one of my stitches has been consumed by my skin... that might be a problem when they take it out. stupid doctor.
i guess i still haven't actually written about the hospital... according to one of my students korean hospitals are either "really good" or "really bad". i guess i ended up in one of the latter. oh well, lesson learned, right? but really, when it's a emergency do you have choice?
the hospital was kind of dark inside when we got there. it wasn't even 7 PM so i'm not sure why it was so dark... the lights may have been turned off or simply insufficient, i'm not sure. i walked up to the counter and there was a young man. he didn't speak any english, so it's a good thing i had the korean man with me... even though he didn't speak english either. at least they could communicate together and the korean man knew what was wrong with me, so he explained. they wanted my passport, which i didn't think to bring, but he was relieved when i handed him my health card. (which isn't really a card, but a peice of paper).
they brought me around a corner, down a short hallway, and through some doors into the "emergency" area. a couple of nurses were standing behind a counter. i showed them my hand and made a stabbing gesture. one of them came from behind the counter and pulled me toward a gurny. "sit down" at least there was some english. the gurny was covered in that brown fake leather that so many couches are upholstered with. no sheet. no giant roll of paper. nothing. just the brown fake leather that has probably seen thousands of other patients. ew.
i sat holding my hand and looking at the floor. it had spots and splotches of dried blood all over the area that i was in. ew. i couldn't beleive it. but i knew at that moment that i wasn't "in kansas" anymore... and that i had to watch carefully to make sure the proper hygenic precautions would be taken with me. the nurse came over and took my blood pressure, making sure to ask me "mensa?" what has my period got to do with anything? but she wanted to know when i had last had it. i told her.
a couple of minutes later a man came over to me, i'm not sure if he was a doctor, nurse or orderly, but he grabbed my hand, opened the wound (which by this point had stopped bleeding) and walked away. a nurse came over and started putting all kinds of things on various trays. she looked at me and told me to lie down. i started to, but she pointed at my feet and said "shoes". (what IS it with the shoes???) so i took them off and laid back but still watched her to make sure the utensils, needles, etc... were coming out of sterile packs. they were. thank god!
a few minutes later another man - the doctor i assume since he stitched me up - came over. he didn't even look at me, let alone say anything to me. he grabbed my hand. i looked away. the next thing i knew i was experiencing more pain than i had when i stabbed myself. he was anesthetizing my hand to give me the stitches, but it felt (again, i wasn't looking - not good with stuff like that) like he had jabbed the needle straight into the wound. it must have sounded like every emergency room horror story, because i was screaming like freddy kruger was after me. i've heard people scream in situations like that, but never imagined i'd be one of them. it hurt. a lot. anyway, finally, or thankfully, my hand went numb, and he started stitching me up. he didn't ask first if it was frozen, just started stitching. i guess he didn't care either way, or maybe he knew.
i could feel the stitches going in because they were pulling on my hand. it kept moving involuntarily and the doctor was getting visibly aggravated by it, but still said nothing. a few minutes later it was over and he just walked away, never speaking a single word, or looking me in the face. way to make a foreigner feel better in a bad situation. the nurse told me to make sure and not get it wet for TWO weeks. "what?" i said. i didn't beleive her and i know it's total crap, but i made sure there wasn't a communication problem and counted out fourteen days on my fingers. she nodded. what a load of bull. then i was alone on the fake leather gurney.
no one told me to stay or what to do, so i got up to look for the korean who drove me. i couldn't find him. i didn't know what to do. was i supposed to pay? there was a sign that said "cashier" but no one had given me a bill. i wandered around the reception for a bit wondering what i should do. the nurse came up to me and gave me some papers, one of which was the bill, the other a prescription for i-didn't-know-what. (painkillers) i paid the bill without hassle, and looked around again for the korean who drove me. i didn't think it was possible that he would just leave without me, but his car was gone.
i walked out the back door and into the pharmacy across the street. the korean man found me there... he hadn't left after all. i filled the prescription, picked up some gauze, and then the korena man drove me home. i finally ate my dinner - it was half cooked when everything started - and the rest as they say...
the thing that bothered me the most was not the blood on the floor, or the pain of the needle, but that the doctor didn't even look at me. fine, if you don't speak english, but everyone (in my experience) can at least say hello. every other doctor i've seen since in korea has had some grasp of english... you'd think that a person in medicine would have picked up a little somewhere... so i can't imagine that he didn't look at me because he was shy of his english, so then what was it? bad bedside manner? a hate-on for foreigners? i don't know... either way, it made the experience a lot worse than it had to be... now i have the fun task of finding a way to get the bloody things out of me! and with one of them grown over, that is sure to be another exciting tale.
