My rooster is a bully

What I didn't know about health care in the countryside

Dear friends,

The days are feeling longer in the northern hemisphere. I still snuggle into bed with cozy sweatpants and a fluffy blanket, but during the day I feel perfectly comfortable in sandals and a t-shirt. I’m basking in the sweet seasonal spot between a bitterly cold winter and a scorching summer heat.

Japanese people are about to start a week-long holiday, known as Golden Week. It’s the longest vacation period of the year for many Japanese workers—a collection of four national holidays within seven days means that extra days off in between allows for employees to take a week to a 10-day long vacation. As someone who works in the service industry, I’m on the receiving end of the influx of tourists. It’s not that chaotic, even though Kamikatsu does feel busier.

As the month of Ramadan, the holiest month in Islam where most Muslims participate in fasting between dawn and dusk, comes to a close, there is also a lot of movement around the world in those countries as people return to their hometowns to be with their family. Happy Eid al-Fitr to my Muslim friends!

My rooster is a bully

I’ve had my fair share of unfortunate run-ins with animals. I’ve been hospitalized from a stray dog bite in Thailand and a mysterious bug bite that made one foot so swollen in Nepal that I had to stay in a hospital and had my leg suspended in the air to drain the fluid. Dog bite in Thailand was the most painful—cumulating in nearly 3 months of not being able to walk properly, countless visits to the hospital for wound care, and so many rabies shots.

So while I was shaken that my rooster attacked me earlier in the week, I’m also not in disbelief that this happened. Sadly, “rooster in Japan” has now been added to the list of animals who have taken a jab at my legs.

My morning routines include letting the dogs off the leash for a run around the front yard and then going towards the chicken pen. It’s usually a pleasant experience saying good morning to the chicken, checking their food and water, and then collecting the eggs. Every time I approach the door to let them run free range in the yard, I’m always met with a snarly, defensive looking rooster. He literally gives me the side-eye every morning, tilting his head one way so he knows exactly where I am.

On Wednesday, when I opened the pen door the rooster charged at me. It happened so quickly that I couldn’t use my broom as a defensive. Wings were flapping and the next thing I know, there’s a hole in my pants and a cut with blood. The rooster moved on and quickly raced his two legs to be with the hens. It’s as if he knew he hurt me and then walked away.

I went to the shower and cleaned off the wound, which looked like a hole from him digging in his claw. The pain grew with the hours and by evening I realized I was hobbling more than walking.

Hospital experience in the countryside

If you have an injury or are in need of medical assistance, you will quickly realize the stark differences between living in the countryside and a city. I don’t think I’ve ever had to consider “opening hours” or driving distances for hospitals. Even if it meant a bit of waiting in the hospital, I knew that I could go whenever I needed to go. When you’re in the countryside it’s much harder to access care. Of course, there is the emergency service phone line where you can get ambulance service, but for non-life-threatening incidents, it’s a real inconvenience when you’re not close to medical facilities.

On the same day as the injury, I decided to go to the Kamikatsu clinic (there is no hospital). The clinic has 1 doctor and 3 nurses. I called the clinic before leaving home and they informed me that it would be closed in 10 minutes at 5 pm, so they could see me if I could go as soon as possible.

The doctor, a youngish-looking male doctor, was in Kamikatsu on rotation as relief for the resident doctor. I couldn’t tell if he didn’t think my cut was serious or that he didn’t have many options to give me, but he just cleaned the wound and slapped a bandaid. It felt very… basic, but maybe that’s because it wasn’t a serious cut?

I admittedly googled, do chickens carry rabies and what kind of bacteria do chickens carry? Fact, chickens do not carry rabies, but they are, like anything else living outside, exposed to various bacteria.

The doctor told me if my leg looked like sausage then go to a hospital. I tried to not roll my eyes, this wasn’t very helpful advice since the possibility of a sausage leg was exactly why I was in the clinic in the first place.

All his advice was intentioned, I’m sure, but my wound just looked worse by the day. On day 3, with a push from a worried friend, I decided to go to the next town over to their hospital (about a 30-minute drive away). The website said weekends are closed… but accepting emergencies. How could I know if this was an emergency?

I explained my situation and judging from their reactions of surprise and concern, the possibility of an infected leg warranted seeing me during their “off” hours. The (new) doctor treated me similarly to the treatment I got with my dog bite—keep the wound open to allow for bacteria to flow out, properly dress the wound, and take antibiotics.

I felt a huge sense of relief. Though it’s not impossible to have proper care, it does take an extra step and the right timing, which made me realize the practical inconvenience of living in the countryside. This incident made me think about others who are in more vulnerable health conditions. I wonder how we can rethink accessible health care access in rural parts (around the world)? Questions to which I don’t have answers, but I hope that we (as a collective whole) figure them out.

Marvel the possibilities

On another note, spring is making me think about potential and possibility. Both in exciting and terrifying ways. Having started farming school and so many other small projects, I feel like the possibilities for creating new endeavors are endless—fuelled by this spring energy. In parallel, there is a fear of uncertainty and a nudging sense that I am being called to make big commitments. I have to trust this process of many unknowns and let go of a specific image of how “things working out”. My spring mantra, marvel at the possibilities.

Take care of your health—your physical and mental well-being.
Spend time taking in deep breaths and marvel at the possibilities of what is yet to come.

Sending a warm hug!

Thanks for reading this week or whenever you get a chance.

Kana