The cab driver took his time while I struggled to maintain an upright posture and not to upset my stomach. After a 20-minute car ride we find the hospital on campus. They’re only accepting emergencies and I’m feeling confident my case qualifies. I have to have my temperature taken to screen for swine flu and lie down on a series of three chairs while I wait for my friends to usher me towards the next room. I’m hungry, my stomach aches, and I’m extremely exhausted. When Wendy and Derek came to my room to help me to the hospital I’d already lost approximately eight pounds and it showed. I was also pale and I couldn’t speak at a normal volume. I looked like hell. I was glad to finally be at the hospital.
The doctor and his staff spoke no English. Lucky for me the abroad program had grown in popularity over the years and in the current program, almost half of the people were intermediate Chinese speakers. Without them, it would have been very difficult for me to get treatment. The doctor hands me a cup the size of a thimble and explains that I’m supposed to give him a stool sample. I was puzzled. I looked at his face hoping to find out if he had a sense of humor but he just looked right back at me. The next step was delivering the sample to the lab, and a finger prick. Needle number one, commencing.
If you have a fear of needles as bad as mine, it doesn’t matter how simple the blood test, you’re going to panic. I lay across three chairs immediately after the prick as Wendy and Derek look on with pity. I start cracking jokes so they don’t get uncomfortable and it turns out losing your sense of humor isn’t a symptom of whatever it is that I have. I have to carry the results downstairs and back to the good doctor to hear the news. Wendy and Derek hold me up as I walk down the hall, dragging my feet.
I walk in to the doctor’s office and take the initiative to lie down on the examination bed in the corner. Everything feels better when you’re lying down. Wendy translates for the doctor telling me I have some sort of bacterial infection from ingesting something contaminated. Three cheers from the guy on the slab. I’ve had my first food poisoning experience in a country where I can’t talk to the doctors. I’ve already decided I will never eat bar food again, nor will I drink anything that isn’t bottled and opened in front of me. I ask Wendy to ask the doctor if I can have an IV, despite its obvious consequences. I had not been able to eat food in about 24 hours and I knew that an IV would make me feel better. Besides, once the needle was in me, I wouldn’t have a problem with it, it’s only the application, and removal that bothers me.
The doctor explains to her that they don’t like to give foreigners IVs; foreigners typically don’t react well to the needles. Some of them even pass out. I try to explain to the doctor that I’m one of them; that I will pass out, but as long as I lie down, I should be fine. I was incredibly weak, and I was begging for a needle, for the first time in my life. The doctor is skeptical but arranges for an IV. They sit me in a chair, some crude device meant to hold IVs in a room full of crude devices. It was like something out of a horror movie or a Playstation game. Another friend of mine has arrived; a Chinese student at Tsinghua. We explain the situation to him. The nurse preps my arm while Wendy, Derek and Kevin are massaging my shoulders and holding my hand to try and relax me. I close my eyes and turn my head as she puts the needle in. I start to squirm but I’m weak. I rub my feet together and let out a low moan. It’s hard to breathe but I’ll be fine. In ten minutes I decide I can no longer sit in the chair, but that I have to lie down. Everyone agrees. I’ve gotten pale and they don’t want to see me fall out of the chair.
I tell everyone, “lets move to a bed,” and the nurse agrees to lead me. Everyone is standing and talking to the nurse. I stand up to make the move and immediately black out. I regain consciousness and I’m back in the chair with a horrible ringing in my ears. Everything is black, and everyone in the room is saying my name trying to wake me. I feel bad about collapsing immediately so I ask if everyone is alright. My eyes are open and everything’s fine but the IV is no longer in me. It was pulled out of my arm when I collapsed. The doctor and the nurse argue. Wendy says the nurse asked indignantly, “why would you give him a needle if you knew this would happen,” and the doctor responded, “why did you listen to me?” It’s all very funny but the Tsinghua hospital decided to send me elsewhere. The only other place I can go is the International SOS where they speak English and charge a lot more for treatment.
The SOS looks a lot like what you would expect of an international hospital; a nice desk, English speaking staff, and a lot of logos everywhere. Derek and Wendy fill out my paperwork while I go to the restroom. When I get out they have a room set up for me. There’s a bed, a closet, a scale, a sink with soap and some pajamas for me if I want to get more comfortable. There’s even a standard toilet as opposed to a squatter in the bathroom. The doctor comes in wearing blue scrubs and a thick pair of glasses. I check out his nametag immediately, Bill Zhang. I’m already feeling better but I want the IV in me again.
Doctor Bill asks me about the situation and I explain it, stressing the importance of the IV and he agrees with me. He also says he’d like to do a blood test to find out more about my white blood cell count and what it is that I have. I can’t wait. He explains the IV process: two bottles of antibiotic and 4 bottles of hydrating liquid, one of which contains glucose. I’m already lying down now so there’s less of a chance that I’ll faint, but for anyone keeping track, I’m on at least four needles total by the end of the evening. It was a big day for me. The IV goes in to my hand and I’m good to go. I’m breathing as deep and loud as I can, trying not to upset the nurse. I tell her she’s doing a wonderful job and I’m glad to be here but I’m on the verge of blacking out. My feet are nervously moving up and down as I try to forget the needle in my hand.
At around 10:30PM, the nurse brings out her blood taking kit. This one might be a little rough. Instead of coming from my finger, or the IV bag, this blood is coming from the inside of the elbow, and it’s going to hurt. She puts the rubber band around my arm to expose my vein and I’m already losing my cool. She struggles to find my vein and I feel every second of it. The pain actually distracts me from the feeling of wooziness I normally experience when I get a shot. It is however much more painful than usual. It’s over within minutes and I’ve got a band-aid on my arm to stop the bleeding. I’m still not quite okay yet and my feet are moving nervously at the end of the bed. The doctor comes back with the results.
My white blood cell count was 20 when it should have been between eight and ten, and I have dysentery. Groovy. The doctor recommends I stay overnight and that I continue with the IV treatment. I agree and I send my friends home. They come back in the morning for my next blood test. It’ll be taken from the same spot, on the other arm. The IV is out and I feel much better. My white blood cell count dropped to about six and I can expect to be better within a week using the proper medication. The moral of the story is: don’t drink the water, unless it’s bottled, or boiled. Why do you think tea is so popular in China?
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