japan. They say that she wanted to live with her aunt, but her aunt has also lost everything, and she would not be able to provide for her. It was decided that it would be best for her to be raised in an environment where she will have want for nothing, and so she had to go far away. I can empathize with her aunt so much that it hurts—I’m sure this must be for the best.
They say that Luna left Rikuzentakata with her worn-out Hello Kitty mask, a tiny Miffy table, and that backpack filled with her favorite things that her mother had held onto with all her might.
There’s no way of knowing where I will be able to see Luna as a grown-up, but I’m sure we will meet again as long as we’re living, so I will make sure to keep this in mind.
I wish that Luna’s long, long life that lies ahead will be surrounded with nothing but smiles and kindness all around. Not just Luna—the same goes for everyone else in the areas affected by the disaster, of course.
Even now, when the evacuation sites in Rikuzentakata appear on television, I see familiar faces from the days that I spent there. On one hand, I’m relieved to see they are doing well, but on the other, I am strongly concerned about the fact that they still have not found a new place to live, temporary or not.
As it was mentioned in the letter, those in the affected areas are living in fear of being forgotten, even though we are only approaching the three-month mark.
I intend think of the loads of issues that are sure to pile up in the face of the rainy season and summer in planning my actions in the days to come.
Translated June 7.
Original entry in Japanese: 被災地からのお手紙
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Two months
[May 11 3:55PM]
As of today, two months have passed since the Great East Japan Earthquake. One month went by in no time at all, but it feels as though it took longer for the second month to go by.
Time that is still frozen;
time that has started to move;
things that have gotten better since that day;
things that have gotten worse.
Each one of us will feel differently about everything, and time is passing at different rates, but lately I often feel that it’s important that we all make sure to take the time to think back and remember on occasions like this.
There was an emergency earthquake alert at five in the morning today. It feels as though there are alerts every time the public begins to forget.
I heard an acquaintance of mine saying, “These earthquake alerts are usually wrong, anyway. It’s so loud—I decided to turn it off.” It made me think of how this might be another sign of the reality that the public interest is beginning to fade, that we are once again becoming lax in our crisis-preparedness, and I felt so upset about how we will no longer be taking heed of what all those precious lives that have been sacrificed have told us that I couldn’t resist scolding my acquaintance rather harshly.
As I wrote in an entry that I posted and ended up deleting on the one-month anniversary, I went to see a friend who had gotten married and moved to Onagawa in Miyagi prefecture with our former classmates from nursing school.
Her whole family had died, and we were reunited with our friend in a manner that was the most difficult to accept.
Our friend who always brightened up any room with her smile had passed away with a terror-stricken expression on her face.
All we could do was to stand there dumb-struck and watch her being buried just as she was, next to her beloved husband.
When I think of how chagrined she must have felt, the tears start to fall and won’t stop.
Ever since, I have been thinking so much about so many things, and they all make me feel confused about “the meaning of being kept alive.”
But I do have the feeling that I might be able to understand it a little better if I think of it in terms of “the duty of going on living” instead.
After returning to Tokyo, my medical team has been busy making extensive revisions to our disaster manual, and we have been in touch with other teams that have gone into the affected areas, with more and more new information coming in all the time.
But the reality is that there are many disaster sites and evacuation sites where the vast majority of medical teams have been pulled out as of the first week of May. Now that the rainy season approaches in Japan, there will be more hygiene issues and more problems that go along with that, and I believe more discussions and new measures are necessary once again.
Tomorrow is International Nurses Day.
I will be participating in an event at a nursing college, and then I have a night shift after that…
Translated May 11.
Original entry in Japanese: 2ヶ月
As of today, two months have passed since the Great East Japan Earthquake. One month went by in no time at all, but it feels as though it took longer for the second month to go by.
Time that is still frozen;
time that has started to move;
things that have gotten better since that day;
things that have gotten worse.
Each one of us will feel differently about everything, and time is passing at different rates, but lately I often feel that it’s important that we all make sure to take the time to think back and remember on occasions like this.
There was an emergency earthquake alert at five in the morning today. It feels as though there are alerts every time the public begins to forget.
I heard an acquaintance of mine saying, “These earthquake alerts are usually wrong, anyway. It’s so loud—I decided to turn it off.” It made me think of how this might be another sign of the reality that the public interest is beginning to fade, that we are once again becoming lax in our crisis-preparedness, and I felt so upset about how we will no longer be taking heed of what all those precious lives that have been sacrificed have told us that I couldn’t resist scolding my acquaintance rather harshly.
As I wrote in an entry that I posted and ended up deleting on the one-month anniversary, I went to see a friend who had gotten married and moved to Onagawa in Miyagi prefecture with our former classmates from nursing school.
Her whole family had died, and we were reunited with our friend in a manner that was the most difficult to accept.
Our friend who always brightened up any room with her smile had passed away with a terror-stricken expression on her face.
All we could do was to stand there dumb-struck and watch her being buried just as she was, next to her beloved husband.
When I think of how chagrined she must have felt, the tears start to fall and won’t stop.
Ever since, I have been thinking so much about so many things, and they all make me feel confused about “the meaning of being kept alive.”
But I do have the feeling that I might be able to understand it a little better if I think of it in terms of “the duty of going on living” instead.
After returning to Tokyo, my medical team has been busy making extensive revisions to our disaster manual, and we have been in touch with other teams that have gone into the affected areas, with more and more new information coming in all the time.
But the reality is that there are many disaster sites and evacuation sites where the vast majority of medical teams have been pulled out as of the first week of May. Now that the rainy season approaches in Japan, there will be more hygiene issues and more problems that go along with that, and I believe more discussions and new measures are necessary once again.
Tomorrow is International Nurses Day.
I will be participating in an event at a nursing college, and then I have a night shift after that…
Translated May 11.
Original entry in Japanese: 2ヶ月
Friday, April 8, 2011
Over and over again.*
[April 6 1:23AM]
I’ve finally been able to read most of the comments just recently. Thank you, to all those who have left these kind words. There are still many comments being left here, one after another, so maybe that should read “who are leaving” instead. I will find the time to read everything. Thank you.
I was especially deeply moved to find some comments from those of you who were at the evacuation sites, among all the others. This is all thanks to everyone who took the time to spread the word about this blog. Thank you, once again. Through all these connections between different people, this blog seems to even have reached the eyes of some truly surprising people, and it’s made me realize all over again that we all have a kind of bond, or that we’re all connected in some way.
To tell the truth, there are so many people reading this now that I had difficulty writing this latest entry. It seems like everyone has this image of me as a really kind, good person, but I’m really not as perfect as that, and I have my share of discontents regarding my work and daily life.
Since having gone to the disaster site, I’ve apparently been pared down in many respects without having realized it, and there are so many things that I used to love so much before that I just don’t get any more. In that respect, it’s honestly been difficult to resume my daily life.
Back in my hometown, when I earned my qualification as a flight nurse, I was also required to be qualified in disaster medical care, and that’s the only reason why I’d chosen to study it. And when I’d finished my studies and became qualified to join a DMAT [disaster medical assistance team], I was naïve enough to think, “Maybe there won’t be any major disasters during my career.”
Having actually gone to a disaster site as a DMAT member, if one were to ask me whether all that I’ve studied has truly been put to use, I don’t think that I can respond with a fully confident “Yes!” It was a reality that went beyond the manual—a terrible catastrophe beyond any manual, really. Ever since we’ve come back, our team has been working on revising all our manuals.
Currently, a third team is at the disaster site, and it seems like the medicine required there has largely shifted from the acute phase to the chronic. There have been many comments left by people who are about to head to the disaster site to administer medical care, so here are a few points that you should keep in mind, just so you know what to expect…
Water still isn’t running. Restrooms are in a fairly critical situation from a hygiene standpoint, and it is predicted that as temperatures rise, there will be more contamination. Large quantities of disinfectants are necessary. At most evacuation sites, the restrooms are being cleaned by either people from local community associations or by taking turns, and it will be necessary to educate them about how to use disinfectants to eradicate viruses. Foot care for preventing blood clots, care for ulcers caused by anxiety, and mental support are all already in need.
Medicine stocks that were often overlooked at the disaster site include spare stomas, medicine for chemotherapy, and eye-drops. Please confirm beforehand how many patients will be needing these at the evacuation sites and hospitals where you will be headed, and make sure to take five times more than the scheduled amount. I have also heard that there are more and more cases of pneumonia from being unable to brush their teeth properly, so mouthwash is also needed, at the very least.
There is a tendency for everyone to be trying too hard to persevere, and many patients will not tell you all of their symptoms. There were also many cases where patients held out for as long as they possibly can before finally coming in for consultation or being transported by an ambulance. So I think it is important to practice a broad medical examination that goes further than the main complaint.
I will be going back again around June. The needs will have changed from the last time I was there, so I will need to study a lot by then.
We are still far away from restoration, and my abilities are limited, so I will spend my days putting my effort into studying and working so that I will be able to provide better medical care than last time, even just a little bit.
Also, there were many mentions about translating my blog in the comments. If you think that my poor writing would be appropriate, please go ahead. I hope that it will reach people all over the world.
As for the offer to publish my blog in book form, it really sounds like a dream and I’m very flattered, but I would like to leave this all here as a personal blog and to just have people come and read it from time to time. Originally, I just wanted to have friends of friends read these entries and to share what is happening at the disaster sites and the struggles of the medical teams—that’s really all I had in mind when I posted these entries, so this enormous reaction beyond my wildest imagination has already been simultaneously delightful and bewildering, and honestly I feel fairly overwhelmed by it all. I’m sorry.
It seems like the third team is currently facing various difficulties as well. And it still isn’t just the medical team that has it rough. Everyone involved in various aspects of the restoration effort have been going through the same difficulties since the earthquake, and each day even more demanding than ours. But our feelings are always as one: For the restoration of the Tohoku region, and for the smiles of all those who have been affected by this disaster.
To all of you at the disaster sites, you have all persevered enough. You don’t have to persevere any more—just keep your spirits up.
It’s our job to persevere.
Next entry: Two months
* Original title: “Nando demo,” presumably in reference to the Dreams Come True song in 11) Smile.
Translated April 8.
Original entry in Japanese: 何度でも。
I’ve finally been able to read most of the comments just recently. Thank you, to all those who have left these kind words. There are still many comments being left here, one after another, so maybe that should read “who are leaving” instead. I will find the time to read everything. Thank you.
I was especially deeply moved to find some comments from those of you who were at the evacuation sites, among all the others. This is all thanks to everyone who took the time to spread the word about this blog. Thank you, once again. Through all these connections between different people, this blog seems to even have reached the eyes of some truly surprising people, and it’s made me realize all over again that we all have a kind of bond, or that we’re all connected in some way.
To tell the truth, there are so many people reading this now that I had difficulty writing this latest entry. It seems like everyone has this image of me as a really kind, good person, but I’m really not as perfect as that, and I have my share of discontents regarding my work and daily life.
Since having gone to the disaster site, I’ve apparently been pared down in many respects without having realized it, and there are so many things that I used to love so much before that I just don’t get any more. In that respect, it’s honestly been difficult to resume my daily life.
Back in my hometown, when I earned my qualification as a flight nurse, I was also required to be qualified in disaster medical care, and that’s the only reason why I’d chosen to study it. And when I’d finished my studies and became qualified to join a DMAT [disaster medical assistance team], I was naïve enough to think, “Maybe there won’t be any major disasters during my career.”
Having actually gone to a disaster site as a DMAT member, if one were to ask me whether all that I’ve studied has truly been put to use, I don’t think that I can respond with a fully confident “Yes!” It was a reality that went beyond the manual—a terrible catastrophe beyond any manual, really. Ever since we’ve come back, our team has been working on revising all our manuals.
Currently, a third team is at the disaster site, and it seems like the medicine required there has largely shifted from the acute phase to the chronic. There have been many comments left by people who are about to head to the disaster site to administer medical care, so here are a few points that you should keep in mind, just so you know what to expect…
Water still isn’t running. Restrooms are in a fairly critical situation from a hygiene standpoint, and it is predicted that as temperatures rise, there will be more contamination. Large quantities of disinfectants are necessary. At most evacuation sites, the restrooms are being cleaned by either people from local community associations or by taking turns, and it will be necessary to educate them about how to use disinfectants to eradicate viruses. Foot care for preventing blood clots, care for ulcers caused by anxiety, and mental support are all already in need.
