“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me.”
—JOHN 14:1
DURING THE DRIVE to the hospital from the labor camp, I once again was placed between guards in the backseat of the curtained minivan and was forced to ride with my head down between my knees. They wanted to keep my destination a secret, but I recognized it the moment I stepped out.
They took me to Chin-Sun Hospital, also known as Friendship Hospital. Located near the diplomatic compound in the center of Pyongyang, the hospital cares only for foreign patients, mainly Russians and Chinese diplomats. The building reminded me of a small-town hospital. It wasn’t very big at all. There were three floors in the main building, with another couple of smaller buildings attached to it.
The chief prosecutor led me inside. Two guards from the labor camp walked behind us. We walked down a couple of hallways before making a right turn, which led to a pair of rooms at the end of a dead-end hall.
“This is where you will stay, 103,” the prosecutor said to me, pointing to the room on the right.
The moment I walked into my room I felt rejuvenated. The hospital had air-conditioning, which felt like heaven after three months in a hot, insect-filled room. The room itself was a VIP suite and was divided into three sections. It had a separate living area, including a large sofa, with a connecting door to the bedroom. It also had a bathroom with a real bathtub and a regular toilet. (In the camp I had to use a squat-style toilet instead of a Western one.) In addition to the bed, the room also had a refrigerator and a dining table with a couple of chairs. There was also a television. I dreaded seeing it there, but I was also happy to have something that connected me to the outside world. Even though I was in a VIP suite, my privacy was limited. The guards kept an eye on me through a large window in the door.
A couple of nurses were already in my room. A fresh set of pajama-like clothes were laid out on the bed for me. I was happy to see them. My prison clothes were stained and didn’t smell too good, even though I washed them when I bathed. I went into the bathroom and changed clothes.
When I came out, my doctor was waiting for me. She was in her fifties and was very thin and petite, with a warm smile. “The actual tests will not start until the morning,” she said. “I don’t want you to eat breakfast or anything else tomorrow until we are finished. Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll bring you some food as soon as we are finished.”
The next morning, nurses came into my room to draw blood and take a urine sample. They took me to another room, where they did an ultrasound on my gallbladder, and to a third room, where I had X-rays taken of my back. I was also poked and prodded, and I went through a whole gamut of tests. The medical staff was very thorough.
Later in the day, my doctor gave me the results. “We found a problem with your back. We also found gallstones, and your prostate is enlarged,” she said. I was not surprised, since I had had these conditions before I entered North Korea back in November. “And we determined you are suffering from malnutrition.”
That diagnosis did not surprise me. I had lost more than fifty pounds since November.
“What about my diabetes?” I asked. I did not believe the prison doctor’s claim that it was gone.
“All the tests for diabetes came back negative. It seems you no longer have it,” she said. “We will start treatments for malnutrition right away. We should have you as good as new very soon.”
The chief prosecutor came to see me right after the doctor gave me the diagnosis. “You’re going to be here for a while,” he said. “Get some rest and get treated, and then that’s it.” I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. I hoped “that’s it” meant, “That will be the end of your time here, and you’re going to go home.”
The treatment for malnutrition mainly consisted of nutrient injections into my IV. They also gave me some supplements. However, aside from aspirin for my back pain, they didn’t treat my gallstones or back. I thought they probably wanted to get my weight up so that I might look healthy when I got to go home.
The chief prosecutor must have meant what he said about rest, because I was allowed to lie down as much as I wanted. Back in the labor camp, I had to sit upright in a chair whenever I was not working out in the field. Not here. Here they treated me like any other patient, not a criminal. I could lie down or sleep however much I needed.
Unfortunately, I still had to watch propaganda on the television from the moment the channels started broadcasting until they went off the air. There was no escaping that. They also kept my door locked at all times. The guards had to open it with a key for doctors and nurses to come in, and the guards stayed in the room with them until they were finished with me.
