There are western medical clinics in China that practice standard western medical care. In fact, most of their physicians are either foreign or studied abroad. Seeing one of these doctors and obtaining a diagnosis is done just like it is back home. Where things depart from familiar territory is when an advanced procedure beyond drawing blood is necessary. While the rudiments of these procedures are the same, the context is, well, foreign.
I did not know exactly what a colonoscopy was until I got home and read the pamphlet the doctor provided. Gulp. They were going to do what? Where? In the name of medical science, and before I developed a Percocet addiction, I dutifully drank the beverage they provided that was intended to empty out my intestines. I presented myself at the Western medical clinic at the appointed time for my procedure. A hospital employee and a driver put me in a non-emergency hospital vehicle and transported me to a local Chinese hospital. The fee for the locals was probably dirt cheap, but since I had my own escort and interpreter I paid an exorbitant fee; an expat tax of sorts.
In a nation not known for the privacy of private citizens, I should not have been too surprised about what I confronted at the local hospital. I arrived at the ward where the colonoscopies were preformed. It was an assembly line process. Lined up along the wall in the hallway were people waiting their turn. Inside the room were two beds, one with the person undergoing the procedure, the other for the person coming-to from the sedation. Hospital staff milled about the two beds. I knew this in advance because, the door was open and people were standing in it watching the procedure being performed...it's not television, it's...a Chinese hospital.
Whenever I find myself in an inevitable humiliating situation, I always reassure myself by saying, “But I will never see any of these people again.” Thus, I changed into my hospital gown and took my place in the plastic chair queue. A foreigner waiting for a colonoscopy must have been a rare sight because I was now drawing more attention than the procedure room. I was doing my best to act nonchalant as I pretended to read the book I brought all the while engaging in an internal interrogation about whether or not I was a hypochondriac.
Finally, my interpreter indicated that it was now my turn. I did my best to ignore the curious onlookers and head held high, marched into the procedure room. Another difference between hospitals back home and those in China is the attire the hospital staff wears. In the U.S. most nurses and orderlies wear scrubs with ergonomic shoes. My nurse for this procedure was dressed for a night on the town with heels on and a fetching dress. An open lab coat was my signal that she was legit. The doctor, at least I think he was a doctor, looked a little more familiar with his slacks, dress shirt with tie, and lab coat. Nothing was said because my interpreter had bailed, but I was motioned toward the table. Shortly after lying down I was out and the next thing I knew I was being shuffled over to the recovery bed. Were the sheets changed between patients? Not something I wanted to dwell on.
Since I was anxious to depart and put this whole medical episode behind me I willed myself awake and moved slower than I would have liked toward the changing room.
Did the colonoscopy reveal the source of my discomfort. No. It was normal. In fact, I never discovered what was causing this pain. After a few months it was gone and never returned. Sometimes, the body just has to heal itself.
Maybe, I should have gone to a Chinese doctor practicing Traditional Chinese Medicine rather than a Chinese doctor practicing Western medicine. What is clear is that my qi was likely disrupted by too much yin. And having a tube stuck up my butt while a crowd looked on probably contributed to even more yin. Next time I have a mystery pain I think I will try meditation and massage first; definitely more yang, than yin, for the buck.
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