Medicine stocks that were often overlooked at the disaster site include spare stomas, medicine for chemotherapy, and eye-drops. Please confirm beforehand how many patients will be needing these at the evacuation sites and hospitals where you will be headed, and make sure to take five times more than the scheduled amount. I have also heard that there are more and more cases of pneumonia from being unable to brush their teeth properly, so mouthwash is also needed, at the very least.
There is a tendency for everyone to be trying too hard to persevere, and many patients will not tell you all of their symptoms. There were also many cases where patients held out for as long as they possibly can before finally coming in for consultation or being transported by an ambulance. So I think it is important to practice a broad medical examination that goes further than the main complaint.
I will be going back again around June. The needs will have changed from the last time I was there, so I will need to study a lot by then.
We are still far away from restoration, and my abilities are limited, so I will spend my days putting my effort into studying and working so that I will be able to provide better medical care than last time, even just a little bit.
Also, there were many mentions about translating my blog in the comments. If you think that my poor writing would be appropriate, please go ahead. I hope that it will reach people all over the world.
As for the offer to publish my blog in book form, it really sounds like a dream and I’m very flattered, but I would like to leave this all here as a personal blog and to just have people come and read it from time to time. Originally, I just wanted to have friends of friends read these entries and to share what is happening at the disaster sites and the struggles of the medical teams—that’s really all I had in mind when I posted these entries, so this enormous reaction beyond my wildest imagination has already been simultaneously delightful and bewildering, and honestly I feel fairly overwhelmed by it all. I’m sorry.
It seems like the third team is currently facing various difficulties as well. And it still isn’t just the medical team that has it rough. Everyone involved in various aspects of the restoration effort have been going through the same difficulties since the earthquake, and each day even more demanding than ours. But our feelings are always as one: For the restoration of the Tohoku region, and for the smiles of all those who have been affected by this disaster.
To all of you at the disaster sites, you have all persevered enough. You don’t have to persevere any more—just keep your spirits up.
It’s our job to persevere.
Next entry: Two months
* Original title: “Nando demo,” presumably in reference to the Dreams Come True song in 11) Smile.
Translated April 8.
Original entry in Japanese: 何度でも。
And I thank you in return.
[March 28 2:20PM]
Time seems to be passing faster than ever before since the earthquake, and since I’ve come back from Iwate prefecture. Thank you for all your comments. I wanted to respond to each and every one of you, but it doesn’t quite seem feasible, so I am thanking you here instead.
At first, when a friend told me, “There are a lot of comments on your blog,” I thought, oh no! Maybe I’d written something that I shouldn’t have.
Originally, this used to be a journal about the concerts and other performances I attended as a huge fan of a particular celebrity. It was just another personal blog, and I’m surprised to have so many people visiting here now. I hear that some famous people have spread word about this blog on Twitter. Honestly, I really want to apologize more than I want to thank them.
I’ve always been a terrible writer, so much so that my records, reports, and essays are always being corrected all the time, so I’m sure these entries are hard to read, with tons of grammatical mistakes.
Initially, I kept these records so that I can send an e-mail out to my friends. I decided to put them here because I thought maybe it would be easier for my friends’ friends to read them too, if they were available in blog form. I’m sure there are many points that are difficult to understand or didn’t come through, with just text alone and no pictures or anything.
Really, I’m plain surprised to receive such a large response, with so many comments from people from more locations, more professions, and more perspectives than I could even have imagined. And I’m very happy that this blog has apparently led many people to know what is happening in the areas affected by the disaster, and to think even just a little bit about what each of us should and can do.
There are so many kind-hearted people out there, and reading the comments gave me so much courage. It was like everyone put some nurturing medicine on my broken heart, and I thought all over again about how people are always saved in the end by other people. Thank you very much.
I am not the kind of person who should be receiving all this praise. But from now on, when I’m confronted by countless hardships or sadness, I think looking through these comments that you’ve left here will help me persevere.
Even now that I’ve come back from the disaster site, I still have the habit of checking the weather and temperature in Iwate when I see weather reports. There is some time before I will be heading there again, and until then, I will work hard at my hospital in Tokyo.
Sometimes, I think of Rikuzentakata out of nowhere and look up at the sky. I am reassured that we are all connected, and my heart is always close to everyone at the evacuation site. I can see light at the far end of this long tunnel, and I feel we are certainly moving forward, step by step.
I will be on the night shift starting this evening. Tomorrow will be a day off, so I will sit up straight and read every comment all over again.
Next entry: Over and over again.
Translated April 8.
Original entry in Japanese: こちらこそありがとうございます。
Time seems to be passing faster than ever before since the earthquake, and since I’ve come back from Iwate prefecture. Thank you for all your comments. I wanted to respond to each and every one of you, but it doesn’t quite seem feasible, so I am thanking you here instead.
At first, when a friend told me, “There are a lot of comments on your blog,” I thought, oh no! Maybe I’d written something that I shouldn’t have.
Originally, this used to be a journal about the concerts and other performances I attended as a huge fan of a particular celebrity. It was just another personal blog, and I’m surprised to have so many people visiting here now. I hear that some famous people have spread word about this blog on Twitter. Honestly, I really want to apologize more than I want to thank them.
I’ve always been a terrible writer, so much so that my records, reports, and essays are always being corrected all the time, so I’m sure these entries are hard to read, with tons of grammatical mistakes.
Initially, I kept these records so that I can send an e-mail out to my friends. I decided to put them here because I thought maybe it would be easier for my friends’ friends to read them too, if they were available in blog form. I’m sure there are many points that are difficult to understand or didn’t come through, with just text alone and no pictures or anything.
Really, I’m plain surprised to receive such a large response, with so many comments from people from more locations, more professions, and more perspectives than I could even have imagined. And I’m very happy that this blog has apparently led many people to know what is happening in the areas affected by the disaster, and to think even just a little bit about what each of us should and can do.
There are so many kind-hearted people out there, and reading the comments gave me so much courage. It was like everyone put some nurturing medicine on my broken heart, and I thought all over again about how people are always saved in the end by other people. Thank you very much.
I am not the kind of person who should be receiving all this praise. But from now on, when I’m confronted by countless hardships or sadness, I think looking through these comments that you’ve left here will help me persevere.
Even now that I’ve come back from the disaster site, I still have the habit of checking the weather and temperature in Iwate when I see weather reports. There is some time before I will be heading there again, and until then, I will work hard at my hospital in Tokyo.
Sometimes, I think of Rikuzentakata out of nowhere and look up at the sky. I am reassured that we are all connected, and my heart is always close to everyone at the evacuation site. I can see light at the far end of this long tunnel, and I feel we are certainly moving forward, step by step.
I will be on the night shift starting this evening. Tomorrow will be a day off, so I will sit up straight and read every comment all over again.
Next entry: Over and over again.
Translated April 8.
Original entry in Japanese: こちらこそありがとうございます。
Thursday, April 7, 2011
14) From Tokyo
March 23
Our medical team will be returning to Tokyo today.
In spite of having headed here making confident remarks and with a strong attitude, the reality here that was far, far beyond my imagination seriously overwhelmed me when I arrived. There was no time to think about what I could do, and there was no choice but to get a handle on what's happening before my eyes and work with all my might.
I even started to dislike the announcers reading the news, reporting the number of deaths that increase every day as though they are counting things.
More than two thousand people requesting to be examined each day.
Patients lying on the floor to receive IV drips.
Patients lying on muddy hospital beds; single-handedly manning first-aid stations, full of anxiety.
Nighttime emergency patients at evacuation sites.
Births given in a delivery room with no water or electricity.
An emergency medical care system where hospitals that can receive patients can't be found.
Medicine without stockpiles; the lack of medical equipment.
AEDs that had been exposed to water and could no longer be used.
Every day has been so inconceivably dramatic that I can't even remember everything.
We start running around doing our work in the morning, and before we know it, it's already three or four at night, and it's the same thing every day. But I think we were able to get through it because it's not just us; the conditions are the same for the self defense forces, firemen, police officers, drivers, the heads of local community associations, so on. In fact, we were able to take turns getting a bit of rest, but all these other people have been working with no rest at all.
And even all this was easy to deal with when I thought of how this is nothing compared to how much all the people affected by the disaster are suffering.
Also, I've written about this repeatedly, but I was encouraged by the smiles and kindness and strength of the people at the evacuation sites countless times.
The people who particularly seemed to be toughing it out are often deeply hurt; everyone I talked to still hadn't been able to get in touch with their families.
At the evacuation site, a lot of people were saying that they can hold strong because they're all in it together, but to be spending every night full of anxiety, in temperatures below zero degrees Celsius and on such a hard floor, is really terrible beyond words.
The truly hard times are still ahead of us. As news about the disaster begins to disappear from the TV and other media outlets, everyone else will start to forget, and the problems faced in the affected areas will only increase. More people falling ill, more sadness. It is of course a good thing that the rest of us make an effort to be cheerful and strong and return to our usual lives as best we can, but we must never forget about March 11.
If you still don't know what you can do to help, donating some of the money you have would be good, and keeping it aside would also be good. If you keep your money, I think it would also help to go on a trip to the Tohoku region and to use it there, once transportation facilities have recovered and the region is more vibrant again.
For those of us who are not in the areas that have directly been affected, we can help support our economy by eating and drinking and working as we always have, and to donate a little when we can, as much as our means allow us. I think this is important, too.
People who mobilize money, people who energize others, people who do put full effort into their work—there are many ways in which we can all help out. And we must always keep in mind that this isn't just a problem we are facing right now, but that getting through this tunnel will be a long-term fight. To make an effort conserve electricity to an extent that doesn't intrude with your life or work, and to donate amounts that also don't impact your lifestyle to trusted organizations will also be a big step.
There will always be tons of hardships in our daily lives, whether it's heartbreak or getting in trouble at work or buying things on impulse or catching a cold. Just living a normal life will bring us bad things 90% of the time, and good things 10% of the time.
But all this is really nothing at all compared to the hardships and sorrow that those affected by the disaster are experiencing!
I think it's important that we treat objects and resources with care and always think of the areas affected, so that the people there who are hanging tough and bearing with their plight can gradually get their smiles back again.
I'm sure that this will also be a long-term battle on the medical front. I plan to return when the next opportunity arises, and to study about disaster medical care again so that I can grow as a nurse and help as many people as possible.
A secondary disaster having to do with radiation has also arisen. The problems we must tackle are only piling up. Regarding radiation, please be sure to make accurate decisions based on accurate information.
When we said our farewells at the evacuation site, everyone was crying, but they said things like "We'll work hard so that things will be better the next time we meet!," "Come visit again when the region's been restored," and "You should come and marry someone here" with a smile. I left the evacuation site in tears. Those who have survived have told me about their feelings of guilt, about how they were the only ones who survived or how they weren't able to help someone, but this is nobody's fault.
The fact that they survived definitely means something. I want the survivors to stick their chests out, to cry when things are rough, and to never forget that they are not alone.
There was also a surprise. Little Luna came to say goodbye with her aunt, with a letter she wrote for me. It said that when she grows up, she's going to do the same kind of work that I do. I was so glad that I had chosen this line of work and I couldn't stop crying.
Rikuzentakata has become my second home, and I wish for the restoration of my homeland with all my heart.
I will tell my colleagues and friends and family about all that I have seen, experienced, and felt here. How fortunate we are to be able to spend mundane daily lives. How precious the presence of family and friends who are near us is. How blessed we are to be provided with resources like water and electricity.
Different people will interpret all this in different ways, and I'm sure there are those who can only think of it as it having nothing to do with them, but any one of us can become a victim of a disaster any time.
On the return trip, we traveled by land. As Tokyo came closer and closer, I fell into a kind of illusion where I couldn't tell which world was real. Traffic lights operating like nothing happened, skyscrapers with lights in their windows, well-dressed people walking on the streets. Time passes by in the metropolitan area as though the disaster-stricken areas are somebody else's business. But I think that the true reality lies in the affected areas, and that Tokyo is unreal.
Reality and unreality are always side by side.
I wish for the restoration of the affected areas from the bottom of my heart. I promise I will come again.
Until then, please stay well. And I wish that everyone will be reunited with the people they want to see.
I wish that some day, all your efforts and tears will finally be rewarded.
Next entry: And I thank you in return.
Translated April 1.
Original entry in Japanese: 14、From TOKYO
Our medical team will be returning to Tokyo today.
