Between Gratitude and Helplessness
This is a personal essay site, where I write about care, recovery, and the quiet questions that arise from lived experience in Japan.
Last summer, and again this winter, I underwent total hip replacement surgeries on both sides.
Both operations required hospitalization at the same municipal university hospital.
The doctors and nurses there keep a careful distance—not too close, not too far.
They are kind, but they never take away the patient’s independence.
That balance mattered to me more than I can easily explain.
Before deciding on surgery, I had tried many other approaches: osteopathy, acupuncture, and traditional forms of treatment.
Based on those experiences, I eventually concluded that, for this condition, relying on modern medicine was the best choice.
The care I received confirmed that decision.
I am deeply grateful—to the treatment itself, and to the people who provided it.
One day during my stay, I noticed a poster near the elevator hall.
It explained that the hospital had been running a deficit for two consecutive years.
Rising costs—for materials, for labor—had made management increasingly difficult, despite ongoing efforts.
What stayed with me most was one particular line:
to support the nurses who protect our lives, the aging nurses’ dormitory needs major repairs.
The cost: one hundred million yen.
Reading that, my chest tightened.
If I could, I would want to donate and solve the problem myself.
It is not an exaggeration to say that my life has been sustained by the devoted care of nurses.
Their work, their presence, made it possible for me to recover.
But the reality is different.
I do not have that kind of money.
Even this hospitalization and surgery were possible only with the help of national systems and health insurance.
My gratitude is real—but my ability to act on it is limited.
I have always believed that if I donate, I want to know exactly how the money will be used.
This poster was clear: the funds would go toward repairing the nurses’ dormitory, worn down by time.
That clarity may be why it affected me so strongly.
The nurses themselves carry no fault.
And yet, the systems meant to support them feel insufficient.
Where does the money flow?
What is being prioritized, and what is not?
Standing there, I found myself caught between gratitude and helplessness—
unable to look away, and unable to offer an answer.