i guess i still haven't actually written about the hospital... according to one of my students korean hospitals are either "really good" or "really bad". i guess i ended up in one of the latter. oh well, lesson learned, right? but really, when it's a emergency do you have choice?
the hospital was kind of dark inside when we got there. it wasn't even 7 PM so i'm not sure why it was so dark... the lights may have been turned off or simply insufficient, i'm not sure. i walked up to the counter and there was a young man. he didn't speak any english, so it's a good thing i had the korean man with me... even though he didn't speak english either. at least they could communicate together and the korean man knew what was wrong with me, so he explained. they wanted my passport, which i didn't think to bring, but he was relieved when i handed him my health card. (which isn't really a card, but a peice of paper).
they brought me around a corner, down a short hallway, and through some doors into the "emergency" area. a couple of nurses were standing behind a counter. i showed them my hand and made a stabbing gesture. one of them came from behind the counter and pulled me toward a gurny. "sit down" at least there was some english. the gurny was covered in that brown fake leather that so many couches are upholstered with. no sheet. no giant roll of paper. nothing. just the brown fake leather that has probably seen thousands of other patients. ew.
i sat holding my hand and looking at the floor. it had spots and splotches of dried blood all over the area that i was in. ew. i couldn't beleive it. but i knew at that moment that i wasn't "in kansas" anymore... and that i had to watch carefully to make sure the proper hygenic precautions would be taken with me. the nurse came over and took my blood pressure, making sure to ask me "mensa?" what has my period got to do with anything? but she wanted to know when i had last had it. i told her.
a couple of minutes later a man came over to me, i'm not sure if he was a doctor, nurse or orderly, but he grabbed my hand, opened the wound (which by this point had stopped bleeding) and walked away. a nurse came over and started putting all kinds of things on various trays. she looked at me and told me to lie down. i started to, but she pointed at my feet and said "shoes". (what IS it with the shoes???) so i took them off and laid back but still watched her to make sure the utensils, needles, etc... were coming out of sterile packs. they were. thank god!
a few minutes later another man - the doctor i assume since he stitched me up - came over. he didn't even look at me, let alone say anything to me. he grabbed my hand. i looked away. the next thing i knew i was experiencing more pain than i had when i stabbed myself. he was anesthetizing my hand to give me the stitches, but it felt (again, i wasn't looking - not good with stuff like that) like he had jabbed the needle straight into the wound. it must have sounded like every emergency room horror story, because i was screaming like freddy kruger was after me. i've heard people scream in situations like that, but never imagined i'd be one of them. it hurt. a lot. anyway, finally, or thankfully, my hand went numb, and he started stitching me up. he didn't ask first if it was frozen, just started stitching. i guess he didn't care either way, or maybe he knew.
i could feel the stitches going in because they were pulling on my hand. it kept moving involuntarily and the doctor was getting visibly aggravated by it, but still said nothing. a few minutes later it was over and he just walked away, never speaking a single word, or looking me in the face. way to make a foreigner feel better in a bad situation. the nurse told me to make sure and not get it wet for TWO weeks. "what?" i said. i didn't beleive her and i know it's total crap, but i made sure there wasn't a communication problem and counted out fourteen days on my fingers. she nodded. what a load of bull. then i was alone on the fake leather gurney.
no one told me to stay or what to do, so i got up to look for the korean who drove me. i couldn't find him. i didn't know what to do. was i supposed to pay? there was a sign that said "cashier" but no one had given me a bill. i wandered around the reception for a bit wondering what i should do. the nurse came up to me and gave me some papers, one of which was the bill, the other a prescription for i-didn't-know-what. (painkillers) i paid the bill without hassle, and looked around again for the korean who drove me. i didn't think it was possible that he would just leave without me, but his car was gone.
i walked out the back door and into the pharmacy across the street. the korean man found me there... he hadn't left after all. i filled the prescription, picked up some gauze, and then the korena man drove me home. i finally ate my dinner - it was half cooked when everything started - and the rest as they say...
the thing that bothered me the most was not the blood on the floor, or the pain of the needle, but that the doctor didn't even look at me. fine, if you don't speak english, but everyone (in my experience) can at least say hello. every other doctor i've seen since in korea has had some grasp of english... you'd think that a person in medicine would have picked up a little somewhere... so i can't imagine that he didn't look at me because he was shy of his english, so then what was it? bad bedside manner? a hate-on for foreigners? i don't know... either way, it made the experience a lot worse than it had to be... now i have the fun task of finding a way to get the bloody things out of me! and with one of them grown over, that is sure to be another exciting tale.
1 Comment:
Remind me to tell you about the time that I got into a car accident in Nairobi, Kenya. 3rd world medical care is fantastic stuff...
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