In spite of having headed here making confident remarks and with a strong attitude, the reality here that was far, far beyond my imagination seriously overwhelmed me when I arrived. There was no time to think about what I could do, and there was no choice but to get a handle on what's happening before my eyes and work with all my might.
I even started to dislike the announcers reading the news, reporting the number of deaths that increase every day as though they are counting things.
More than two thousand people requesting to be examined each day.
Patients lying on the floor to receive IV drips.
Patients lying on muddy hospital beds; single-handedly manning first-aid stations, full of anxiety.
Nighttime emergency patients at evacuation sites.
Births given in a delivery room with no water or electricity.
An emergency medical care system where hospitals that can receive patients can't be found.
Medicine without stockpiles; the lack of medical equipment.
AEDs that had been exposed to water and could no longer be used.
Every day has been so inconceivably dramatic that I can't even remember everything.
We start running around doing our work in the morning, and before we know it, it's already three or four at night, and it's the same thing every day. But I think we were able to get through it because it's not just us; the conditions are the same for the self defense forces, firemen, police officers, drivers, the heads of local community associations, so on. In fact, we were able to take turns getting a bit of rest, but all these other people have been working with no rest at all.
And even all this was easy to deal with when I thought of how this is nothing compared to how much all the people affected by the disaster are suffering.
Also, I've written about this repeatedly, but I was encouraged by the smiles and kindness and strength of the people at the evacuation sites countless times.
The people who particularly seemed to be toughing it out are often deeply hurt; everyone I talked to still hadn't been able to get in touch with their families.
At the evacuation site, a lot of people were saying that they can hold strong because they're all in it together, but to be spending every night full of anxiety, in temperatures below zero degrees Celsius and on such a hard floor, is really terrible beyond words.
The truly hard times are still ahead of us. As news about the disaster begins to disappear from the TV and other media outlets, everyone else will start to forget, and the problems faced in the affected areas will only increase. More people falling ill, more sadness. It is of course a good thing that the rest of us make an effort to be cheerful and strong and return to our usual lives as best we can, but we must never forget about March 11.
If you still don't know what you can do to help, donating some of the money you have would be good, and keeping it aside would also be good. If you keep your money, I think it would also help to go on a trip to the Tohoku region and to use it there, once transportation facilities have recovered and the region is more vibrant again.
For those of us who are not in the areas that have directly been affected, we can help support our economy by eating and drinking and working as we always have, and to donate a little when we can, as much as our means allow us. I think this is important, too.
People who mobilize money, people who energize others, people who do put full effort into their work—there are many ways in which we can all help out. And we must always keep in mind that this isn't just a problem we are facing right now, but that getting through this tunnel will be a long-term fight. To make an effort conserve electricity to an extent that doesn't intrude with your life or work, and to donate amounts that also don't impact your lifestyle to trusted organizations will also be a big step.
There will always be tons of hardships in our daily lives, whether it's heartbreak or getting in trouble at work or buying things on impulse or catching a cold. Just living a normal life will bring us bad things 90% of the time, and good things 10% of the time.
But all this is really nothing at all compared to the hardships and sorrow that those affected by the disaster are experiencing!
I think it's important that we treat objects and resources with care and always think of the areas affected, so that the people there who are hanging tough and bearing with their plight can gradually get their smiles back again.
I'm sure that this will also be a long-term battle on the medical front. I plan to return when the next opportunity arises, and to study about disaster medical care again so that I can grow as a nurse and help as many people as possible.
A secondary disaster having to do with radiation has also arisen. The problems we must tackle are only piling up. Regarding radiation, please be sure to make accurate decisions based on accurate information.
When we said our farewells at the evacuation site, everyone was crying, but they said things like "We'll work hard so that things will be better the next time we meet!," "Come visit again when the region's been restored," and "You should come and marry someone here" with a smile. I left the evacuation site in tears. Those who have survived have told me about their feelings of guilt, about how they were the only ones who survived or how they weren't able to help someone, but this is nobody's fault.
The fact that they survived definitely means something. I want the survivors to stick their chests out, to cry when things are rough, and to never forget that they are not alone.
There was also a surprise. Little Luna came to say goodbye with her aunt, with a letter she wrote for me. It said that when she grows up, she's going to do the same kind of work that I do. I was so glad that I had chosen this line of work and I couldn't stop crying.
Rikuzentakata has become my second home, and I wish for the restoration of my homeland with all my heart.
I will tell my colleagues and friends and family about all that I have seen, experienced, and felt here. How fortunate we are to be able to spend mundane daily lives. How precious the presence of family and friends who are near us is. How blessed we are to be provided with resources like water and electricity.
Different people will interpret all this in different ways, and I'm sure there are those who can only think of it as it having nothing to do with them, but any one of us can become a victim of a disaster any time.
On the return trip, we traveled by land. As Tokyo came closer and closer, I fell into a kind of illusion where I couldn't tell which world was real. Traffic lights operating like nothing happened, skyscrapers with lights in their windows, well-dressed people walking on the streets. Time passes by in the metropolitan area as though the disaster-stricken areas are somebody else's business. But I think that the true reality lies in the affected areas, and that Tokyo is unreal.
Reality and unreality are always side by side.
I wish for the restoration of the affected areas from the bottom of my heart. I promise I will come again.
Until then, please stay well. And I wish that everyone will be reunited with the people they want to see.
I wish that some day, all your efforts and tears will finally be rewarded.
Next entry: And I thank you in return.
Translated April 1.
Original entry in Japanese: 14、From TOKYO
13) Family
March 22
It's now our last day here at Rikuzentakata. We're very much like a family now.
I have seen countless people who have lost their families in this disaster, but I think we can call anyone with whom we've shared tears and feelings our "family," too, not just those with whom we are related by blood. That's why I've thought of everyone at the evacuation sites, hospitals and first-aid stations as truly being my family, and have treated them as such.
We still can't take baths here.
The weather was bad again today, so the people who are building temporary housing also took turns to come and see how the evacuation sites are doing, making rounds to see whether there were any problems.
My medical team decided that we want to leave some kind of a gift behind, and we came up with the idea of at least setting up a footbath with the help of the builders. The builders agreed immediately, and made a long, gigantic footbath that lots of people can use at once in no time at all. The's still no water, so we all went back and forth from the water truck and heated the water with fires and stoves.
We went to get everyone at the evacuation site, and when they saw the footbath, they let out a cry of surprise.
Everyone was using the footbath seated in a row, and instantly there were smiles everywhere. The water wasn't that warm, but I'm glad they were happy about it. There was even an old man who was so happy that he washed his face with the water, even though it's from a footbath.
"But everyone washed their feet in that water!" I said with a laugh.
"It's all right, we're all pretty much family anyway," he responded.
It felt great to know that everyone else thought we were like family, too. Yet again, I was the one being cheered up by everyone's smiles.
That night, everyone said their feet were still warm and fell sound asleep. I was so happy about this tiny little thing I was able to do and spent the whole night crying.
I want to stay here, but I'm sure the only reason why I can think that is because I have a place where I can go home. I actually made a formal request to extend my stay, but it was turned down on the grounds that it is clear that the medical team will fall ill if we stay for any longer, and that we must go back for now.
I'm sure all the evacuees want to leave this place as soon as possible. The feelings here are warm, but the gymnasium is very cold. I sincerely wish that everyone will have a place to live soon.
But I want to continue to cherish these encounters that are making me feel this way.
The work here has certainly had an enormous impact on my own perspective and future.
From now on, I will proudly say that I have a lot of "family" in Iwate Prefecture, too.
P.S. The self defense forces have set up a bath tent in the next city! It's limited to just several people each day, but there is finally an opportunity for everyone at the evacuation sites to take real baths!! It made me happy to see people coming back feeling refreshed, with smiles on their faces.
Next entry: 14) From Tokyo
Translated April 1.
Original entry in Japanese: 13、Family
It's now our last day here at Rikuzentakata. We're very much like a family now.
I have seen countless people who have lost their families in this disaster, but I think we can call anyone with whom we've shared tears and feelings our "family," too, not just those with whom we are related by blood. That's why I've thought of everyone at the evacuation sites, hospitals and first-aid stations as truly being my family, and have treated them as such.
We still can't take baths here.
The weather was bad again today, so the people who are building temporary housing also took turns to come and see how the evacuation sites are doing, making rounds to see whether there were any problems.
My medical team decided that we want to leave some kind of a gift behind, and we came up with the idea of at least setting up a footbath with the help of the builders. The builders agreed immediately, and made a long, gigantic footbath that lots of people can use at once in no time at all. The's still no water, so we all went back and forth from the water truck and heated the water with fires and stoves.
We went to get everyone at the evacuation site, and when they saw the footbath, they let out a cry of surprise.
Everyone was using the footbath seated in a row, and instantly there were smiles everywhere. The water wasn't that warm, but I'm glad they were happy about it. There was even an old man who was so happy that he washed his face with the water, even though it's from a footbath.
"But everyone washed their feet in that water!" I said with a laugh.
"It's all right, we're all pretty much family anyway," he responded.
It felt great to know that everyone else thought we were like family, too. Yet again, I was the one being cheered up by everyone's smiles.
That night, everyone said their feet were still warm and fell sound asleep. I was so happy about this tiny little thing I was able to do and spent the whole night crying.
I want to stay here, but I'm sure the only reason why I can think that is because I have a place where I can go home. I actually made a formal request to extend my stay, but it was turned down on the grounds that it is clear that the medical team will fall ill if we stay for any longer, and that we must go back for now.
I'm sure all the evacuees want to leave this place as soon as possible. The feelings here are warm, but the gymnasium is very cold. I sincerely wish that everyone will have a place to live soon.
But I want to continue to cherish these encounters that are making me feel this way.
The work here has certainly had an enormous impact on my own perspective and future.
From now on, I will proudly say that I have a lot of "family" in Iwate Prefecture, too.
P.S. The self defense forces have set up a bath tent in the next city! It's limited to just several people each day, but there is finally an opportunity for everyone at the evacuation sites to take real baths!! It made me happy to see people coming back feeling refreshed, with smiles on their faces.
Next entry: 14) From Tokyo
Translated April 1.
Original entry in Japanese: 13、Family
12) Standing in someone else's shoes
March 21
Today, I went to help at a hospital in Sanriku.
Ten days have passed since the earthquake, and all the people who had been keeping a stiff upper lip must have been running out of energy. Many people were not feeling well and were coming to be examined.
This sudden catastrophe, the cold weather, hard floors, life without privacy, and no way of knowing what will happen tomorrow—it's only natural that people will fall ill.
Another elderly person who had escaped the earthquake and tsunami but was hospitalized after falling ill at an evacuation site passed away today.
No matter how many dead bodies we have seen every day, there is no getting used to people dying.
I have been traumatized enough to even worry whether people are still alive when they are just sleeping, when I make my rounds patrolling evacuation sites.
Because we are facing the limits of proper medical care, today I also helped patients transfer to hospitals in Morioka and in other prefectures.
We've finally gotten a hold of some additional medical equipment, and it's frustrating that we have to have people transfer elsewhere, but I reminded myself that this is all for the better and that these patients will be receiving better care, and saw them off with their families.
I went to a different evacuation site today, the public hall. I heard that there are a lot of people suffering from gastroenteritis, so I brought extra IV drips and disinfectants with me, but even then there was barely enough.
At this evacuation site, I met a man wearing a Yokohama BayStars jacket. Having evacuated with just the clothes on his back, I thought he must be a true fan who's wearing that jacket all the time. I asked him about it, and he said,
"I've been a huge fan since back when they were still the Taiyo Whales! The team and my own life have to start anew now."
There has been a huge argument about whether professional baseball games should be held or not, but it's also a fact that there are fans like this who are looking forward to the next game.
I hope that everyone will be able to attend concerts by their favorite artists or sporting events and smile from the bottom of their hearts as soon as possible. But I guess this will be put off till much later by the order of priority.
Once everyone has a place to go home to, a warm bed and a bathtub, and a family to share conversations with, maybe this will be possible. Pastimes can only be enjoyed with a life like this as its foundation.
The people at the evacuation site told me about their anxieties, their fears, and their outlooks on what will happen now—the fear of tsunamis, anxiety about the future, still being unable to get in contact with their loved ones, and so on.
They don't have enough peace of mind to think about tomorrow. It's all they can do to think about ten minutes from now, how they will spend that night, whether it's going to be cold again.
There needs to at least be more people whom they can talk to like this.
