I sat in my doctor’s office for more than 3 hours today,
dividing my time between seeing her or a nurse, having tests, and (mostly)
waiting. I’m one of the lucky ones. Most Chinese people in most Chinese hospitals
queue up for hours and hope to get a couple minutes with their actual
doctor. [When my assistant takes time
from work to take her son for his shots, she has to ask for the whole day
off.] Over the span of my morning, I sat
down with mine for 3 separate chats, each lasting about 5-10 minutes. I get this special treatment because I pay
extra for essentially privatized care in the “VIP ward” of the hospital where I
will be having my baby. Moreover, today
was an exception. Some of my visits have
been as short as 30-60 minutes.
Living overseas has proven to be exactly what I’d hoped for:
a cultural education, a humbling experience, and an opening of the eyes. I’ve mentioned before that this is truer now
that we’re going through the process of having a baby in China. The irony that we are having our second child
in the country famous for it’s one-child policy is not lost on us. But as with everything, our experience and those national
policies are positive AND negative, complicated and full of gray areas. If you think what you know is “better,” then
throw those assumptions and arrogance out the window, my friend.
I attempted to take pictures today at the hospital,
anticipating a blog coming from my reflections and my time this morning. None of them came out or represented the
experience completely enough and I eventually gave up. It’s hard seeing things from your eyes and
your perspectives. I try to imagine how
you would view what I see, most of which is already “normal” in my mind.
The hospital is crowded; there are lines everywhere. Each clinic and test type is separate- with
it’s own packed-in-like-sardines lines and people everywhere. [If you aren’t touching the person in front
of you, you may as well ask people to cut in front of you!] There’s a central atrium with escalators on each
side… making it feel more like a shopping mall, at times, than a hospital. It doesn’t have that sterilized scent and
it’s not silent or foreboding. The
neighborhood surrounding the hospital isn’t dotted with pharmacies, the way it
would be in the US, or even in Turkey.
Instead, every shop door on each block of the hospital is restaurants
and noodle shops. I wonder if that’s
what I’ll ask Pete to bring me to eat once we’re in recovery…
In many ways, I prefer Chinese hospitals to those in the US. I like that it doesn’t have that “dead”
feeling that many of us dread about hospitals in the States. I like that you see healthy people
everywhere and there is a bustling energy that is non-existent in the hallowed halls and waiting rooms of the US. I like that the hospitals
here are both clinics for day-to-day procedures and visits like vaccinations,
complaints of the flu, and blood tests.
It feels less… dire, less severe than the emergencies and despair that I
associate American hospitals with. I generally trust the medical expertise of the professionals I'm seeing and it's amazingly affordable compared to the insanity of American healthcare costs.
Of course, it also drives me mad. The crowds are incessant, the noise is
overwhelming, and the lines are exhausting (especially at 39 weeks
pregnant). More importantly, I’m still
stifled under the cultural differences of care and bed manner here as compared
to the West. When I share my thoughts
and experiences with my Chinese colleagues at school, we both clearly marvel at
one another’s expectations and cultural mores.
The idea of the patient-doctor relationship, in terms of friendliness,
understanding psychology, explaining procedures, and asking questions is all
very different. I see a different nurse
nearly every time I go to my doctor and they all regularly say things outright
that would never be said in the US because they are upsetting, considered rude,
or might confuse a patient. I’m learning
to practice keeping calm and to trust my body and what I’m feeling; I no longer
overreact or cry when the unexpected occurs.
This is neither a rant nor a rave about the Chinese
healthcare system. It’s neither better nor
worse than what I have experienced in the US or in Turkey. When I compare notes with my British or
Canadian colleagues, I’m not convinced anyone of these countries has gotten it
“right” yet. Lines are a problem in one
place; costs are an issue in others.
American healthcare has got some things I love and some things I
hate. I know many of my expat colleagues
feel the same about their systems in the Netherlands, or in Ireland, or in Hong
Kong.
The good news is that our little baby and I are healthy as
we approach the final week(s) of this pregnancy. He’s hanging out and showing no signs of
exiting anytime soon and I’m learning, day by day, to be okay with that until
he does arrive. In the mean time, I’m
also focusing on being more flexible (with time), adjusting my expectations (of
others), and controlling my own needs to… well… be in control all the
time. Lessons learned in a Chinese hospital-- who would have thought?!