Mr. Lee came to see me not long after I arrived. “From now on I am going to be the one checking on you,” he told me, which made me feel a little better. I decided to call him Mr. Sympathy in my head, because he was the only North Korean official I had met during my time there who actually seemed to care about me. I enjoyed talking with him.
I adjusted to life in the hospital very quickly. I spent the first two weeks in my room resting, an IV in my arm several hours a day. One thing struck me as a little odd. Sometimes when my door was open, I could hear a dog barking. The first time I heard it I thought, What kind of hospital is this? Do they treat both dogs and people here?
The Swedish ambassador came to see me about a week after I arrived at the hospital. Once again he assured me the United States was doing everything it could to secure my release. I listened closely to try to detect any extra enthusiasm in his voice, something to indicate the efforts to bring me home were getting close. But he just told me efforts were under way, which was still encouraging to me. At least I had not been forgotten.
His deputy, John Svensson, came to see me a couple of weeks later to tell me he was going to travel to the United States in early September to discuss my case with the State Department. That got my hopes up even more.
Choson Sinbo showed up for another interview on the same day the ambassador came to see me. They set up a video camera in my room and asked me a series of questions: “Why did the North Korean government send you to the hospital? Why are you here? How is your health now?”
I went through the list of my ailments. “Mainly,” I told them, “I am being treated for malnutrition. My hand is also numb, and I have shooting pains in my leg. That’s why they put me in the hospital.”
Then the reporter asked, “Do you have anything to say to the United States government?”
I had to say the same thing I said before. “Please, do anything you can,” I pleaded. I knew the entire interview was designed to put more pressure on the United States. It was the DPRK’s way of saying, “We sent one of yours to the labor camp because he deserved it. Now, we are treating him in one of our best hospitals as a humanitarian gesture. However, if you don’t do something, we will send him back to the camp.” They didn’t say that in so many words, but that was the real message they wanted to get across through Choson Sinbo.
After two weeks of IVs and rest, I was allowed to go out to the hallway and get some exercise. A guard escorted me out for the walk. I recognized him as one of the guards from the labor camp. We walked past the room right next to mine. I glanced through the door and noticed another guard sitting in a chair. Both beds had clothes and books piled on top.
“Is that where you’re staying?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “Three of us rotate shifts to guard your door. Don’t even think about trying to escape.” He tried to sound tough, as usual, but his heart didn’t really seem to be in it. By this point he knew I posed no threat.
“Don’t worry about me escaping. I am in the safest and the most comfortable place in North Korea. Besides, where could I run to?”
He nodded and said, “That’s true.”
The guard and I walked down the hall, which was about twenty yards long. When we reached the main hallway, I turned around and went back toward our rooms. The prison officials wanted to keep my presence in the hospital a secret from anyone else who happened to be staying there.
As we walked I noticed a set of windows on the interior side of the hallway that looked out on an inner courtyard. I was looking out the window very closely, trying to figure out exactly what was in there, when all of a sudden, this large, hairy, English shepherd leaped up on the glass and started barking at me. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Hey, buddy. What are you doing here?” I said to the dog.
He kept barking. As I walked farther down the hall, the dog dropped down and then jumped up on the next window, and the next and the next, barking the whole time, until we passed the courtyard.
Over the next several days, I took more and more walks past the courtyard windows. The first few days the dog jumped up and barked at me. “Hey, pal, why are you barking? I see you. I’m paying attention to you,” I told him.
Before long the dog stopped barking. Instead, he jumped up on the window and let out a little yap to get my attention. When I talked to him, his tail wagged back and forth as if he were really glad to see me. I had made my first friend.
I never saw anyone inside the courtyard playing with him, although from time to time I saw someone in there feeding him.
Talking to the dog each day became the high point of my walks. It was as though he were looking for me. Maybe I was his only friend as well.