As more days go by, different necessities seem to have emerged in terms of relief supplies.
I think people should start seeking to comfort themselves now, with things like books or shogi or video games. Everyone is holding their ground at their outer limits, and I think it's time for all this tension to be relieved.
At the evacuation site, everyone was terribly moved by the newspaper article about two survivors being rescued in Kesennuma on the ninth day since the earthquake hit.
To see all these people rejoicing about someone else's miracle when they are going through such a hard time themselves made me wish for and believe in the happiness of these amazingly kind souls, even more than ever before.
Next entry: 13) Family
Translated April 1.
Original entry in Japanese: 12、人の立場に立つ
Today, I went to help at a hospital in Sanriku.
Ten days have passed since the earthquake, and all the people who had been keeping a stiff upper lip must have been running out of energy. Many people were not feeling well and were coming to be examined.
This sudden catastrophe, the cold weather, hard floors, life without privacy, and no way of knowing what will happen tomorrow—it's only natural that people will fall ill.
Another elderly person who had escaped the earthquake and tsunami but was hospitalized after falling ill at an evacuation site passed away today.
No matter how many dead bodies we have seen every day, there is no getting used to people dying.
I have been traumatized enough to even worry whether people are still alive when they are just sleeping, when I make my rounds patrolling evacuation sites.
Because we are facing the limits of proper medical care, today I also helped patients transfer to hospitals in Morioka and in other prefectures.
We've finally gotten a hold of some additional medical equipment, and it's frustrating that we have to have people transfer elsewhere, but I reminded myself that this is all for the better and that these patients will be receiving better care, and saw them off with their families.
I went to a different evacuation site today, the public hall. I heard that there are a lot of people suffering from gastroenteritis, so I brought extra IV drips and disinfectants with me, but even then there was barely enough.
At this evacuation site, I met a man wearing a Yokohama BayStars jacket. Having evacuated with just the clothes on his back, I thought he must be a true fan who's wearing that jacket all the time. I asked him about it, and he said,
"I've been a huge fan since back when they were still the Taiyo Whales! The team and my own life have to start anew now."
There has been a huge argument about whether professional baseball games should be held or not, but it's also a fact that there are fans like this who are looking forward to the next game.
I hope that everyone will be able to attend concerts by their favorite artists or sporting events and smile from the bottom of their hearts as soon as possible. But I guess this will be put off till much later by the order of priority.
Once everyone has a place to go home to, a warm bed and a bathtub, and a family to share conversations with, maybe this will be possible. Pastimes can only be enjoyed with a life like this as its foundation.
The people at the evacuation site told me about their anxieties, their fears, and their outlooks on what will happen now—the fear of tsunamis, anxiety about the future, still being unable to get in contact with their loved ones, and so on.
They don't have enough peace of mind to think about tomorrow. It's all they can do to think about ten minutes from now, how they will spend that night, whether it's going to be cold again.
There needs to at least be more people whom they can talk to like this.
As more days go by, different necessities seem to have emerged in terms of relief supplies.
I think people should start seeking to comfort themselves now, with things like books or shogi or video games. Everyone is holding their ground at their outer limits, and I think it's time for all this tension to be relieved.
At the evacuation site, everyone was terribly moved by the newspaper article about two survivors being rescued in Kesennuma on the ninth day since the earthquake hit.
To see all these people rejoicing about someone else's miracle when they are going through such a hard time themselves made me wish for and believe in the happiness of these amazingly kind souls, even more than ever before.
Next entry: 13) Family
Translated April 1.
Original entry in Japanese: 12、人の立場に立つ
11) Smile
Our cell phones had no reception and there have been many situations where being unable to use them proved inconvenient, but there was a certain warmth there, too—going where someone else is to communicate with them, or having a hand on someone's back while talking to them. We couldn't contact each other, so everyone was arriving early at meeting places to make sure they don't run late. We had no Internet, either, and we were cut off from necessary information, so we discussed things amongst ourselves and believed each other in putting anything into action. Unwanted information wasn't coming in, either, so I felt as though I had left my daily life completely.
We didn't need money here. The only time I used it is when I bought a prepaid card for phone calls, but the pay phones in the affected areas could be used free of charge.
Fabulous purses and stylish coats are not needed here.
We wear anything so long as it's warm. When I slept at night, I wore shorts over my head if it felt too cold. We all gave our covers to the elderly, who have much lower resistance than someone like me.
At night, when the power generator shuts down, we all gathered around a small candle and talked about what will happen from now on. In contrast to the mountains of rubble and muddy ground on the land, the stars were always shining beautifully against the black sky every night. It was reassuring to hear the voices of others.
The lack of water taught me just how important our resources are. There is no water that can be spared for something as trivial as washing our hair or faces. I couldn't take any baths so I wiped down my entire body with baby wipes, and took all my garbage with me when I left.
There were many people who were able to experience miraculous reunions in evacuation sites, first-aid stations, and hospitals. No matter who it was, everyone around them would break into applause. Even those who still hadn't been able to meet their families were celebrating the reunions of others.
Watching these scenes, I was reminded of the importance of our families, our friends, our colleagues, our relatives, our fellows of all kinds. It made me wish that I could go home just a tiny bit sooner.
There was always someone there for those who were on their own.
Even when I was just packing medical supplies by myself, someone from the area would always talk to me.
Locals were to be given priority for the meals being served, too, and there was an older woman about the same age as my own mother who always came to see me in the ambulance, where I would wait my turn because watching everyone get their food will probably make me hungry, to give me part of her share.
She called me by my name, and came to share her food with me every time, saying,
"We'll really be in trouble if you collapse!"
This, in a situation where there is no promise of her own meal tomorrow. I felt terribly apologetic and extremely grateful at the same time, and she would always make me think of my own mother.
And then I heard on the radio that people are fighting over supplies in the metropolitan area, and it made me wonder whether restoration would ever have been possible if this devastating crisis had hit Tokyo instead.
I have also come to truly appreciate the radio. Japanese is really such a wonderful language. I wanted to learn Spanish before, but now I want to give the Japanese language more of my attention.
There were always encouraging songs on the air, probably requested by everyone out there.
The Anpanman theme song, songs by Ayaka Hirahara, songs by Mayo Okamoto, songs by the band Mr. Children, songs by the group Arashi, and "Sekai ni hitotsu dake no hana [A Flower Unlike Any Other in the World]" by SMAP were on the air almost every day.
Songs like "Sorega daiji" by Daiji MAN Brothers Band and "Donna toki mo" by Noriyuki Makihara brought back memories.
When "Nando demo" by Dreams Come True was on the air, I couldn't stop crying even as I was transporting patients. It gave me so much courage. The faces of my friends and family came to mind on their own. More people in the medical team were rolling up their sleeves, and I think they were encouraged by the song, too.
When I couldn't sleep, I spent all night listening to songs like "Kimi to nara" and "Mihatenu yume" and "Tada…" by Tsubasa Imai. The songs encouraged me, but they also made me think about how that fun and cheerful space shouldn't be taken for granted, and that we were fortunate to be in a situation where everyone was doing well and could come and see the show.
The entire time, I was also thinking of my friends who were also at that show who are in the areas affected by this catastrophe, and hoped that we can see each other again in a happy place full of smiles.
No matter how many celebrities may be sending out messages for people to hang in there, electricity still hasn't been restored entirely, and when we finally had access to television, there was nothing but earthquake disaster information being broadcasted. The same can be said for the radio and newspapers.
No information about the entertainment world reached us at all.
Everyone at the evacuation site was watching nothing but the news, too, and every time another evacuation site was on the screen, they were desperately looking for their families and acquaintances.
From other prefectures and even from other countries, help came in the form of the self defense forces, support from corporations, drivers who were transporting goods, people from the electricity company, medical staff, etc.
It was all so warm-hearted. Japan isn't half bad just yet.
It's really hard to smile at a time like this, but I did my best to smile when I greeted or thanked people.
Every day is full of heart-breaking things, but to think of how broken-hearted everyone at the evacuation sites are feeling. It's easy to put medicine and a bandage on a physical wound, but it's hard to dress the wounds of someone's heart.
I can only hope that smiling will have at least some slight effect on that wound.
"To feel a smile's attraction / its magical effect on me
It needs no explanation that / we have the power to communicate
Are you smiling now? Not shallow, but from deep inside?
If only we could fill the world / with a laugh that left no room for hate"
—"Fukuwarai" by Yu Takahashi [English translation from http://www.takahashiyu.com ]
Next entry: 12) Standing in someone else's shoes
Translated March 28/April 1.
Original entry in Japanese: 11、スマイル。
We didn't need money here. The only time I used it is when I bought a prepaid card for phone calls, but the pay phones in the affected areas could be used free of charge.
Fabulous purses and stylish coats are not needed here.
We wear anything so long as it's warm. When I slept at night, I wore shorts over my head if it felt too cold. We all gave our covers to the elderly, who have much lower resistance than someone like me.
At night, when the power generator shuts down, we all gathered around a small candle and talked about what will happen from now on. In contrast to the mountains of rubble and muddy ground on the land, the stars were always shining beautifully against the black sky every night. It was reassuring to hear the voices of others.
The lack of water taught me just how important our resources are. There is no water that can be spared for something as trivial as washing our hair or faces. I couldn't take any baths so I wiped down my entire body with baby wipes, and took all my garbage with me when I left.
There were many people who were able to experience miraculous reunions in evacuation sites, first-aid stations, and hospitals. No matter who it was, everyone around them would break into applause. Even those who still hadn't been able to meet their families were celebrating the reunions of others.
Watching these scenes, I was reminded of the importance of our families, our friends, our colleagues, our relatives, our fellows of all kinds. It made me wish that I could go home just a tiny bit sooner.
There was always someone there for those who were on their own.
Even when I was just packing medical supplies by myself, someone from the area would always talk to me.
Locals were to be given priority for the meals being served, too, and there was an older woman about the same age as my own mother who always came to see me in the ambulance, where I would wait my turn because watching everyone get their food will probably make me hungry, to give me part of her share.
She called me by my name, and came to share her food with me every time, saying,
"We'll really be in trouble if you collapse!"
This, in a situation where there is no promise of her own meal tomorrow. I felt terribly apologetic and extremely grateful at the same time, and she would always make me think of my own mother.
And then I heard on the radio that people are fighting over supplies in the metropolitan area, and it made me wonder whether restoration would ever have been possible if this devastating crisis had hit Tokyo instead.
I have also come to truly appreciate the radio. Japanese is really such a wonderful language. I wanted to learn Spanish before, but now I want to give the Japanese language more of my attention.
There were always encouraging songs on the air, probably requested by everyone out there.
The Anpanman theme song, songs by Ayaka Hirahara, songs by Mayo Okamoto, songs by the band Mr. Children, songs by the group Arashi, and "Sekai ni hitotsu dake no hana [A Flower Unlike Any Other in the World]" by SMAP were on the air almost every day.
Songs like "Sorega daiji" by Daiji MAN Brothers Band and "Donna toki mo" by Noriyuki Makihara brought back memories.
When "Nando demo" by Dreams Come True was on the air, I couldn't stop crying even as I was transporting patients. It gave me so much courage. The faces of my friends and family came to mind on their own. More people in the medical team were rolling up their sleeves, and I think they were encouraged by the song, too.
When I couldn't sleep, I spent all night listening to songs like "Kimi to nara" and "Mihatenu yume" and "Tada…" by Tsubasa Imai. The songs encouraged me, but they also made me think about how that fun and cheerful space shouldn't be taken for granted, and that we were fortunate to be in a situation where everyone was doing well and could come and see the show.
The entire time, I was also thinking of my friends who were also at that show who are in the areas affected by this catastrophe, and hoped that we can see each other again in a happy place full of smiles.
No matter how many celebrities may be sending out messages for people to hang in there, electricity still hasn't been restored entirely, and when we finally had access to television, there was nothing but earthquake disaster information being broadcasted. The same can be said for the radio and newspapers.
No information about the entertainment world reached us at all.
Everyone at the evacuation site was watching nothing but the news, too, and every time another evacuation site was on the screen, they were desperately looking for their families and acquaintances.
From other prefectures and even from other countries, help came in the form of the self defense forces, support from corporations, drivers who were transporting goods, people from the electricity company, medical staff, etc.
It was all so warm-hearted. Japan isn't half bad just yet.
It's really hard to smile at a time like this, but I did my best to smile when I greeted or thanked people.
