Da Nang Hospital

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Pre-Op (Part I)

I suppose the Da Nang Hospital is not the worst in the world, but I sure the hell would not want to be treated there. Yet I guess like anything else, it’s all relative. Tam got his hospital bed and I thought, what a piece of crap, but he happily jumped on it and said WOW, this is a GREAT bed! Having a room in Da Nang Hospital means a room shared with 5-10 other patients in varying conditions from brain trauma, cancer, to broken limbs. There is one shared bathroom consisting of a squat toilet, small sink, bucket and spicket. The only 2 things supplied for your stay is one sheet and a pair of prison-like pajamas (how appropriate). And it was no joke when they said you need to bring everything with you. There is no soap, no towels, and from what my nose can gather, no disinfectant. There are a poutpourri of smells...vomit, urine, and the stagnant smell of sickness and death which all hang thick in the 90 degree heat.

The week of Tam’s surgery was a long and painful waiting game. About 30 hours of tests over a series of 3 days, blood tests, x-rays, MRIs, and a grand finale head shave. There are dozens of confusing and random lines throughout the hospital. Several times we waited for hours just to find out we were waiting in the wrong line, the wrong section, and sometimes even the wrong building. But fortunately, the Da Nang Hospital had good entertainment that week... ME. The only foreigner in the hospital. The Vietnamese do not hesitate to openly stare, point, poke, prod and just flat out laugh at the one who is different (RE: ME). Women squat and inspect my hair closely, holding my braided colored yarn strands up to the light and rattling off something. Tam just looks over and laughs. He always says something back to them, but when I ask him what he said, he just says “nothing”. Well what did they say?... “nothing”.

The only other person besides Tam who spoke somewhat English was Tam’s neuro surgeon. We met Tam's doctor on Monday to give him his special “gift”. When Tam first told me and Karen about this custom we were thinking a special gift could be a nice box of chocolates or something of the sort. Wrong. The “gift” is a large sum of money that is the doctor’s “tip”, the higher the amount, the better job you can expect.

I quickly learn that doctors are feared, and approaching them, or even asking them questions is well, just not done. Tam and mom were too afraid and shy to ask anything, so I sat in the doctor's office asking how long is the operation, what time is the operation, do you have enough blood and do you have his blood type, what are the risks, etc. I attempt to make a good impression on this guy, knowing how these hospitals work. I want to make sure Tam gets the best treatment and care possible. This plan backfires when I'm asked out for a drink, and then I become stuck on several coffee dates throughout the week. I believe the rest of the hospital had conjured up the rumor I was a fellow doctor, which in turn gives me special treatment...and ultimately Tam.

The day of the operation was horrible. I take advantage of my new doctor status (and “special friend”of the neuro surgeon) and am allowed in restricted areas, as long as I kick off my shoes (that’s right, no shoes) and put on a hospital uniform. I am happy to have the access... at first. But looking around me I quickly become nautious, I am now in a section that I don’t want to be in, the “post op” room where patients are fresh out of surgery. Bodies wrapped in bloody gauze, and tubes coming from various places I didn't know you could stick a tube in, and even though Tam looks like a movie star in comparison, the tubes draining the blood from his brain are making me weak in the knees. (Michael from Arkansas your appendix burst was nothing!) Most of the faces are swollen and all of them look dead. Two had died next to me within one hour. I feel light-headed and sick, over-heated and over-tired. But one thing was certain, I wanted to be next to Tam when he woke up, and after several hours he did, and although in a lot of pain, with a slow recovery awaiting, the surgery was a success.

Post-Op (Part II)

The next morning Tam is looking better, I am looking better, things are seeming much brighter, but the experience is not over. Because now I can’t help but notice the others sharing the room with Tam, and now that Tam is feeling better, he is translating their stories. All of them are poor. And I am used to poor, but now this is poor with illness, which is really damn poor. I slowly begin to get very humble requests for milk, some food and Ensure (which is like gold here since so many are malnourished). This time I have Laura with me, a friend of Karen's who is here for one week from Australia, and we agree to bring with us their top requests the next day. We also throw in some blankets and pillows. As we were handing some of the goods out in the room Tam is translating some things about us. I know very little Vietnamese but I did pick up that Tam says that we were BOTH from Australia. I stopped and turned around to question him, “why did you say that?” Laura is, not me. Tam explains that it is better, since half the people in the room are the elders, the ones who remember the war, and who hate Americans. I asked him to kindly announce to the room that Laura was from Australia, but I was from America. When Tam translates this the room is silent, and I continue to hand out the food and supplies requested.


NOTE: All photos and information posted have been agreed, and in most cases encouraged, to be made public. These specific shots were chosen because they best reflect the reality experienced and are intended to provide insight, not judgement on the Vietnamese people. These are not LIFESTART recipients, but Laura and I have provided as much aid out of our pockets as we could during our time in Da Nang.

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