Finally, one of our caring staff members demanded I go to the doctor. I had plans to go to the campus clinic, but my good friend Ryan (one of our excellent staff members) warned me otherwise. He recounted a brief personal story that persuaded me: one of his friends fell off his bed and hurt his side. He went to the campus clinic, and the good doctor told him all was fine. A few days later, his side and back hurt him even worse, so he went to the hospital downtown. After a quick x-ray, they discovered one of his kidneys was badly damaged and he needed surgery… So, needless to say, Ryan has little faith in the campus clinic. Sure, it’s only one example, but it was enough for me.Off I went to the hospital one early Saturday morning. One of my assistants, Cindy, met me at the campus front gate, and we hopped into a little “gypsy cab” for downtown. (We don’t get too many official cabs out by the new campus, so we take these little unregistered local cabs into town. The Chinese assistants bargain a good rate before hand and off we go.) We met up with Ryan at the downtown campus and made our way to the bus stop. Yep, more construction on that particular road, so I was choking on fumes and construction dust, waiting for the bus. (Apparently, many roads downtown are continually being “repaired.” Actually, the local government officials have special arrangements with certain construction companies who seem to make lots of money building, tearing up, and repairing the roads…)
Two jammed bus rides later, and we reached the hospital designated for general practice and internal medicine. Passport in hand, I registered at the front desk (you need your passport for everything here, from exchanging money, to buying cell phones, to visiting the hospital). From there, we went upstairs to another counter to set up a medical file. From there, we went to another wing to find an available doctor. There was a long corridor with several rooms, and in each room were two-three doctors with a crowd of people inside the rooms and waiting in the hall. We wrestled our way through the crowds—like fighting for a cab on a busy street—and finally got an available doctor. I described my symptoms, with my assistants translating, and the doctor ordered a chest x-ray. We then went to another floor and registered at the radiology 
department. I got a big envelope and waited a short time at another door. The x-ray technicians took my envelope and zapped my chest with some x-rays. I was then told to come back in a few hours to pick up my films.So, off we went to have some lunch. We walked around for a bit and found a really neat little restaurant specializing in “home cooking.” Basically, the dishes were traditional Chinese country style food. We ordered different dishes: chicken, tofu, a unique vegetable, and beef. Wow, was that yummy.
After lunch, we headed back to the hospital. The
films were ready, and I took them back to the same doctor. (In China, patients handle their own test results and their medical records.) After pushing through a smaller crowd, I handed him the films. He looked at them and asked if I had asthma. I explained I did as a child. He told me I basically had some infection in my lungs, and prescribed some antibiotics and Rubitussin. We went down to the pharmacy, purchased my drugs, and then headed out for some fun.I wanted to buy an electric guitar (you can get some nice “knock-off” guitars really cheap), and Ryan had a store in mind. This time, we took a cab—I wasn’t in the mood for more bus rides. The shop was an interesting little joint with young Chinese playing old Beatles tunes and sad Chinese love songs on acoustics out front. The owner took me into a glass room in the the back with an old Fender, plugged me into a little practice amp, and I jammed for a bit. A few songs later, and I looked up, and there was a small crowd of Chinese folks staring at me through the glass doors. I asked the owner to play a bit, and he busted out some rockin’ riffs and a few metal solos.
Very cool. We had fun, but he really didn’t have what I was looking for, so we bid farewell and went off for some dinner.Ryan asked if I had ever had “hot pot.” “Nope, what’s that?” I inquired. “Ok, ok, good, you’ll see, you’ll see.” He took us to this restaurant that was crowded, really loud, and steamy. Each table had a stainless steel pot divided in half. On one side was a red broth and on the other was a yellow broth. A gas burner underneath heated the broths to boiling. Then we ordered tons of raw food: thinly sliced beef, sliced lamb, chunks of pig stomach (tastes like squid, b
ut a bit chewier), duck’s blood (yep, you read that correctly—it’s congealed and looks like red tofu and tastes a little like liver flavored tofu), fish balls (like meat balls made with fish), different kinds of mushrooms, various types of green leafy vegetables, and tofu. With your chopsticks, you take a food item and dip it into the boiling broth. The red broth is SUPER spicy (basically a pepper broth), and the yellow broth is mild (like basic chicken broth). When it’s cooked through, you take it out and eat it. Wow, that was delicious and fun. You spend hours eating, talking, laughing, drinking, and eating some more. It was a wonderful way to end a most adventurous day of healing. The doctor healed my body, and the new friendships I made that day healed the soul.