Every day is full of heart-breaking things, but to think of how broken-hearted everyone at the evacuation sites are feeling. It's easy to put medicine and a bandage on a physical wound, but it's hard to dress the wounds of someone's heart.
I can only hope that smiling will have at least some slight effect on that wound.
"To feel a smile's attraction / its magical effect on me
It needs no explanation that / we have the power to communicate
Are you smiling now? Not shallow, but from deep inside?
If only we could fill the world / with a laugh that left no room for hate"
—"Fukuwarai" by Yu Takahashi [English translation from http://www.takahashiyu.com ]
Next entry: 12) Standing in someone else's shoes
Translated March 28/April 1.
Original entry in Japanese: 11、スマイル。
10) Tomorrow will be better than today.
May 20
The streets have been fixed, and many heavy machinery have finally come into Rikuzentakata. And as the rubble is cleared, many bodies have emerged.
The bodies were carried away on trucks, and I hoped that they will be met by those who have been searching for them soon.
More sadness spreads on the scene.
Beneath the rubble, I heard the ringtone of a cell phone that finally had reception since the system recovered the day before.
It was also very painful when the body of a pregnant woman came out. The reality that people who have nothing wrong are victimized. I no longer understand what it means for people to be alive.
They tell me that there is now a street where their houses full of memories were standing just several days ago.
We were on standby with emergency kits, watching the heavy machinery do their work, just in case there were any survivors. Sadly, there was nothing we could do.
All that came out were sighs and tears, and I felt horribly chagrined.
I talked to a boy who had a fever and a loss of appetite. He showed me a Doraemon book covered in mud.
I asked him what his favorite was of all of Doraemon's tools.
"I used to like the ozashiki tsuribori (indoor fishing mat), but now my favorite is the taimu furoshiki (wrapping cloth of time). I want to wrap up the whole city with the taimu furoshiki and make it go back to how it was before the earthquake."
The earthquake had even traumatized innocent children.
I was given a short break, so I went to see one of the areas where the people were allowed to reenter. An old man is looking very hart for something. He says he is looking for the stamp collection that he had been keeping for sixty years, and his photo albums, too.
People looking for their parents' spirit tablets, people looking for their husbands' bequests, people looking for their pets, people looking for school bags, people looking for their family…
I was afraid that moving the rubble will reveal a dead body, but we all searched together. Disappointingly, we couldn't find it.
I can't bear that it can take away the lives and treasures of people so easily.
I was hit harder by all this than the old man, who actually gave me a word of consolation. Pathetic.
I can't tell people try harder to persevere, or even that we should try harder together. I've already seen them trying so hard, too hard, even, and all I can say is "Let's bear with it" or "Let us overcome."
I can't tell them to try any harder than they already are, and even if they do try harder to persevere, there are just too many things that no one can do anything about.
But things are gradually getting better, right? It's a bit cold today, so I'm feeling rather weak-hearted.
But let us try harder, all the same!!
After all, although there have been many separations, there are also people who were finally able to see their friends and family today.
Next entry: 11) Smile
Translated March 28, minor edits April 19.
Original entry in Japanese: 10、明日は今日より良くなる。
The streets have been fixed, and many heavy machinery have finally come into Rikuzentakata. And as the rubble is cleared, many bodies have emerged.
The bodies were carried away on trucks, and I hoped that they will be met by those who have been searching for them soon.
More sadness spreads on the scene.
Beneath the rubble, I heard the ringtone of a cell phone that finally had reception since the system recovered the day before.
It was also very painful when the body of a pregnant woman came out. The reality that people who have nothing wrong are victimized. I no longer understand what it means for people to be alive.
They tell me that there is now a street where their houses full of memories were standing just several days ago.
We were on standby with emergency kits, watching the heavy machinery do their work, just in case there were any survivors. Sadly, there was nothing we could do.
All that came out were sighs and tears, and I felt horribly chagrined.
I talked to a boy who had a fever and a loss of appetite. He showed me a Doraemon book covered in mud.
I asked him what his favorite was of all of Doraemon's tools.
"I used to like the ozashiki tsuribori (indoor fishing mat), but now my favorite is the taimu furoshiki (wrapping cloth of time). I want to wrap up the whole city with the taimu furoshiki and make it go back to how it was before the earthquake."
The earthquake had even traumatized innocent children.
I was given a short break, so I went to see one of the areas where the people were allowed to reenter. An old man is looking very hart for something. He says he is looking for the stamp collection that he had been keeping for sixty years, and his photo albums, too.
People looking for their parents' spirit tablets, people looking for their husbands' bequests, people looking for their pets, people looking for school bags, people looking for their family…
I was afraid that moving the rubble will reveal a dead body, but we all searched together. Disappointingly, we couldn't find it.
I can't bear that it can take away the lives and treasures of people so easily.
I was hit harder by all this than the old man, who actually gave me a word of consolation. Pathetic.
I can't tell people try harder to persevere, or even that we should try harder together. I've already seen them trying so hard, too hard, even, and all I can say is "Let's bear with it" or "Let us overcome."
I can't tell them to try any harder than they already are, and even if they do try harder to persevere, there are just too many things that no one can do anything about.
But things are gradually getting better, right? It's a bit cold today, so I'm feeling rather weak-hearted.
But let us try harder, all the same!!
After all, although there have been many separations, there are also people who were finally able to see their friends and family today.
Next entry: 11) Smile
Translated March 28, minor edits April 19.
Original entry in Japanese: 10、明日は今日より良くなる。
9) Moonlight
March 19, nighttime
It seemed like we could get some rest tonight, but there are a lot of people with fevers or with stomachaches, so we decided to take turns resting in the first-aid car.
I feel less lonesome in the gymnasium, where everyone else is, but I have no business acting like a baby.
The driver's seat was bright, so I went to check whether the light was left on, but it was actually moonlight, from a gigantic moon!! Is this just for tonight? Is it some kind of phenomenon? I think we would all feel a little less lonely if it were this bright every night.
People who can't sleep have come out of the gymnasium to see the moon, too. The moonlight is shining on them. They're smiling a little!
Please let smiles and happiness reach each and every person in the affected areas. Please never let any more sadness come upon them.
I think the medical supplies will be coming soon, a late-night delivery. I am enormously grateful to the people who packed the supplies and the truck driver who is bringing them here.
Tomorrow, a lot of people will be transferring from this evacuation site to another temporary evacuation site prepared by a different prefecture, so I hope to help with their preparations, too.
Today I talked to an old lady who was saying that it will be heart-wrenching to leave Takata, where she was born and has lived for ninety years. She said there was an institute called the Sea and Shell Museum in Takata, and her house was in the same neighborhood. Seeing the smiles of the tourists there was part of her daily routine.
She experienced poverty after the war, but she worked hard with her husband to build a house, and even bought a boat to go fishing. When they got old, they retired from work and had grandchildren and were quietly enjoying their lives without any extravagance, and then this earthquake happened.
"We could start over again like we did after the war, but we're not young any more," she sobbed. I can understand how strongly she wishes not to leave this place so well that it hurts.
Even if it is a temporary evacuation, it will be enormously stressful for the elderly to transfer to different prefectures or to leave Takata, more than we can imagine. But if they can be promised the kindness of the people there, and a warm place to stay and food—then all I can say is, hang in there, just for a little longer!!
Now I'm sort of loathing going back to Tokyo, too.
Next entry: 10) Tomorrow will be better than today.
Translated March 28.
Original entry in Japanese: 9、月明かり
It seemed like we could get some rest tonight, but there are a lot of people with fevers or with stomachaches, so we decided to take turns resting in the first-aid car.
I feel less lonesome in the gymnasium, where everyone else is, but I have no business acting like a baby.
The driver's seat was bright, so I went to check whether the light was left on, but it was actually moonlight, from a gigantic moon!! Is this just for tonight? Is it some kind of phenomenon? I think we would all feel a little less lonely if it were this bright every night.
People who can't sleep have come out of the gymnasium to see the moon, too. The moonlight is shining on them. They're smiling a little!
Please let smiles and happiness reach each and every person in the affected areas. Please never let any more sadness come upon them.
I think the medical supplies will be coming soon, a late-night delivery. I am enormously grateful to the people who packed the supplies and the truck driver who is bringing them here.
Tomorrow, a lot of people will be transferring from this evacuation site to another temporary evacuation site prepared by a different prefecture, so I hope to help with their preparations, too.
Today I talked to an old lady who was saying that it will be heart-wrenching to leave Takata, where she was born and has lived for ninety years. She said there was an institute called the Sea and Shell Museum in Takata, and her house was in the same neighborhood. Seeing the smiles of the tourists there was part of her daily routine.
She experienced poverty after the war, but she worked hard with her husband to build a house, and even bought a boat to go fishing. When they got old, they retired from work and had grandchildren and were quietly enjoying their lives without any extravagance, and then this earthquake happened.
"We could start over again like we did after the war, but we're not young any more," she sobbed. I can understand how strongly she wishes not to leave this place so well that it hurts.
Even if it is a temporary evacuation, it will be enormously stressful for the elderly to transfer to different prefectures or to leave Takata, more than we can imagine. But if they can be promised the kindness of the people there, and a warm place to stay and food—then all I can say is, hang in there, just for a little longer!!
Now I'm sort of loathing going back to Tokyo, too.
Next entry: 10) Tomorrow will be better than today.
Translated March 28.
Original entry in Japanese: 9、月明かり
8) Temporary housing
March 19
The schoolyard is full of noise this morning. Trucks coming in one after another. I asked what's going on, and learn that they have come to build temporary housing.
High-five with a truck driver who has a scary face but is the nicest person ever!
There will only be limited, priority-based housing available for the time being, but this was happy news, too. It's still the morning and I've already found something that's gotten better than yesterday!!
Also, emergency cars from the cell phone carriers Docomo and au arrived, and finally, finally, FINALLY the "no reception" mark disappeared from our cell phones! There were many people in the evacuation site who were finally able to get in touch with others, one after another.
High-fives with the Docomo staff members with smiles on all our faces!
I'm getting used to my sticky hair and dirty, makeup-less face. I moistened a tissue with what's left of my oolong tea and wiped my face, and the staff members and I psyched each other up to work hard for the rest of the day. I hope the plumbing will be working again soon, too.
And then I find another thing that's gotten better than yesterday.
It's warm. The sun feels like springtime. Please don't get cold any more.
And today, there may only be two buses per day but the express buses between Morioka and Rikuzentakata are running again!
And more good news!
An old lady who had been carried away from the gymnasium on an ambulance came back to the evacuation site in good health.
"Welcome back!!"
"I'm home"
The evacuation site felt like one big house.
Because I thought that the "NURSE/Kangoshi" on my uniform will be difficult for children and the elderly to recognize, I had written kangoshi with the phonetic alphabet on my back with colored tape on the first night. As I worked and slept wearing the uniform every day, one of the dashes on shi fell off, and the tape on my back read "kangon" instead.
And then the children and others at the evacuation site started to call me "Kangon-san," and today, that was shortened to a light-hearted and friendly "Gon-chan!" That made me happy, too.
Also, yesterday I went to a neighboring city and called a friend from a pay phone.
"The evacuation site at the public hall still hasn't received any supplies, please inform the authorities," I asked.
This evening the site contacted us saying that they have finally received supplies too.
The self defense forces personnel who brought the supplies said,
"There were people from as far north as Akita and as far south as Kyushu telling us that supplies haven't been received here. This is a small evacuation site, but the whole country was speaking up on its behalf."
This is a relay to keep these people alive.
To everyone who helped and to everyone who noticed, thank you, thank you very much!!
Lots of diapers and skin care goods have come in for babies whose diapers couldn't be changed and whose bottoms have turned red like monkeys.
And delicious rice balls with miso, Yakult, and tons of "Nicestick" bread from Yamazaki Baking.
In the middle of the night, there will be plenty of medicine, intravenous drips, and a simple aspirator coming in from university hospitals in Tokyo.
My date of departure has also been changed from the 21st to the 23rd.
Tomorrow, we will be preparing to move hospitalized patients to hospitals in other prefectures. We are at our limits in being able to give them the medical attention they require.
The patients probably feel lonely enough already from being hospitalized, and it will be difficult for their family to come and see them… but it's more important that they can receive proper treatment. Let's change our perspective and hang in there!!
At today's meeting, we learned that survivors have been found more than a week after the earthquake in Kesennuma. We all rejoiced, but it's also true that there are many elderly people who are losing their health at the evacuation sites and passing away after having escaped the earthquake.
