Halloween Hospital... in China

What is Halloween without a frightening trip to a Chinese hospital…

Chinese students spend A LOT of time at school, the MORE time studying. 

They’re up from about 6am and start independent study from 7.30am… then classes, which can continue til maybe 9pm – 10pm! One of my students tells me that even after that, he spends another hour in the dormitory toilet where there’s still some light, to complete his homework.

Its pretty intense.

So… I suggested we have some more relaxing events for our GAC students to enjoy themselves, while making use of their English in a chilled out environment.

I actually baked… which is not a thing I’ve EVER done, nor ever considered attempting to do… but cupcakes and scones somehow made their way from

my apartment and into my students bellies, with smiles of delight. I may, potentially, have gone a wee bit overboard with candy, hats, masks, apple bobbing… fortunately I was joined by two new colleagues, who brought horror stories, music and mayhem to the party.

So it went well. I was buzzed by the luncheon event and the kids were excited, appreciative, not to mention bouncing off the wall on sugar highs.

David, one of the interns and a bloke I’ve come to consider as a friend, turned up with the beverages… late… which is not a thing he normally is. Upon entering, puffing, he dropped the drinks off at the table and slumped into a chair.

Upon opening the bottles, sugary strange smelling liquid erupted, a couple of the kids ran off to collect paper to mop up the aftermath. Meanwhile, our delivery driver, David, didn’t lift a finger to assist, nor apologise for the fiasco… seemed strange, but we carried on.

And he carried on slumped on the chair, moving to another chair closer a wall so he could lean on this. I thought the whole thing a little over dramatic, it wasn’t like he’d ridden for miles for the drinks… only 5 minutes at most. Why wasn’t he engaging with the students… I was a bit disappointed.

I sat with him, checked in to see if he was ok. He mumbled, before standing up and leaving the party.

In my defence I’d set this whole thing up alone, fortunately with the delightful support of a couple of new teachers who’d arrived within the week, but I’d hoped David would be my buddy in this… It’d been a hard few weeks having lost my two supportive bosses and taking on responsibilities that had resulted in resentment from other employees… age old drama…

Is that a defence? I think not. I was being a nasty inconsiderate judgy person!

Anyway, at the time I didn’t check on him again, but finished off the Halloween Party, tidied up and returned to the office to prep my 6pm class… when Lilly came in, flapping.

(Lilly is the Chinese/English liaison and person who knows all… she’s delightful)

“David! Floor”… she said, breathlessly – I could tell her frustration was possibly impacting her usually excellent English…

“What? David’s on the floor?”

“No… but he was, but we… four of us, the three… well, and we… but he’s on the chair”

“He’s on the chair or on the floor?”

“Oh no!” she said… her feet shuffling, her energy angst, “He wont go!”

“He wont go on the floor?”

“He’s on the chair! No more floor!”

“So, he’s ok?”

“No…” she breathed, “He… he no doctor… no hospital… no home”

“So he went home?”

“No! But he’s not on the floor!”

“Well, that’s good… but he’s on the chair?”

“Yes! But be wont go! No hospital!”

“Is he here?”

“Yes, yes!”, she said, exasperated,

“Good, how ‘bout I come and see”,

Lilly smiled a smile of relief, and we both paced down the hall. I expected to see David a bit tired, but nothing to be concerned about. I thought a bit of over dramatics was being employed by all (this is not being judgy – it’s just I know what I’ve been like in the past!)

Upon entering I smelled… first, then saw… David flailed in the chair. Zipped up and with hood on, he looked ready for a deep winter snow. His body slumped, arms slung lifeless over the arm rests, and he, a pallid colour, sweating and mumbling.

The Chinese staff were hovering, not sure what to do. I crouched down to speak with him,

“How you feeling”

He mumbled incomprehensibly…

“Right… we’re off to the hospital”

He mumbled again, something that sounded like declining the suggestion, but I was taking control of the situation (because, while the boss was away, I didn’t want someone – in particular a friend of mine! – carking it on my watch).

In what I hope was a nice way, I advised that I didn’t care about his opinion, we were hitting the hospital (in lieu of a doctor attending… not a thing in China) and furthermore, given he was unable to hold up his own weight, we would employ two of our male employees to assist in his decent from our 5^th floor office.

“Fiona….” He slurred… “Hand… move… arm… hand”, I assumed by this he meant he wanted me to bring his arms from the slung out position and into his lap where his blood might more easily circulate. Upon doing so, he attempted a nod in thank you. Call me a mind reader if you like!

Two students from one of my classes, strong sturdy boys, came in to assist with getting him from here… to Lilly’s car.

One of the students, I’m still not sure why, decided to arrange a piggy back situation with David… not a great idea. He hauled David up on his back, much to David’s moaning and distress! Prolly ten steps later I decided to put a stop to this adventure, and suggested maybe, one male under each arm to provide support during the five storey downward path could be a better methodology.

