Every great adventure comes with a scar of some sort...but I never thought this scar would be so real and come so soon. Here's a play by play of my night in the Dayao Hospital. (but don't worry...I'm ok!)
*Note:1:00 a.m. hospital trips don't lend themselves to pictures.
1:00 a.m.
After a lovely Friday night of karaoke and friends, I sat on broken glass and sliced open my thigh. After several bandaids, and lots of blood, my co-fellows convinced me that it was hospital time. One fellow called for a cab, another found me water, and then after everyone debated who should come with me, 3 other fellows climbed into the taxi, prepared to help me through the night.
1:30 a.m.
Once we arrived at the surprisingly nice hospital a few minutes away, we found our way to the check-in desk, and struggled through informing the secretary of my name, address, and injury. Unfortunately, the local dialect and Mandarin are not always compatible, and it took a frustratingly long time before the my name and name of my school was understood and typed into the system. (My Chines that We were then sent off to another building and floor, where my friends made up a story about being my husband, sister, and translator, so they would all be allowed into the doctor's room with me. Luckily stories about my inability to handle needles had come up in conversation earlier this week, so they knew to distract me with tales of faraway lands and delicious foods, i.e. discussions of Chipotle, Qdoba, and Freebirds.
1:40 a.m.
After a shot and 2 stitches (we think), we were directed back to the first building, where I was told to hand over a receipt and received a vial of liquid in return. Then, it was back to the second building, where we discovered that this mysterious liquid (that my roommate insisted on calling poison) was an injection meant for my wrist. After confusion about what was going on, a needle that stayed in my wrist for an excessively long time, and a few more minutes of talking about burritos from back home, we were told to wait for 25 minutes.
1:56 a.m.
25 minutes later, I was herded into another room, this time for an injection in my hip. By now, we had the routine down: confusion, burritos, injection, 25 more minutes of waiting.
2:27 a.m.
I was finally given the a-ok to leave the hospital. Conversations marred by our inability to speak the local dialect and my doctor's difficulty understanding left us with few details, other than the fact that I should head back to the hospital on Monday evening.
Even though I've only been in China for 2 weeks, it is amazing how bonded I am with the friends I have made. Nobody thought twice about helping me out, and the three friends that stayed with me at the hospital didn't complain once that it was 2:30 in the morning and we still had no idea what was happening. Somehow or another I made it through the night without tears or (too much) fear, and I stand convinced that I am in this crazy two-year adventure with some of the world's greatest people.
*Note:1:00 a.m. hospital trips don't lend themselves to pictures.
1:00 a.m.
After a lovely Friday night of karaoke and friends, I sat on broken glass and sliced open my thigh. After several bandaids, and lots of blood, my co-fellows convinced me that it was hospital time. One fellow called for a cab, another found me water, and then after everyone debated who should come with me, 3 other fellows climbed into the taxi, prepared to help me through the night.
1:30 a.m.
Once we arrived at the surprisingly nice hospital a few minutes away, we found our way to the check-in desk, and struggled through informing the secretary of my name, address, and injury. Unfortunately, the local dialect and Mandarin are not always compatible, and it took a frustratingly long time before the my name and name of my school was understood and typed into the system. (My Chines that We were then sent off to another building and floor, where my friends made up a story about being my husband, sister, and translator, so they would all be allowed into the doctor's room with me. Luckily stories about my inability to handle needles had come up in conversation earlier this week, so they knew to distract me with tales of faraway lands and delicious foods, i.e. discussions of Chipotle, Qdoba, and Freebirds.
1:40 a.m.
After a shot and 2 stitches (we think), we were directed back to the first building, where I was told to hand over a receipt and received a vial of liquid in return. Then, it was back to the second building, where we discovered that this mysterious liquid (that my roommate insisted on calling poison) was an injection meant for my wrist. After confusion about what was going on, a needle that stayed in my wrist for an excessively long time, and a few more minutes of talking about burritos from back home, we were told to wait for 25 minutes.
1:56 a.m.
25 minutes later, I was herded into another room, this time for an injection in my hip. By now, we had the routine down: confusion, burritos, injection, 25 more minutes of waiting.
2:27 a.m.
I was finally given the a-ok to leave the hospital. Conversations marred by our inability to speak the local dialect and my doctor's difficulty understanding left us with few details, other than the fact that I should head back to the hospital on Monday evening.
Even though I've only been in China for 2 weeks, it is amazing how bonded I am with the friends I have made. Nobody thought twice about helping me out, and the three friends that stayed with me at the hospital didn't complain once that it was 2:30 in the morning and we still had no idea what was happening. Somehow or another I made it through the night without tears or (too much) fear, and I stand convinced that I am in this crazy two-year adventure with some of the world's greatest people.