We'd been thinking that I want to save as many people as possible, but now we all want to save everyone's lives.
It's rough for everyone. We each only have the tiniest bit of power in this situation. May these tiny bits of power come together to form a greater power in the face of this catastrophe.
Next entry: 9) Moonlight
Translated March 27.
Original entry in Japanese: 8、仮設住宅
The schoolyard is full of noise this morning. Trucks coming in one after another. I asked what's going on, and learn that they have come to build temporary housing.
High-five with a truck driver who has a scary face but is the nicest person ever!
There will only be limited, priority-based housing available for the time being, but this was happy news, too. It's still the morning and I've already found something that's gotten better than yesterday!!
Also, emergency cars from the cell phone carriers Docomo and au arrived, and finally, finally, FINALLY the "no reception" mark disappeared from our cell phones! There were many people in the evacuation site who were finally able to get in touch with others, one after another.
High-fives with the Docomo staff members with smiles on all our faces!
I'm getting used to my sticky hair and dirty, makeup-less face. I moistened a tissue with what's left of my oolong tea and wiped my face, and the staff members and I psyched each other up to work hard for the rest of the day. I hope the plumbing will be working again soon, too.
And then I find another thing that's gotten better than yesterday.
It's warm. The sun feels like springtime. Please don't get cold any more.
And today, there may only be two buses per day but the express buses between Morioka and Rikuzentakata are running again!
And more good news!
An old lady who had been carried away from the gymnasium on an ambulance came back to the evacuation site in good health.
"Welcome back!!"
"I'm home"
The evacuation site felt like one big house.
Because I thought that the "NURSE/Kangoshi" on my uniform will be difficult for children and the elderly to recognize, I had written kangoshi with the phonetic alphabet on my back with colored tape on the first night. As I worked and slept wearing the uniform every day, one of the dashes on shi fell off, and the tape on my back read "kangon" instead.
And then the children and others at the evacuation site started to call me "Kangon-san," and today, that was shortened to a light-hearted and friendly "Gon-chan!" That made me happy, too.
Also, yesterday I went to a neighboring city and called a friend from a pay phone.
"The evacuation site at the public hall still hasn't received any supplies, please inform the authorities," I asked.
This evening the site contacted us saying that they have finally received supplies too.
The self defense forces personnel who brought the supplies said,
"There were people from as far north as Akita and as far south as Kyushu telling us that supplies haven't been received here. This is a small evacuation site, but the whole country was speaking up on its behalf."
This is a relay to keep these people alive.
To everyone who helped and to everyone who noticed, thank you, thank you very much!!
Lots of diapers and skin care goods have come in for babies whose diapers couldn't be changed and whose bottoms have turned red like monkeys.
And delicious rice balls with miso, Yakult, and tons of "Nicestick" bread from Yamazaki Baking.
In the middle of the night, there will be plenty of medicine, intravenous drips, and a simple aspirator coming in from university hospitals in Tokyo.
My date of departure has also been changed from the 21st to the 23rd.
Tomorrow, we will be preparing to move hospitalized patients to hospitals in other prefectures. We are at our limits in being able to give them the medical attention they require.
The patients probably feel lonely enough already from being hospitalized, and it will be difficult for their family to come and see them… but it's more important that they can receive proper treatment. Let's change our perspective and hang in there!!
At today's meeting, we learned that survivors have been found more than a week after the earthquake in Kesennuma. We all rejoiced, but it's also true that there are many elderly people who are losing their health at the evacuation sites and passing away after having escaped the earthquake.
We'd been thinking that I want to save as many people as possible, but now we all want to save everyone's lives.
It's rough for everyone. We each only have the tiniest bit of power in this situation. May these tiny bits of power come together to form a greater power in the face of this catastrophe.
Next entry: 9) Moonlight
Translated March 27.
Original entry in Japanese: 8、仮設住宅
7) Luna
Within three days of sleeping in the gymnasium, I made a cute little friend. She follows me as I bustle about measuring blood pressures and giving intravenous drips.
A friendly, adorable six-year-old girl named Luna.
She absolutely hated masks, so I drew a Hello Kitty that doesn't look anything like Hello Kitty on her mask and she liked it very much, so maybe that was the start.
Nights at the gymnasium are really, truly cold, and all we have to rely on are thin blankets and the warmth of human bodies. My medical team was entirely composed of men, so I couldn't even rely on human bodies and I was constantly battling with drafts near the entrance.
Before electricity returned, the large gymnasium was almost like a cave. With even the stoves turned off, it was an ice-cold, dark space. There were constant aftershocks, too.
If I were alone, how terrified and lonely I would feel. I felt from the bottom of my heart that I am able to turn this darkness into strength waiting for the morning because so many evacuees have gathered here.
In the dark gymnasium, in the midst of the breathing of people fast asleep, you could of course hear people quietly sobbing, too.
Maybe they are worried, maybe they haven't been able to meet with their families and friends, but once you start thinking about it, there's no end. I'm only here for about a week, but when I wonder how long everyone else is going to have to stay here, the dark gymnasium looked more like an endless tunnel than a cave.
I was too cold to sleep, but I had better get some sleep now or I'll surely collapse. And if I collapse here, I'll only get in everyone's way and there will be no point in having come here. I turned over as these thoughts ran through my head, and suddenly Luna was calling out to me and snuggled up next to me with her blanket.
"You can't sleep, either?" I asked, and she nodded, so I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close. She felt so warm.
"Are you in love with anyone?" she asked, so I said,
"Yes, I am!"
"What's he like?" she asks. (´｀)
"He has a beard," I said with a bit of a laugh, trying to give a description that's easy to understand.
"You mean Santa Clause??"
Aw, how cute, I thought, and said,
"Yeah, I guess he's kind of like Santa Clause," as I pat her head.
"I wonder if Santa will come again next winter," she said with a bright smile.
I was so happy to see her smile that I let my tongue slip.
"You're such a good girl, I'm sure Santa will come again!"
"My house is gone now, can you tell Santa that I don't want him to go away with my present because I don't have a house?"
I apologized in my mind and gave her a big hug.
"Luna, what do you want?" I asked.
"My house and my mommy."
I had assumed that the woman she is always with was her mother, but the next day, I learned that she is her aunt. Luna's mother was a victim of the tsunami, too, and she was found underneath rubble in an unrecognizable state, leaving her adorable daughter behind. Luna was at preschool and was saved, but her mother passed away with a backpack holding Luna's favorite dolls and books in her arms.
Luna is still such a small child; maybe she was sleeping next to me because she missed her mother.
When we moved out from the gymnasium to head to a different evacuation site and first-aid station, Luna was crying out loud because she didn't want to part with me.
She had just been tragically separated from her mother. That wound has yet to heal, and now—though in a different form—I am making her suffer the pain of parting with someone once again.
I could say that we will meet again, or that I will write to her, but Luna doesn't have an address any more. But I promised to come and see her again when the city is back on its feet and left the gymnasium.
I hope she will never forget this earthquake and grow up to be a strong and kind woman. May her future by bright and happy.
My promise with the lead nurse not to cry was broken all too easily once again, and as I watched Luna waving to me, I cried in the car.
I didn't know where to direct my frustration—how did this happen?—but we were already on our way to the next site, the emergency hospital.
I had come to put smiles on people's faces, but here I am, making Luna cry.
I wondered whether there was any point in my having come here.
Next entry: 8) Temporary housing
Translated March 27, minor edit April 8.
Original entry in Japanese: 7、瑠奈チャン
A friendly, adorable six-year-old girl named Luna.
She absolutely hated masks, so I drew a Hello Kitty that doesn't look anything like Hello Kitty on her mask and she liked it very much, so maybe that was the start.
Nights at the gymnasium are really, truly cold, and all we have to rely on are thin blankets and the warmth of human bodies. My medical team was entirely composed of men, so I couldn't even rely on human bodies and I was constantly battling with drafts near the entrance.
Before electricity returned, the large gymnasium was almost like a cave. With even the stoves turned off, it was an ice-cold, dark space. There were constant aftershocks, too.
If I were alone, how terrified and lonely I would feel. I felt from the bottom of my heart that I am able to turn this darkness into strength waiting for the morning because so many evacuees have gathered here.
In the dark gymnasium, in the midst of the breathing of people fast asleep, you could of course hear people quietly sobbing, too.
Maybe they are worried, maybe they haven't been able to meet with their families and friends, but once you start thinking about it, there's no end. I'm only here for about a week, but when I wonder how long everyone else is going to have to stay here, the dark gymnasium looked more like an endless tunnel than a cave.
I was too cold to sleep, but I had better get some sleep now or I'll surely collapse. And if I collapse here, I'll only get in everyone's way and there will be no point in having come here. I turned over as these thoughts ran through my head, and suddenly Luna was calling out to me and snuggled up next to me with her blanket.
"You can't sleep, either?" I asked, and she nodded, so I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close. She felt so warm.
"Are you in love with anyone?" she asked, so I said,
"Yes, I am!"
"What's he like?" she asks. (´｀)
"He has a beard," I said with a bit of a laugh, trying to give a description that's easy to understand.
"You mean Santa Clause??"
Aw, how cute, I thought, and said,
"Yeah, I guess he's kind of like Santa Clause," as I pat her head.
"I wonder if Santa will come again next winter," she said with a bright smile.
I was so happy to see her smile that I let my tongue slip.
"You're such a good girl, I'm sure Santa will come again!"
"My house is gone now, can you tell Santa that I don't want him to go away with my present because I don't have a house?"
I apologized in my mind and gave her a big hug.
"Luna, what do you want?" I asked.
"My house and my mommy."
I had assumed that the woman she is always with was her mother, but the next day, I learned that she is her aunt. Luna's mother was a victim of the tsunami, too, and she was found underneath rubble in an unrecognizable state, leaving her adorable daughter behind. Luna was at preschool and was saved, but her mother passed away with a backpack holding Luna's favorite dolls and books in her arms.
Luna is still such a small child; maybe she was sleeping next to me because she missed her mother.
When we moved out from the gymnasium to head to a different evacuation site and first-aid station, Luna was crying out loud because she didn't want to part with me.
She had just been tragically separated from her mother. That wound has yet to heal, and now—though in a different form—I am making her suffer the pain of parting with someone once again.
I could say that we will meet again, or that I will write to her, but Luna doesn't have an address any more. But I promised to come and see her again when the city is back on its feet and left the gymnasium.
I hope she will never forget this earthquake and grow up to be a strong and kind woman. May her future by bright and happy.
My promise with the lead nurse not to cry was broken all too easily once again, and as I watched Luna waving to me, I cried in the car.
I didn't know where to direct my frustration—how did this happen?—but we were already on our way to the next site, the emergency hospital.
I had come to put smiles on people's faces, but here I am, making Luna cry.
I wondered whether there was any point in my having come here.
Next entry: 8) Temporary housing
Translated March 27, minor edit April 8.
Original entry in Japanese: 7、瑠奈チャン
6) Lifelines and bonds
March 18, nighttime
There is a time limit, but the gymnasium operating as an evacuation site has electricity once again!!
The moment the lights came on, the whole gymnasium was full of applause and we all cried tears of joy.
Thanks to the conservation of electricity in other parts of the country, it recovered sooner than expected. I was really, really happy to hear this. The kindness of others really came across.
When I arrived in the affected area, there was snow on the ground and people were mumbling,
"Snow at a time like this—there is no god here any more."
I felt confident in thinking that there may be no god, but there are living human beings with kindness in their hearts, plenty of them, too!! But the real difficulty is still ahead of us. I can only wish that this kindness will continue to spread across the entire nation.
There is no gas or kerosene and it is still cold, but I kind of felt warmer just from the sight of the lights being on at night.
March 18, afternoon
At 2:46PM, the hour when the earthquake struck, I paused to spend a moment in silence. A siren rang through the air, and as I saw the tears on the people's faces, I felt that the week had gone by very quickly.
Since one week had passed, there have been more and more scenes where I feel that support in the form of mental care is also necessary.
The number of patients being brought in by ambulance and disaster victims requiring hospitalization is only increasing. At the same time, the ambulances are running out of fuel and hospital beds are full everywhere. Medical supplies are running short, and new problems are abound. I felt overwhelmed so many times. Each time I was faced with these problems, I felt discouraged but my will is standing strong.