About a month after I arrived at the hospital, I woke up and something was different. The first thing I noticed was that all three guards were on duty, not the usual one or two. Not only that, all three wore their full uniforms. Normally, all the guards dressed very casually to keep from standing out in the hospital. Today they wore their full military uniforms, with belts that came down across their chests. They also wore their hats, as if they had to go to some official function.
Then Mr. Lee came in and said, “Get ready. Someone is coming to see you.” I had no idea who that might be.
A few minutes later a camera crew came into my room, followed by a couple of North Korean officials. Then a few more officials joined them. Everyone seemed really worked up.
All of a sudden, the door opened, and two tall, distinguished-looking American men came into my room. After having seen almost exclusively Korean people for nearly a year, I thought the Americans looked huge.
One of the men crossed the room and hugged me. “I work for the White House,” he said. “I’m with the National Security Council. The president sent me here to check on you and find out how you are really doing. That’s also why I brought the doctor with me.” He gestured to the other American.
I nearly burst into tears I was so glad to see these two men. Finally, for the first time in a year, I am seeing fellow Americans, and they’re here to take me home.
“Thank you so much for coming,” I said. We spoke English, of course. I saw the North Korean translators making notes and whispering to the other men in the room. Mr. Lee stood off to one side. He spoke some English, but I wasn’t sure how much of this conversation he might understand.
“How are you really doing, Kenneth?” the man from the White House asked. “Physically and mentally.”
“Well, I’m okay, considering,” I said. “I’ve been in the hospital for nearly a month now, so I’m a lot better now than I was when they first brought me here. They’ve fed me better here than in the labor camp, and they are also giving me supplements through my IV. So I’m a lot stronger.” “How’s your back? I know you’ve had a lot of trouble with that,” the doctor said.
“Not working out in the field has made it feel better. I even get some physical therapy.” That therapy consisted of one of the female therapists walking on my back for ten minutes. It felt pretty awful, and I thought it probably made my back worse, not better. But I did not mention that fact, since everything I said was being closely monitored.
“How is the food?” the representative from the White House inquired.
“The food is okay. I have been treated fairly.”
“What are your symptoms?” the doctor asked. I went down the entire list for him. The doctor took notes. “And what are they doing for you?” he asked. I gave him a rundown of my treatment, which didn’t take long.
“Kenneth,” the other American said, “I want to assure you that getting you home is a high priority for us. We’re doing everything we can. But your situation is very complex. We’re trying to get you home, but it is really difficult to get you out of here. The fact that your health is not horrible is a good thing in light of the delays.”
My heart sank. I wasn’t going anywhere today. It sounded as though if I had been dying, they could have cut a deal right away. But because my health had improved, I was stuck here.
Before I could say anything, the North Korean minder cut off the conversation. “No more. It’s finished. You must go.”
The two Americans stood. “It was an honor to meet you, and bless you,” the doctor said. He gave me a hug.
The other man did as well. “Don’t worry, Kenneth. We’re going to get you out of here and get you home. Please be patient. However, keep this visit to yourself for now.”
“I will,” I said. The fact that a White House representative had come all this way for a five-minute top-secret visit told me that I was a priority for my country. But it also crushed my hopes of a quick release.
The two men left. I sat down on my bed, dejected. I thought their arrival was my ticket out of here. Instead, the only certain release date I had was May 1, 2028, when my fifteen years were up. The thought depressed me.
Only a few minutes after they left, the two men suddenly returned. Yes! I thought. I am leaving! Instead the White House representative said, “The North Korean government gave us permission to take a photo of you. I think your family will be excited to get this, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, definitely,” I said.
“Smile,” he said. So I did.
I later learned my family never saw this photograph. I can only assume it was actually meant for the White House, to assure them that I was okay.
As soon as they were out the door, Mr. Lee returned. “Tell me, what did they ask and what did you say?” Apparently his English was not as good as he let on.
“They just wanted to know about my health,” I said.
“And that’s all?”
“Yes, that’s all.”
Mr. Lee seemed satisfied, but I was not. Just be patient, I told myself. It won’t be long now.