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Published: November 23rd 2010
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My head cold didn't go away.
I had been hacking up lung biscuits all night long and was unable to sleep. The IARs were worried about me, and pestered me repeatedly while I brushed off their concerns. "It's only a virus. It'll go away in a week".
Except it didn't.
One day after lunch, one of the Impossibly Adorable Roommates (IARs) dragged me to to the creatively-named "Hospital #1". We walked there, it wasn't far. Weishan is a fairly small town.
Once inside the hospital's lobby, a short woman in a white lab coat asked if we needed any guidance. The IAR told her why we were there, and lab-coat lady told us that we would need to see a Doctor first. She guided us to a small, shabby office just inside the hospital lobby entrance. Inside the office were two wooden desks, wooden chairs, a wooden "waiting" bench and a couple of file cabinets. Also, the very same petite woman in the white lab coat. Her name was Dr. Li, and she would see me right now. Time span: 30 seconds from wandering in off the street to being seen by a Doctor. No appointment, no phone call, nothing. (Are you listening, Senator?)
Doctor Li asked lots of questions to the IAR and the IAR answered them. None of which I understood, as I still don't speak Mandarin. In any matter, I was not included in the conversation. So I looked around the room, looked at the Doctor, looked at the IAR, and looked around the room some more. A question was finally asked of me: "Are you allergic to anything?" After confirming the absence of allergies, the Doctor grabbed her prescription pad, scribbled something illegible on it, tore it off and gave me the scrip. We were told to go to the Hospital Pharmacy and give them the piece of paper.
First, however, I needed pay the hospital some money.
Expats can buy health insurance for just this sort of thing, but I hadn't; I can't afford it. I was now faced with a hospital bill as a walk-in, and I would now have to pay the piper. I come from the land of the $50,000 aspirin and I had figured that this hospital visit would end up costing me plenty.
Behind a glass partition was a stone-faced, middle-aged man at a desk, a computer monitor, a lit cigarette and a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. (Smoking a cigarette right inside a hospital! Welcome to China.) He entered some information on the computer, and after I handed over some cash. My wallet was suddenly a lot lighter. Once paid, he gave me a receipt stamped with the official red stamp. Nothing happens in China without the official red stamp.
I took the stamped receipt to the next window and a different short woman (this time, a non-smoker) in a white lab coat filled the prescription. The hospital pharmacy looked just like any modern hospital pharmacy anywhere. I had been prescribed a course of Amoxicillin; my "nothing but a little cold virus" was actually a lower respiratory tract infection. I was also handed a bottle of cough syrup (cherry flavored). The bill for the Doctor's visit (for an uninsured walk-in) plus a prescription for antibiotics and a bottle cherry-flavored cough syrup came to just under $12.00.
I could get used to this "universal health care" idea.
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Barb Mikel (on the Hill_
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Chicken Soup
Did you get chicken soup? Russian medicial practices same way except you also get soup!