Eventually, after the longest descent of five flights of stairs I’ve ever experienced, we arrived at ground level and Lilly pulled up in her car. I opened the back passenger door and the student assistants leaned the rather awkward David toward the opening… at this point, David decided he was unable to bend his appendages and fell, like a wooden soldier, onto the seat – plank-like!

The students looked at David, confused… looked at me, confused… looked at one another… distraught. I sent them away with thanks… they were grateful to be dismissed. I’ve never seen them run up the stairs so fast!

Fortunately, I’ve had a lot of experience with Action Men and Lego, so, once the students left, I got to work with bending knees and appropriately ‘sitting’ David up. I closed one door, then ran swiftly around the vehicle, ideally before he leaned on and lay on my side of the vehicle and Brian help me… get him sitting up again! I was just in time, swinging my door open as he started to lurch, and thrust in my left hand to hold him relatively straight.

“Onward!” I said to Lilly and Emma, sitting in the front seats… they didn’t pick up the reference or sarcasm, simply breathed in and we started our slow journey to “the best hospital in Tangshan”…

“Can we get a wheelchair when we get there?”, I asked Lilly during the trip

“yes”, she said, “I think so… maybe?”

I wasn’t overly enamoured by the idea of carrying the man myself…

“We’ll be going to Emergency, yeah?” I asked,

“Yes! Yes… the emergency section”, said Lilly

So I sat back, still holding David upright and trying to calm him by telling him what was happening, that everything would be ok, holding his arm… He, seemed to take on the feedback, but was still shivering, with frightened eyes darting left and right.

At this point even I, the cold hearted woman that I am, started to worry. David started making strange movement with his jaw, advising that he couldn’t feel his foot, then his hand… then his throat.

IT’S A STROKE!

Unlikely at his age, but… ok, I’ve watched too much Gray’s Anatomy!

Upon arriving at the hospital… well, I expected us to turn up at the Emergency 

Entrance where crispy clean nurses would shuffle out on urgent ankles and wheelchair our patient in… not so.

First we had to stop at the ticket man, to collect a ticket for the parking… then find a park… then… myself and my stick-like colleague, needed to haul/carry David across the parking lot to the entrance, avoiding the traffic cones and cordoned off areas… only to arrive IN the emergency entrance to a hustling, bustling, echo… silent echo…

What?

Nope… that was another episode of Grays… No, there was literally not a soul at the entrance. I plonked David down and sat beside him, trying to prevent him from sliding off the chair (I didn’t fancy the challenge of picking him up off the floor!). Meanwhile Emma and Lilly dashed off around the corner leaving the two of us… Me? I took in the surroundings. The peeling paint, the cobwebbed corners, the yellow walls yellowing further with smoke stain. There was even a pinging strobe light glowering off and on to really finalise the “Horror Film” ambiance…

Suddenly Emma dashed around the corner, wheeling a wheel chair – thank goodness! Apparently in order to make use of wheelchairs you must hand over your Chinese ID card, and I understand… some cash.

Together we leaned David into an upright position, then folded him into the chair, ignoring deep breathing and moans, trying to remain positive!

I followed Emma, whisking around the corner… still perturbed by the lack of blue robbed MD’s or similarly dressed nurses… to a small door in the tiny corridor where an old Chinese man sat behind a chunky computer monitor, apparently silently communicating with a group of about four middle aged ‘patients’, or may one of them were the patient… I’m not sure.

Now they decide to get involved with queuing system.

Lilly, Emma, myself and David stood (ok David slumped, shivering and sweating, his exasperation at the level that it was altering the general energy of the room), and waited (myself with raised eyebrow) for the doctor to finish his silent consult with this group of people. He then left for a small time, Lilly explained that the computer had stopped working and he was getting a tool to fix it…

You what?

Ok… calm… “David, he’ll be talking to you soon. We’ll have it sorted out. End of the day, I was hoping I’d get to revisit a Chinese hospital, so thanks for that”…

He laughed, which turned into a cough, resulting in him doubling up. I patted him on the back, “Didn’t think my humour was that bad man!”, he shook and I shall pretend it was a laugh rather than a convulsion!

Finally the four ‘patients’, departed, not without a good few stares at myself and the hunchback of Tangshan. I scooted David forward and tried to manoeuvre him into a position where the doctor might be able to see his face, his colour… take his temperature?

No need.

Lilly was provided a thermometer, that appeared out of a small box and I wondered, ‘is this the thermometer for ALL the people…” and was rather glad knowing it wasn’t going anywhere near MY orifices.