Not only did I need to see ambulance patients, I also needed to measure the blood pressure and offer health consultations in the evacuation sites, look after hospitalized patients in order to have the nurses there get some rest, walk up and down the stairs of a five-story building to distribute meals because the elevators are not working, if I have any free time at all I would build a fire and boil some water—twenty-four hours were not enough in each day.
Even when I had two hours to sleep, I would lay there in the dark, thinking about whether there's any way to use this time effectively. The only thing I could think of was to record and report this situation as I am doing now.
All it is is that the electricity is back, but when I think of all the people who conserved electricity, it feels like the electricity was generated by a bond between the people, making each lightbulb look very bright and warm.
When everyone's effort takes shape in a visible form like this, it makes me feel like I've been pushed forward to work harder than ever before.
Next entry: 7) Luna
Translated March 27.
Original entry in Japanese: 6、ライフラインと絆
There is a time limit, but the gymnasium operating as an evacuation site has electricity once again!!
The moment the lights came on, the whole gymnasium was full of applause and we all cried tears of joy.
Thanks to the conservation of electricity in other parts of the country, it recovered sooner than expected. I was really, really happy to hear this. The kindness of others really came across.
When I arrived in the affected area, there was snow on the ground and people were mumbling,
"Snow at a time like this—there is no god here any more."
I felt confident in thinking that there may be no god, but there are living human beings with kindness in their hearts, plenty of them, too!! But the real difficulty is still ahead of us. I can only wish that this kindness will continue to spread across the entire nation.
There is no gas or kerosene and it is still cold, but I kind of felt warmer just from the sight of the lights being on at night.
March 18, afternoon
At 2:46PM, the hour when the earthquake struck, I paused to spend a moment in silence. A siren rang through the air, and as I saw the tears on the people's faces, I felt that the week had gone by very quickly.
Since one week had passed, there have been more and more scenes where I feel that support in the form of mental care is also necessary.
The number of patients being brought in by ambulance and disaster victims requiring hospitalization is only increasing. At the same time, the ambulances are running out of fuel and hospital beds are full everywhere. Medical supplies are running short, and new problems are abound. I felt overwhelmed so many times. Each time I was faced with these problems, I felt discouraged but my will is standing strong.
Not only did I need to see ambulance patients, I also needed to measure the blood pressure and offer health consultations in the evacuation sites, look after hospitalized patients in order to have the nurses there get some rest, walk up and down the stairs of a five-story building to distribute meals because the elevators are not working, if I have any free time at all I would build a fire and boil some water—twenty-four hours were not enough in each day.
Even when I had two hours to sleep, I would lay there in the dark, thinking about whether there's any way to use this time effectively. The only thing I could think of was to record and report this situation as I am doing now.
All it is is that the electricity is back, but when I think of all the people who conserved electricity, it feels like the electricity was generated by a bond between the people, making each lightbulb look very bright and warm.
When everyone's effort takes shape in a visible form like this, it makes me feel like I've been pushed forward to work harder than ever before.
Next entry: 7) Luna
Translated March 27.
Original entry in Japanese: 6、ライフラインと絆
5) Disappearing lives, newborn lives
March 18
I transferred to a hospital where they are accepting emergency patients.
The doctors, nurses, pharmacists, radiation technicians, laboratory technicians, nutritionists, nurse's aides… Everyone at this hospital has been working with no sleep or rest since the earthquake. They still don't know whether their families and colleagues who had that day off are safe or not, and have been working in this extreme state of mind.
I have gone in as support so that they can at least take turns and rest even just a little bit.
Even if the region and the way objects are arranged are different, medicine is universal. While thinking this, I was honestly overwhelmed by the endless stream of ambulances and more than a thousand patients in line, but I pulled myself together to work toward the goal of bringing medical and nursing care to as many people as possible.
I joined the group handling patients brought in by ambulance. There were patients who were suffering from reinfarction because they haven't been able to take their medicine for myocardial and cerebral infarctions. There were patients whose potassium was too high because they can't get the dialysis that they require. There were patients suffering cardiac arrests. Along with the lack of medical equipment, the situation was very grim.
People who had managed to escape uninjured from the earthquake were passing away from illness afterward. The sorrow of these souls and the hopelessness of us medical staff cannot be put into words.
Back at the hospital in Tokyo, intravenous drips were always within reach, medicine cabinets were fully stocked, so on, so forth. And electricity is always a given.
This hospital has a power generator, but we're always working against the battery and time, and patients requiring surgery were constantly being transferred to other prefectures by helicopter.
When I draw blood, it's black and thick. I ask,
"Have you been able to eat food and drink water?"
"I can't eat or drink so much when no one else is. Just rice balls and a cup of tea in the morning and evening," the patients weakly reply.
There really weren't enough intravenous drips after all…
I was having patients lie down on the hard floor, one after another, giving them intravenous drips, watching their conditions, removing the intravenous drip, stopping the bleeding—it was all I could do to keep a handle on who's having an intravenous of what and when it should be stopped.
And then another ambulance comes in.
Right around when I was thinking that I probably haven't been smiling much today, either, there is news that a pregnant woman is about to give birth.
A woman about my age, giving birth to her first baby.
I'm not a licensed midwife, so I worked on securing intravenous drips and receiving the baby.
As I started the drip, the woman says to me,
"I'm really sorry about this, when so many people are in critical conditions."
"Don't be silly!! Everyone in Takata and the whole country is waiting for your baby!!" I responded. Babies are our hope for tomorrow.
When a healthy baby was born, it really felt like the dim delivery room was suddenly bright. I couldn't heat water properly, so I warmed up some water on a gas stove. I wrapped the baby in an Anpanman towel that had been sent in with the other supplies.
The crying mother said,
"If you were born just a little earlier, I could have shown you to Granpa and Grandma. They were really looking forward to seeing you."
But given how such a healthy baby was born without a single hitch, I felt sure that the grandparents were watching over them.
The emergency team, who were constantly on the edge with their eyebrows furrowed, heard the baby's first cry and came in. The whole room was filled with smiles.
There are still many hardships ahead of us, but there are definitely happy times waiting for us, too.
Every single person in that room wished that the city of Takata will have restored its quiet landscape full of smiles by the time this baby reaches adulthood.
The death toll constantly being announced on the radio, growing and growing. New lives born into the world like this. Both are equally precious. All lives have the same weight.
This experience proved this to me once again.
I will be smiling tomorrow, and find something even better than today.
Next entry: 6) Lifelines and bonds
Translated March 27.
Original entry in Japanese: 5、消えてく命、生まれてくる命
I transferred to a hospital where they are accepting emergency patients.
The doctors, nurses, pharmacists, radiation technicians, laboratory technicians, nutritionists, nurse's aides… Everyone at this hospital has been working with no sleep or rest since the earthquake. They still don't know whether their families and colleagues who had that day off are safe or not, and have been working in this extreme state of mind.
I have gone in as support so that they can at least take turns and rest even just a little bit.
Even if the region and the way objects are arranged are different, medicine is universal. While thinking this, I was honestly overwhelmed by the endless stream of ambulances and more than a thousand patients in line, but I pulled myself together to work toward the goal of bringing medical and nursing care to as many people as possible.
I joined the group handling patients brought in by ambulance. There were patients who were suffering from reinfarction because they haven't been able to take their medicine for myocardial and cerebral infarctions. There were patients whose potassium was too high because they can't get the dialysis that they require. There were patients suffering cardiac arrests. Along with the lack of medical equipment, the situation was very grim.
People who had managed to escape uninjured from the earthquake were passing away from illness afterward. The sorrow of these souls and the hopelessness of us medical staff cannot be put into words.
Back at the hospital in Tokyo, intravenous drips were always within reach, medicine cabinets were fully stocked, so on, so forth. And electricity is always a given.
This hospital has a power generator, but we're always working against the battery and time, and patients requiring surgery were constantly being transferred to other prefectures by helicopter.
When I draw blood, it's black and thick. I ask,
"Have you been able to eat food and drink water?"
"I can't eat or drink so much when no one else is. Just rice balls and a cup of tea in the morning and evening," the patients weakly reply.
There really weren't enough intravenous drips after all…
I was having patients lie down on the hard floor, one after another, giving them intravenous drips, watching their conditions, removing the intravenous drip, stopping the bleeding—it was all I could do to keep a handle on who's having an intravenous of what and when it should be stopped.
And then another ambulance comes in.
Right around when I was thinking that I probably haven't been smiling much today, either, there is news that a pregnant woman is about to give birth.
A woman about my age, giving birth to her first baby.
I'm not a licensed midwife, so I worked on securing intravenous drips and receiving the baby.
As I started the drip, the woman says to me,
"I'm really sorry about this, when so many people are in critical conditions."
"Don't be silly!! Everyone in Takata and the whole country is waiting for your baby!!" I responded. Babies are our hope for tomorrow.
When a healthy baby was born, it really felt like the dim delivery room was suddenly bright. I couldn't heat water properly, so I warmed up some water on a gas stove. I wrapped the baby in an Anpanman towel that had been sent in with the other supplies.
The crying mother said,
"If you were born just a little earlier, I could have shown you to Granpa and Grandma. They were really looking forward to seeing you."
But given how such a healthy baby was born without a single hitch, I felt sure that the grandparents were watching over them.
The emergency team, who were constantly on the edge with their eyebrows furrowed, heard the baby's first cry and came in. The whole room was filled with smiles.
There are still many hardships ahead of us, but there are definitely happy times waiting for us, too.
Every single person in that room wished that the city of Takata will have restored its quiet landscape full of smiles by the time this baby reaches adulthood.
The death toll constantly being announced on the radio, growing and growing. New lives born into the world like this. Both are equally precious. All lives have the same weight.
This experience proved this to me once again.
I will be smiling tomorrow, and find something even better than today.
Next entry: 6) Lifelines and bonds
Translated March 27.
Original entry in Japanese: 5、消えてく命、生まれてくる命
4) Children and the elderly
March 17
I joined a medical team that is operating a first-aid station and hospital in one of the evacuation sites, where ambulances were coming in.
Their beds were already full, and the waiting room was crowded by countless patients requesting to be seen. Medicine and medical supplies were desperately short.
I went around to do triage and found that there were many children with temperatures up to 39°C.
Uhh, I don't have a good feeling about this.
My hunch was right: influenza.
We brought both Relenza and Tamiflu, but we don't have enough in stock. We gave Calonal to patients with lighter symptoms and hoped that their temperatures will go down. There are many small children and elderly people with lower resistance, and in the present situation, everyone has lowered resistance so there is a strong likelihood that this will be contagious.
We decided to separate influenza patients and patients with other symptoms inside the first-aid station, as well.
I felt frantic with the wish that the illness won't spread any more than it already has.
An emergency request from one of the emergency sites that one of my colleagues has been sent to.
They want to send us several elderly patients who have diarrhea and are becoming dehydrated. Supplies were not reaching their area, and they had actually resorted to eating uncooked rice, causing gastroenteritis.
I had heard on the radio that supplies were coming in steadily, but they had yet to reach smaller evacuation sites and the fuel shortage was making circulation difficult.
I'd drunk water from melted snow myself and my stomach didn't feel very good.
But no whining! Smile! Smile! You're feeling great in front of everyone! Just great!
Two and a half hours of rest today, and working straight into the morning. Everyone here is having a much, much harder time, so I have to deal with this.
The elderly who are brought in all have symptoms of dehydration and low body temperatures.
Our stock of intravenous drips is almost out. Only a few boxes of intravenous needles left, too.
Another patient who was brought in was in shock with low blood pressure after hematemesis, possibly from a stomach ulcer hemorrhage from the stress of living in an evacuation site. The doctor yelled for an endoscope and a blood transfusion before coming to his senses and remembering that we have nothing here.
As an emergency treatment, we secured some intravenous drips and kept the blood pressure steady through fluid replacement as the patient was transported on a helicopter to Morioka, where endoscopes and proper treatment are available.
The medical team looks on with sorrow for being unable to give the patient the treatment that is needed.
It would be great if we can get in touch with Ishinomaki tomorrow and let them know that we are lacking medical equipment, but maybe it's the same for them, too.
More and more disaster victims who still can't get in touch with their families.
An old man who keeps searching for his wife since that day. I wish he could get some rest, somehow.
The situation really is beyond imagination and sometimes I almost can't bear the severity any more, but there's also news about some expressway buses running again, and the bullet train is also back, partway.
Things are definitely getting better than they were yesterday!!
