The past few days have been like a lost week. I'm living in a fuzzy world, where I can't quite see or hear or speak very well. I've mostly been trying to survive.
I have been able to go to class for the past 2 days. I have been using a microphone, but I can't project my voice. One of my classes (my crazy kids) were empathetic for about 3 minutes, but then they almost went wild. I didn't have the energy to bring order back to the classroom. It wasn't as bad as it sounds, but it was getting a little out of hand.
My other classes have been more understanding, even though I stand up front talking in my gravely voice like someone who is very lethargic and half-asleep. Then I have to pause to cough every 12 seconds.
Today during my class I received this special note from one of my students. I receive lots of advice on getting better, but this was pretty classic:
"Dear Laura, I'm very worried about you. You had better keep healthy. Here is some advice, I hope could make you better.
1.) Drink more water, that's always a good idea. It's good for your throat.
2.) Have a good rest, sleep early.
3.) Wear more clothes. I heard the weather will turn cold in two days.
I hope you will better soon and we will see a enthusiastic Laura again. :) Best wishes."
That about sums up the concern my students give me. They offer the same advice: wear more clothes (they tell me this as I'm sweating in 2 layers of long-sleeve shirts); drink more hot water (they tell me this as I'm busting full of water); rest more (they tell me this after I've just slept for 9 hours). Oh, and some tell me to get more exercise. How can I exercise when I'm resting? And then some suggest that I go to the hospital again. No thanks! I've already been there once and that's enough to scare me away forever.
They're pretty precious students. They are so little and innocent and often immature, but they like to act like little mothers.
So I haven't been going to my office hours much this week. I'm just trying to make it to my classes. Being sick in China is always a lot more draining and difficult than in America.
Despite being sick most of the time, I've made my decision for next year, which you probably already know! A couple days ago I committed to return with this organization in August. I don't know where they'll place me, but I'm looking forward to it. Thanks as always for your thoughts and encouragement!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sick Tuesday
It is early afternoon and I've been banished to my room. I have been battling a cold/sinus infection/cough for over a week now, and it just gets worse everyday. This morning I woke up with all that stuff again, plus the most painful earache ever. It is still ringing constantly, and every little noise or word echoes back into my head, with a sound like tin or little circus clowns in my head. I just want to rip my head off. And my voice sounds like an old woman under water, according to Joelle.
Anyway, I tried to get ready for school, but I wasn't going to survive. Thankfully, a couple of my wonderful teammates were able to substitute for me today. But the FAO people insisted on taking me to the hospital. If you aren't sick when you go to a Chinese hospital, rest assured that you'll be by the time you leave. I'm glad Joelle also went with us, but I wasn't very enthusiastic about the trek.
Apparently we went to the nicest hospital in Nanchang, which makes me wonder about those other hospitals. First, we were stuck in a gigantic, never-ending traffic jam. There were four lanes of cars trying to fit in one lane for hospital parking. Mr. Li was amazing at getting the little van to the entrance. A sign said the parking lot was full, but that didn't matter; people still streamed in regardless. Mr. Li found a nice little parking spot in a pile of mud.
Meanwhile, there were literally hundreds and thousands of people everywhere. People layered in blankets were being led over speed bumps and across sidewalks on gurneys. There were just people everywhere--most of them coughing, smoking, or looking half-dead. One baby had open sores covering its face. People also wheeled by with little IV drips attached to their arms.
Inside the building was open, with just different desks and little rooms. There were another million people inside, all of them forming mini-mobs around the desks, since there aren't lines in China. Little nurses in faded uniforms were in the midst of all the commotion. Little children ran by, and elderly people, who all seemed very tiny and poor, just hobbled around. Streams of people hiked up and down the stairs in the middle of the building. It reminded me more of the train station waiting room than a hospital.
I just tried not to think. I have been in the university clinic a few times, but this was like the clinic on a massive scale. Disorder and sickness everywhere. Actually it all would probably be rather amusing if I hadn't been sick and if so many other people didn't look so sick and confused, too.
We went to a waiting area, where people sat in metal chairs. There was a bathroom with a big sign to wash your hands, but it was meaningless because there wasn't any soap in the bathrooms. Soap is a rarity anywhere in China.
Since we were laowai, the nurses had us bypass the waiting room and led us (Joelle, Amy, and Mr. Li) to a little room. This little room was one of many. Inside the bare room behind a small desk sat a doctor in a long greyish white lab coat and black plastic glasses. He wore a face mask, so everything he said was muffled; not that I could understand anyway. He told me to stick a glass thermometer under my arm for 5 minutes, while Amy translated for us. Meanwhile, other random patients and passerby meandered into the room to see what was going on and to hear the diagnosis. There aren't any privacy laws in China, I suppose.
I'm pretty sure I just have a sinus infection, but he sent us to the fifth floor for a blood test, which we didn't even stay around to see the results from. This was more fun. It was much more crowded up here. There were glass windows, with flustered and/or angry nurses behind. The windows had a hole where you stuck your hand in to get blood drawn. After Mr. Li carved a path for me, I thrust my arm in to window. The guy just poked my finger and kept squeezing to get some blood out of it. At the same time, people were still jostling everybody else to get a spot, so they were bumping into me from every side.
