Free Journey Across the Four Seas by Veronica Li Page A

be outpatient visits. Spring break was coming up. I could disappear for a week without raising suspicion.
    In the meantime, I carried on as usual—classes, homework, and bedtime socials. The only difference was that the moment I entered my room, I opened all the windows to let in the fresh air. I would never forgive myself if Renee were to get infected.
    Spring break finally came. We packed our bags and bid each other a good holiday, although we all knew the break was only an excuse to study for exams. My first stop was Sam-Koo’s dorm. From there we rode along several bus routes and arrived at a private Catholic hospital tucked away in the woods. The sisters registered me, and soon I was lying on the operating table.
    The doctor performed "pneumothorax" on me. It was a procedure to pump air out of the infected lung. In this collapsed state, the bacteria’s growth would be thwarted. It could no longer spread within the patient or to others. After a long enough period of time, the germ would die off altogether and the affected area would heal. It was therefore vital that the procedure be repeated every month to keep my lung collapsed. I was told that during the first treatment the doctor had stuck a huge syringe into my left lung. Thank goodness I didn’t know.
    When I woke up from the anesthesia, my body was simmering with fever. The nurses were constantly in and out, sticking a thermometer into my mouth, feeling my pulse, and forcing medicines down my throat. My temperature reached one hundred four degrees and persisted for days on end. I was exhausted, and at the same time worried sick about my homework. Already I was missing precious study time, and if my temperature didn’t come down soon, I would have to miss classes as well.
    Rest, rest, rest, was the prescription. I slept most of the time, read some light novels, and got up only to go to the bathroom. After a week my body temperature dropped to normal. Without wasting a breath, I rushed back to the dorm to resume my life at the university.
    I’d had the figure of a bamboo pole to begin with, and now the treatment was putting more stress on my body. My weight went down to ninety-two pounds, which made me as light as a kite when stretched over a height of five feet, two inches. Also, the least exertion winded me. The pneumothorax had deflated my left lung, leaving me only my right to live on. I became notorious for being a slow walker. Fortunately, I was a girl. A boy would be laughed at for moving about like a soft-legged crab, but a girl who minced her steps was lady-like.
    In order to get as much rest as possible, I stopped going to Saturday night dances. My escort, Ngai, was one of the few who understood the reason. When he learned of my condition, he took to going on long walks every morning. Fresh air and exercise became his passion, and he vowed that Fei-Chi’s germs would never get him.
    On the twenty-second of every month, I checked into the hospital in the morning and was back in the dorm in the evening. The follow-up treatments were nowhere as traumatic as the first. Aside from the breathlessness, there was no noticeable side effect. I was able to carry out my therapy in secrecy, in addition to maintaining my school grades throughout the year. My only regret was that my treatments prevented me from going to Thailand that summer.
    *
    I went on to third year, a crucial time in the four-year program. Normally, if a student were to flunk a course, she would be allowed to take a makeup exam. A junior, however, wasn’t entitled to this option. If she flunked one course, she would have to repeat all the courses of that entire year. Sensible or not, such was the university rule.
    My major exam, economics, was to take place a day after the pneumothorax treatment. To minimize the loss of valuable study time, I brought along my books to study on the bus. This course had been the most difficult I’d ever taken. A large part of the problem could be attributed to