I was instructed to pop said thermometer under Davids… underam… his… under… arm… Now, I don’t know if you’ve been fortunate enough to spend time with a male, early 20’s, whose been fevered, sweating profusely while wearing three layers of clothes including a puffer jacket…

The underarm was not a place I had an intention of going to… and yet… here I was. Pulling aside his attire, which felt far too close for a colleague, or friend – I don’t even like hugs for crying out loud! – suddenly there was skin, and my touching skin, and pulling skin back to slide thermometer in and wafts of less than pleasant smelling odours…

Jimminy… Crickets… when I took on more responsibility at work I’m SURE this wasn’t included in my contract?!

So, while the thermometer took a sauna the Russian’s would be proud of, the doctor asked questions through Lilly, to me, to David…

“Have you eaten anything strange? Been unwell”, I translated

“Umm… ffffff….ffffff….fffff”

“Fish?” I asked

He nodded as best he could.

“And… bad stomach. Saw stomach?” said Lilly

“Did you get the runs”, I translated

“Mmmmmhrrrmmmmm” he mumbled while nodding

“A little… or many times?” asked the doctor to Lilly to me to David

“Just one…. One…” and he jestured with his hands,

“One volcanic eruption”, I explained to Lilly, which made Emma almost choke on her tongue and Lilly giggle.

The thermometer was retrieved – lets not go into the ins and outs… - the doctor suggested that it was food poisoning and dehydration, David seemed to disagree with this. I tried to explain to Lilly that David was worried given he couldn’t feel his arms or legs… the doctor placated and arranged for us to get a blood test – at a small fee, ofcourse.

Silly me, I assumed we’d go into a room where there’d be a bed or something, a nurse, some reassuring words, maybe lavender painted walls.

Not so.

Lilly hustled us back out to the corridor, down another direction where we eventually came to a wall… with a window… where a woman was sat, needle at hand, to take the blood.

But David couldn’t stand.

I slipped around the other side of his chair, and close to socket popping out, pulled and twisted his arm to get it through the window. The nurses eyes widened with… confusion? Shock? Wonderment? I don’t know, but I had no intention of spending more time in this hospital than what was essential.

Seeing this strange manoeuvre the nurse beckoned to Lilly to demand me to stop twisting this poor man, put his arm BACK and she would come out to take the blood sample… no window required.

I know men aren’t great at the… well at the sickness, at the cold… at needles. My own Uncle is known to be a fainter. So, holding David’s hand out (literally just his finger, they give it a knick then press press press and take the drops off in a vile – different to the pints they seem to require at home!) I was prepared for the gasp, the shudder… then the tears?

“Oh… don’t you cry!”, I said… “Call that a needle, I just got a bloody tattoo!”, he laughed at that and it seemed to relieve him somewhat… but apparently not enough.

Once the nurse had returned to her window, Lilly advised it would be twenty minutes for the results, then we could go back to the doctor for… a diagnosis? At which time David announced…. That he needed to go to the toilet.

“You need to pee?” I clarified

He nodded

“Kidding”

He snickered.

Oooohhhhh-kay I thought. Sighed loudly. Tried not to let my imagination run to places IT didn’t even what to go to.

“So”, I announced to Lilly and Emma, “David needs to go to the toilet”

They looked at one another, their faces becoming pale,

“It’s ok… I can help with that part”, the paleness was replaced by a look of pity, “We just need to find… find… can we find a Western toilet? A disabled toilet?”, surely there’d by one… it was a hospital after all. I figured this way I could plop him on the loo seat, turn while he went about hit business, sat down he might be able to zip himself back up, then I’d assist him back to the chair… genius!

Lilly dashed off and asked a reception looking lady who advised she didn’t know, but to try in the maternity wing. So off we went, me wheeling David, stopping to speak to every nurse / doctor looking person along our journey. No one seemed to know a) where a disabled toilet might be or b) where a toilet, Western or otherwise, was situated.

Finally I spied what looked like the international images of man / woman lavatory and swung the wheel chair that way… wish I’d not.

Kansas had left me long ago, but just incase I needed reminding…

Lilly and Emma stood back. I hauled David down a rickety slope into the little boys room… a off-white yellow broken tiled room, the sound of dripping somewhere beyond sight, a urinal… good lord… with dark pee stains in that upside-down U-shape, the remains of past visitors swamping stagnantly at the plunge-ready drain.

I tried to breathe through my mouth and avoid the stench, but then wondered what I was allowing directly into my lungs. Anyway, no time for these thoughts. I decided the urinal was not the place for our adventure… I moved us toward a stall. The first one… because that’s the safe….

What?

WHY?

I’d already yoinked David back into standing position, somehow jumped-him up onto the first step, and leaned him against the cubicle wall, by the time I saw the gift that was waiting there… in the squat loo… it was too late.

