Week 10: A week at the hospital :(

For days it was driving me crazy on which topic to update y’all on (because yes, I do want to keep you loved ones that much up to date. You’re a big deal to me!): the baseball game was madness; the Mud Festival was literally a fantasty fufilled! and complete insanity; the culutral differences are plentiful enough that they could easily take up a week’s worth of blogness. However, This past week has been spent at the hospital (and working). Hence my emotions and mind are pretty much jumbled up write now so let me explain why…

Two months after arriving in Korea, my ARC (Alien) Card was finally issued and my passport returned. From what I had been told, the number on my Alien Card also acts as my insurance number. As soon as that card was in my hand last Wednesday, I was able to set up a bank account Thur. and do research with my boss on Friday, finding the nearest hospital that specialized in what I need. (Also, last week my working hours were from 9AM-8:35PM and the hosptial was closed by the time I got off work)

Monday after work I went directly to the hospital. A 30 minute doctors visit took 2 hours due to being lost in translation. I know about 20 Korean words (in my defense my job is speaking English and I am always at work!) and every single one of those Korean words were put to use trying desperately to communicate my medical symptoms and insurance policy. At one point at the receptionist desk, a Korean-English bilingual doctor was on his way home but stopped to help. He was very friendly. That, and his voice carried throughout the whole lobby. It was quite embarrassing to hear my symptoms reverberating off the walls and echoing throughout the lobby. Everyone was very friendly and helpful. Although they meant no harm, I still wanted to roll off the seat or put my head down. Nevertheless, I stayed strong and kept upright.

The doctor gave me an exam, sent my samples to a lab, and diagnosed me. Hearing a diagnosis besides “Everything is OK. You’re fine,” is hard. Especially when my loved ones aren’t here to physically nurture me or console my woes.

After receiving bad news, another exhausting hour was spent making phone calls and trying to figure out the Korean spelling of my name. FEE-BEE HWA KEE-VER; FEE-BEE HO-A KEE-BER; PHO-BEE HWA KEE-VER…you get the point. An hour later my name–in Korean–was not in the system. Did it matter anyways? Insurance wasn’t covered for that particular doctor’s exam.

Tuesday was unfortunately no better. Even with a coworker calling just before I arrived for treatment and translating, I was still waiting for nearly an hour while people arrived after me, were seen before me, paid and left. Frustrated but maintaining my patience and remaining seated (I mean what else could I do? It’s not like we even spoke the same language!), I sat there until they called me up to make a payment.

“80,000,” said the receptionist. After using some body language, she handed me a pencil and note pad. “50,000 + 50,000…” it was no use. Too tired with the thought of spending another hour lost in translation, I shelled out the 80,000 won (equivalent to $80 USD). As the receptionist led me to the elevator, I slowwwwwwly explained the situation. “Doctor explained to you?” she understood! “OK, Sorry.” and she led me back to the receptionist saying, “discount” and handing me back 30,000Won.

After, again, waiting soooo long I fell into a sleepy-state. “Hwa Jung Shil?” the nurse asked. “Ne.” I replied. This hospital reminded me of a developed version of Peru’s third world facilities; medical staff coming in and out while I’m lying out on the exam table, talking and pointing in a foreign language, all the while leaving me to wonder what the heck is going on! I had never been so scared at a hospital. The doctor came in and then the nurse sprayed me some kind of numbing liquid. Then–get this–proceeded to hand the doctor the medical equipment with chop sticks! There’s no denying I’m in Asia! Once the doctor left the nurse pulled out a fatty needle and stuck me in the arm. “I.V.” she said. “Ibuprofen?!” I inquired. Having never had an I.V. line put in me, I was scared the I.V. was filled with Ibuprofen, which I’m allergic to. “Shut your eyes. Sleep.” was the answer I got. The first breath I took felt icy, as if I entered a freezer. Then I shut my eyes and after the second breath I past out.

It’s very scary not knowing or understanding what’s going on. Even more scary is when people are poking and prodding your body with all kinds of foreign equipment (chopsticks!??!!!!!??!!) and you have NO CLUE what’s going on. I don’t know how long I was past out from the IV line but I woke up with blood on myself and the bed, completely incoherent. Yet, I had to be strong and walk home (thankfully I was only 3 blocks away) alone. Weak, I took the elevator to my apt, took a Tylenol sleep aid, and past out a much needed and good 10 hours.