After that, we went back down to the same doctor who was currently looking at some elderly men who appeared to be farmers. One had a broken arm and the other maybe had a lung infection. We were also gathered near them, and other people kept pouring in to hover around the doctor, all of them pointing at their x-rays or random body parts. Mr. Li once again was assertive, so the doctor gave me a prescription for an antibiotic.
Wow, all of a sudden I just felt very exhausted and drained. I didn't really mind so much the craziness. It was a bit trying, but it could have been a lot worse. It just saddened me, I think, to watch all these people who were really sick or tired. Everyone had to fend/fight for themselves to get anywhere in this place. And I was wondering if anybody actually ever got healed. It was like taking a step back 100 years ago. Walking into that hospital, you would have thought it was 1909 if you hadn't glimpsed a computer every once and a while.
Sorry for that super long post. I just had to share. Hopefully I wasn't too negative. I just am very tired, and once you think you've experienced all the cultural stresses/shocks possible, there's always more. Hopefully I'll get better and not ever have to return. Thanks for your thoughts! Now I know why there's that advice, "Never go to a hospital in China unless you are absolutely dying." :) Enjoy your day!
Anyway, I tried to get ready for school, but I wasn't going to survive. Thankfully, a couple of my wonderful teammates were able to substitute for me today. But the FAO people insisted on taking me to the hospital. If you aren't sick when you go to a Chinese hospital, rest assured that you'll be by the time you leave. I'm glad Joelle also went with us, but I wasn't very enthusiastic about the trek.
Apparently we went to the nicest hospital in Nanchang, which makes me wonder about those other hospitals. First, we were stuck in a gigantic, never-ending traffic jam. There were four lanes of cars trying to fit in one lane for hospital parking. Mr. Li was amazing at getting the little van to the entrance. A sign said the parking lot was full, but that didn't matter; people still streamed in regardless. Mr. Li found a nice little parking spot in a pile of mud.
Meanwhile, there were literally hundreds and thousands of people everywhere. People layered in blankets were being led over speed bumps and across sidewalks on gurneys. There were just people everywhere--most of them coughing, smoking, or looking half-dead. One baby had open sores covering its face. People also wheeled by with little IV drips attached to their arms.
Inside the building was open, with just different desks and little rooms. There were another million people inside, all of them forming mini-mobs around the desks, since there aren't lines in China. Little nurses in faded uniforms were in the midst of all the commotion. Little children ran by, and elderly people, who all seemed very tiny and poor, just hobbled around. Streams of people hiked up and down the stairs in the middle of the building. It reminded me more of the train station waiting room than a hospital.
I just tried not to think. I have been in the university clinic a few times, but this was like the clinic on a massive scale. Disorder and sickness everywhere. Actually it all would probably be rather amusing if I hadn't been sick and if so many other people didn't look so sick and confused, too.
We went to a waiting area, where people sat in metal chairs. There was a bathroom with a big sign to wash your hands, but it was meaningless because there wasn't any soap in the bathrooms. Soap is a rarity anywhere in China.
Since we were laowai, the nurses had us bypass the waiting room and led us (Joelle, Amy, and Mr. Li) to a little room. This little room was one of many. Inside the bare room behind a small desk sat a doctor in a long greyish white lab coat and black plastic glasses. He wore a face mask, so everything he said was muffled; not that I could understand anyway. He told me to stick a glass thermometer under my arm for 5 minutes, while Amy translated for us. Meanwhile, other random patients and passerby meandered into the room to see what was going on and to hear the diagnosis. There aren't any privacy laws in China, I suppose.
I'm pretty sure I just have a sinus infection, but he sent us to the fifth floor for a blood test, which we didn't even stay around to see the results from. This was more fun. It was much more crowded up here. There were glass windows, with flustered and/or angry nurses behind. The windows had a hole where you stuck your hand in to get blood drawn. After Mr. Li carved a path for me, I thrust my arm in to window. The guy just poked my finger and kept squeezing to get some blood out of it. At the same time, people were still jostling everybody else to get a spot, so they were bumping into me from every side.
After that, we went back down to the same doctor who was currently looking at some elderly men who appeared to be farmers. One had a broken arm and the other maybe had a lung infection. We were also gathered near them, and other people kept pouring in to hover around the doctor, all of them pointing at their x-rays or random body parts. Mr. Li once again was assertive, so the doctor gave me a prescription for an antibiotic.
Wow, all of a sudden I just felt very exhausted and drained. I didn't really mind so much the craziness. It was a bit trying, but it could have been a lot worse. It just saddened me, I think, to watch all these people who were really sick or tired. Everyone had to fend/fight for themselves to get anywhere in this place. And I was wondering if anybody actually ever got healed. It was like taking a step back 100 years ago. Walking into that hospital, you would have thought it was 1909 if you hadn't glimpsed a computer every once and a while.
Sorry for that super long post. I just had to share. Hopefully I wasn't too negative. I just am very tired, and once you think you've experienced all the cultural stresses/shocks possible, there's always more. Hopefully I'll get better and not ever have to return. Thanks for your thoughts! Now I know why there's that advice, "Never go to a hospital in China unless you are absolutely dying." :) Enjoy your day!
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