A small, swirling, dark, excrement based pyramid sat, unmoving… almost staring up… and David would need to rain down upon it…

I advised I’d stand back, and hold him… semi-aloft. I listened to him tackle his belt, but made no suggestion to assist in this. He moved his weight to direct his flow, and I stared up and forced myself not to think of waterfalls… I didn’t want THIS memory to present itself every time I saw one of my favourite parts of nature… I stared up… I stared up and pondered… how long that web had been there… and whether the couple of flies, and something else, had already had their blood let? I looked down and contemplated the lives of the three dead upside-down cockroaches next to the wheel of David’s ride.

In accordance with my knowledge of the male flow (ie from movies there is one long fall, followed by three quick spurts), I thought David had come to his conclusion, however he seemed to be trying to empty an empty bucket…

“I cant make any more come” he whispered,

“Well”, I said, “I think you’ve made a sterling effort… lets save the rest for later”, and started to lean him back into the chair. As I wheeled him out I noted a sink… but a lack of faucet… how does one wash ones hand… without… water? I shook my head, “I’m going to tell you Mum you didn’t wash your hands!” I quipped, he cackled and coughed.

So we headed back to the waiting room, Lilly ran off to the doctor and returned…

“So… doctor says we need to do a transfusion”,

“What!” breathed David, with as much fear as he could muster, followed by moanings of “no, no, no”.

“Yes… We know Western people don’t like transfusion”, Lilly said, lowering her head… not sure what to do.

“What do you mean by transfusion”, I asked, “What’s in it?”, I figured no one could suggest a blood transfusion without further poking and prodding and test taking of the patient. I suspected that it was actually a drip, but there was some mis-translation taking place.

“Can we come see the doctor?”, I suggested to Lilly. She looked relieved, and off the three of us spun again, down the corridor, toward the doctor.

Turns out that, yes, it was a drip. The contents… basically saline and other bits and bobs to assist with dehydration.

David still felt it was more than ‘just food poisoning’, but the doctor was adamant in the least animated way I’ve ever seen a doctor… he could have given House a run for his money!

I explained this to David and asked what he wanted to do. He mumbled, in-comprehensively. He was doubled over and shaking, he was apparently having a bit of an anxiety attack, alone in a hospital in a foreign country, not knowing what to do, fearing the worst.

I stood up, “yes, we shall take the drip!”, I announced, leaning back now I whispered, “David, I’m making an executive decision but if you die… I take NO responsibility!”, he shook again with a chuckle despite himself.

Finally, we were provided a bed. Not we – good heavens! He… Lilly and Emma stood back as I tried to stand David up again… then place him on the bed? At that time the girls decided to help, giving a helpful push toward the cot and David ended up flat on his face, arms pinned under his abdomen and legs thrust out – tinman style. Next job was to try and roll him onto his back, not breaking any of his arms, pulling away his coat so as not to strangle him… as I did this, Emma and Lilly worked on removing one shoe each…

“Ok, you’ll feel better soon… they just need to get the drip…”

“He needs to relax,” said Lilly, “They will not be able to help him if he does not relax”.

It was true, he was so stressed his muscles were convulsing. I kneeled down next to his bed and swept my hand over his head, softly saying he was going to be ok, that everything would be fine soon, I held his hand and made the shhh shhh noises I understood were appropriate in such situations…

Again… I don’t even like hugs.

Nursing was never on my list of ‘want to do’ jobs…

“Phone”… he whispered scratchily, “phone…” he said again.

I pulled it from his jacket pocket, “Yup… “ and he directed me to a particular app… the Koran. Now I’ve no issue with this, but I’d never dreamed I’d read it, let alone out allowed, in a hospital, in China to a guy who was certain he was breathing his last breaths.

I started to read, in my best, ‘oh dear this is a terribly time but we have religion and so that is good’ voice, but within a few moments he moaned, “Press Play”.

I realised then there was a play button, he hadn’t wanted me to speak and if I hadn’t have had to hold him up to pee an hour earlier, I would have been embarrassed. Rather, the echoing nnneeeaaaaawwwwoooorrraaaaa sounds of Koran chanting bellowed from the phone,

“A little lower”, he said… I turned it down

“A little higher”, he said… I turned it up

“Too loud”, he said

“Alright, Goldilocks – you let me know when its just right”, he grinned and stopped the requests.

Finally he was pricked and pinned and attached to a drip and within twenty minutes his colour had come back and he was the normal chatterbox he usually is.

Seemed it was a case of food poisoning,

“Serves you right for not eating pork”, I quipped at him, as we finally walked him out of the hospital. He tried to roll his eyes as her curled up in the corner of the back seat of Lilly’s car.

“Well”, I said, “Thanks for the trip…. Know two things… 1) I took a photo of you on your death bed and 2)… I’m going to blog about this!” – he laughed, thinking I was joking!

But hoorah, everyone survived and I’ve clearly determined that my next career move is NOT nursing, nor is it caring.