Next entry: 5) Disappearing lives, newborn lives
Translated March 27.
Original entry in Japanese: 4、小児と高齢者
I joined a medical team that is operating a first-aid station and hospital in one of the evacuation sites, where ambulances were coming in.
Their beds were already full, and the waiting room was crowded by countless patients requesting to be seen. Medicine and medical supplies were desperately short.
I went around to do triage and found that there were many children with temperatures up to 39°C.
Uhh, I don't have a good feeling about this.
My hunch was right: influenza.
We brought both Relenza and Tamiflu, but we don't have enough in stock. We gave Calonal to patients with lighter symptoms and hoped that their temperatures will go down. There are many small children and elderly people with lower resistance, and in the present situation, everyone has lowered resistance so there is a strong likelihood that this will be contagious.
We decided to separate influenza patients and patients with other symptoms inside the first-aid station, as well.
I felt frantic with the wish that the illness won't spread any more than it already has.
An emergency request from one of the emergency sites that one of my colleagues has been sent to.
They want to send us several elderly patients who have diarrhea and are becoming dehydrated. Supplies were not reaching their area, and they had actually resorted to eating uncooked rice, causing gastroenteritis.
I had heard on the radio that supplies were coming in steadily, but they had yet to reach smaller evacuation sites and the fuel shortage was making circulation difficult.
I'd drunk water from melted snow myself and my stomach didn't feel very good.
But no whining! Smile! Smile! You're feeling great in front of everyone! Just great!
Two and a half hours of rest today, and working straight into the morning. Everyone here is having a much, much harder time, so I have to deal with this.
The elderly who are brought in all have symptoms of dehydration and low body temperatures.
Our stock of intravenous drips is almost out. Only a few boxes of intravenous needles left, too.
Another patient who was brought in was in shock with low blood pressure after hematemesis, possibly from a stomach ulcer hemorrhage from the stress of living in an evacuation site. The doctor yelled for an endoscope and a blood transfusion before coming to his senses and remembering that we have nothing here.
As an emergency treatment, we secured some intravenous drips and kept the blood pressure steady through fluid replacement as the patient was transported on a helicopter to Morioka, where endoscopes and proper treatment are available.
The medical team looks on with sorrow for being unable to give the patient the treatment that is needed.
It would be great if we can get in touch with Ishinomaki tomorrow and let them know that we are lacking medical equipment, but maybe it's the same for them, too.
More and more disaster victims who still can't get in touch with their families.
An old man who keeps searching for his wife since that day. I wish he could get some rest, somehow.
The situation really is beyond imagination and sometimes I almost can't bear the severity any more, but there's also news about some expressway buses running again, and the bullet train is also back, partway.
Things are definitely getting better than they were yesterday!!
Next entry: 5) Disappearing lives, newborn lives
Translated March 27.
Original entry in Japanese: 4、小児と高齢者
3) Red flags
My first impression upon setting foot in Rikuzentakata is a muddy ground and mountains made of rubble.
This area was wiped out by the tsunami. There really was nothing left, and even the buildings that were still standing were transformed into ruins.
A five-story apartment building had mud and parts of a boat stuck through its top floor, and I really couldn't believe my eyes.
What is that smell? A sharp, burnt odor stung my nose.
It was also extremely quiet. All you can hear is the echo of news companies and the self defense forces in their helicopters circling in the sky.
Snow had collected on top of the rubble, and it was quietly snowing the entire time but my fear was much stronger than any sense of it being cold. I think my legs were shaking from fear rather than from the cold.
As I spent one minute in a silent vigil, all I could think was that we should have come sooner.
Before going to the evacuation site or hospital, we are given a sweeping tour of the city.
This was the shopping district, this was the post office, this place served great ramen noodles, this was the public hall, this was the preschool…
All nothing but rubble now.
They tell us that a pitch-black tsunami about fifteen meters high went back and forth and swallowed everything whole. There were many people who were washed away while preparing to run or even while running away after the call for evacuation was made. If there were someone to blame, they would have someplace to direct all their harsh feelings, but there's no place to direct their anger because it's a natural disaster, they say.
We have religious ceremonies several times a year to pay respect to the ocean, and we've always lived with nothing but gratitude for the ocean, and still… Our guide was shedding tears as we walked.
I was already on the verge of crying myself, but I promised not to cry no matter what, so I turned my eyes away from reality and watched the clouded sky instead.
I followed our guide with clenched fists and shrugged shoulders.
As the wind blows, a sepia-colored photograph and a new year's greeting card with a picture of someone's baby come flying to my feet.
And at every step or two, there is a red flag fluttering in the wind. A whole slew of flags, too many to even begin to count.
"These red flags are standing to mark places where bodies have been found."
Honestly, this was rough.
An old lady is standing in front of one of the flags. She might be about the same age as my own grandmother.
"Dear nurse from Tokyo, there was a house here that my husband worked so hard to build after the war. He never got sick once but now he's dead."
I have the emotions of a human being. It was impossible not to cry.
The lead nurse came flying and pulled me behind a car by my ear. I was scolded severely. But no matter how much trouble I get in, I thought, I'm going to stay true to my own emotions here from now on.
The TV can only show footage that is within their codes of practice, and yet we are seeing all those images.
I saw with my own eyes the real situation there that is not and cannot be shown on television, and it was truly hell.
As we walked with our guide, the self defense forces would be moving rubble and lumber, and there would always be a dead body covered in mud.
I will never forget this for the rest of my life, and I think it is important that I do not forget this.
This rubble and lumber was until just a few days ago the house or tool or treasure that was a part of someone's life.
And beneath them, bodies that are found one after another.
Each time, the self defense forces would put their hands together in prayer. And as we happened to be passing by, we put our hands together, too.
I spent the first day bustling about in the evacuation site, measuring the blood pressure of the elderly and offering health consultations. I was working so feverishly that I probably wasn't smiling at all. My impression was that there were a lot of old people there.
Electricity was still out, so I really lost myself in my work, trying to take blood pressure measurements for as many people as possible before darkness fell.
An old lady who returned my grip as I took her pulse, saying "You're about my grandchild's age. What a warm hand," and kept her eyes closed for a while.
An old man who put his hands together and thanked me many, many times.
An old man who gave me his best smile and tried to sit up, even though he is bed-ridden.
Children eating small rice balls, relishing every bite.
A sleeping baby, wrapped up in a blanket.
During the health consultations, there were many complaints about being unable to sleep. "I can't sleep in a gymnasium," "I haven't been able to get in touch with my relatives and I can't sleep." Many people had high blood pressure.
By the time it became completely dark, I couldn't even raise my arm any more.
There are just a dozen or so evacuation sites, and yet there were so many sites and first-aid stations that we hadn't reached.
I later learned that I had measured the blood pressure of several hundred people on just the first day alone.
But even that wasn't enough at all, and there were many, many more elderly people whose blood pressure measurement I wasn't able to take.
It was like I'd went to the restroom in the morning and then it was already the middle of the night.
We held a meeting to evaluate the first day and to discuss our schedule from the next day on, and the day had passed suddenly, like a whirlwind, after the fatigue from travel, the shock of seeing the reality here, and making rounds in the evacuation sites.
The evacuation sites were overcrowded, and obviously there was no room for us to sleep. The first night, we were packed like sardines regardless of gender in a simple prefabricated hut set up next to the mortuary.
I was tired but there was no way I could sleep. I listened to music on the iPod that I'd brought with me, looked at pictures I'd taken with friends, typed these words you are reading on my cell phone that has no reception and reread messages from friends. I'd held my tears in all day, so I wrapped myself in a bath towel and cried until morning came.
Next entry: 4) Children and the elderly
Translated March 27, minor edits April 19.
Original entry in Japanese: 3、赤い旗
This area was wiped out by the tsunami. There really was nothing left, and even the buildings that were still standing were transformed into ruins.
A five-story apartment building had mud and parts of a boat stuck through its top floor, and I really couldn't believe my eyes.
What is that smell? A sharp, burnt odor stung my nose.
It was also extremely quiet. All you can hear is the echo of news companies and the self defense forces in their helicopters circling in the sky.
Snow had collected on top of the rubble, and it was quietly snowing the entire time but my fear was much stronger than any sense of it being cold. I think my legs were shaking from fear rather than from the cold.
As I spent one minute in a silent vigil, all I could think was that we should have come sooner.
Before going to the evacuation site or hospital, we are given a sweeping tour of the city.
This was the shopping district, this was the post office, this place served great ramen noodles, this was the public hall, this was the preschool…
All nothing but rubble now.
They tell us that a pitch-black tsunami about fifteen meters high went back and forth and swallowed everything whole. There were many people who were washed away while preparing to run or even while running away after the call for evacuation was made. If there were someone to blame, they would have someplace to direct all their harsh feelings, but there's no place to direct their anger because it's a natural disaster, they say.
We have religious ceremonies several times a year to pay respect to the ocean, and we've always lived with nothing but gratitude for the ocean, and still… Our guide was shedding tears as we walked.
I was already on the verge of crying myself, but I promised not to cry no matter what, so I turned my eyes away from reality and watched the clouded sky instead.
I followed our guide with clenched fists and shrugged shoulders.
As the wind blows, a sepia-colored photograph and a new year's greeting card with a picture of someone's baby come flying to my feet.
And at every step or two, there is a red flag fluttering in the wind. A whole slew of flags, too many to even begin to count.
"These red flags are standing to mark places where bodies have been found."
Honestly, this was rough.
An old lady is standing in front of one of the flags. She might be about the same age as my own grandmother.
"Dear nurse from Tokyo, there was a house here that my husband worked so hard to build after the war. He never got sick once but now he's dead."
I have the emotions of a human being. It was impossible not to cry.
The lead nurse came flying and pulled me behind a car by my ear. I was scolded severely. But no matter how much trouble I get in, I thought, I'm going to stay true to my own emotions here from now on.
The TV can only show footage that is within their codes of practice, and yet we are seeing all those images.
I saw with my own eyes the real situation there that is not and cannot be shown on television, and it was truly hell.
As we walked with our guide, the self defense forces would be moving rubble and lumber, and there would always be a dead body covered in mud.
I will never forget this for the rest of my life, and I think it is important that I do not forget this.
This rubble and lumber was until just a few days ago the house or tool or treasure that was a part of someone's life.
And beneath them, bodies that are found one after another.
Each time, the self defense forces would put their hands together in prayer. And as we happened to be passing by, we put our hands together, too.
I spent the first day bustling about in the evacuation site, measuring the blood pressure of the elderly and offering health consultations. I was working so feverishly that I probably wasn't smiling at all. My impression was that there were a lot of old people there.
Electricity was still out, so I really lost myself in my work, trying to take blood pressure measurements for as many people as possible before darkness fell.
An old lady who returned my grip as I took her pulse, saying "You're about my grandchild's age. What a warm hand," and kept her eyes closed for a while.
An old man who put his hands together and thanked me many, many times.
An old man who gave me his best smile and tried to sit up, even though he is bed-ridden.
Children eating small rice balls, relishing every bite.
A sleeping baby, wrapped up in a blanket.
During the health consultations, there were many complaints about being unable to sleep. "I can't sleep in a gymnasium," "I haven't been able to get in touch with my relatives and I can't sleep." Many people had high blood pressure.
By the time it became completely dark, I couldn't even raise my arm any more.
There are just a dozen or so evacuation sites, and yet there were so many sites and first-aid stations that we hadn't reached.
I later learned that I had measured the blood pressure of several hundred people on just the first day alone.
But even that wasn't enough at all, and there were many, many more elderly people whose blood pressure measurement I wasn't able to take.
It was like I'd went to the restroom in the morning and then it was already the middle of the night.
We held a meeting to evaluate the first day and to discuss our schedule from the next day on, and the day had passed suddenly, like a whirlwind, after the fatigue from travel, the shock of seeing the reality here, and making rounds in the evacuation sites.
The evacuation sites were overcrowded, and obviously there was no room for us to sleep. The first night, we were packed like sardines regardless of gender in a simple prefabricated hut set up next to the mortuary.
I was tired but there was no way I could sleep. I listened to music on the iPod that I'd brought with me, looked at pictures I'd taken with friends, typed these words you are reading on my cell phone that has no reception and reread messages from friends. I'd held my tears in all day, so I wrapped myself in a bath towel and cried until morning came.
Next entry: 4) Children and the elderly
Translated March 27, minor edits April 19.
Original entry in Japanese: 3、赤い旗
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