Today, Tuesday, I was forced to endure a physical exam.
I asked if I could just have my last exam sent from the states, but apparently that's not okay.
So, I hopped on the subway and made my way to the hospital, accompanied by one of my coworkers, Zach, who also needed to get his physical as per government requirements.
We got to the hospital at around 9:15 and proceeded to queue for the registration line. The woman behind me was definitely unhappy with my ability to keep her from cutting in line, but as you'll see this is a theme of the day.
From registration we proceeded to the second floor for the Physical Exam registration, which took only a minute.
From there we proceeded to the third floor to pay.
This is where all the fun began.
The woman behind me grew more and more agitated that I wouldn't let her in cut me. Here I would like to point out that the person in front of me was a 6'7" American man, with whom I was obviously conversing. Does it seem like we want you to slip between us? Does that make sense to anyone? It took over 30 minutes to proceed through the payment line.
Everything was moving along slowly, but without hiccups until we were informed that Zach has too much money in his account to pay the 120rmb fee.
Yes, you read that correctly.
We're not talking about insufficient funds. The opposite in fact. Apparently it is unheard of, and unacceptable, to have whatever amount he has (the sum 12,000rmb was bandied about at one point) in ones account.
So he was told to proceed to the ATM and re-queue to pay. I saved him by pulling out two crisply minted 100rmb bills from my wallet. But only after ascertaining that they cannot (or will not...) accept my Healthcare Savings Visa, simply because it is foreign. Apparently Visa isn't everywhere you want to be. Or was that Mastercard's slogan?
During our time finagling with the payments the woman behind me became more and more agitated, and actually tried to shove her papers through the window before I could. Now, my previous experience in Asia served me well, because lemme tell you I wasn't having it. Not at all. I saw that move coming and swung my large purse into the hand holding her papers at the same moment that I pushed my papers, and payment, through the window. It was a pretty skillful move, if I do say so myself.
All the while, our agent was holding places for us in the blood draw line.
Here, I must warn away the faint of heart. I am about to discuss, in detail, the ordeal that was having blood drawn. If this will in any way make you squirm, or turn away in disgust I suggest that you skip directly to the following paragraph. In fact, I'll color the offending section in purple, just so you know when it is safe to read again.
The blood draw, at least at this particular hospital, is not a room. It is on the first floor, near the entrance, and it is three windows. You line up for the window of your choice. When it is your turn you hand them your paperwork and stick your arm through the window, on a little pillow. They tourniquet your arm, tap for the vein, sterilize with that orange stuff we call Monkey Blood, stick a butterfly needle in that sucker and fill up the requisite number of vials. Or at least that's what happens when all goes well, as it did for Zach. He says that he's difficult to stick, but they did it on the first try.
This lifted my spirits. I thought, if it usually takes two or three tries for him, maybe they'll be able to cut down on my normal four or five tries.
False hope my friends, false hope.
I handed over my paperwork and stuck my left arm through. Tourniquet applied, vein tapped for... tapped again... rubbed... tapped for, and finally the butterfly needle inserted. To no avail. Then she did the worst thing they can ever, ever do. She moved the needle around. IN MY ARM. I hate that. I hate it so, so much. In fact, I hate it so much that it is the ENTIRE reason that my children will be born outside of a traditional hospital. (Shh, don't tell this to Bopa. I'm aware of his views as an OBGYN, and I will confront them when it is necessary.) So, she moved the needle. And pulled it out. And reinserted it. And wiggled it some more. All the while I was breathing into my sleeve like it was a paper bag. No go on the left arm. So I rather begrudgingly thrust my right arm in and we repeated the entire process. Except this time some blood came out. It trickled so slowly that it resembled nothing more than a slow IV drip. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she pulled the needle out of my arm, and I was free to proceed to the X-Ray.
All unpleasantness is over... mostly.
The X-ray area, on the second floor, is a series of rooms with computer screens in the antechambers, and large x-ray taking apparatus in the inner sanctum. Once inside, one is bid to remove all jewelry and and brassieres that may have metal underwires. As all the best ones do, you know. Then, you press up against this thing, and they say "Okay". And that's pretty much it. Except that while you're behind the curtain, putting whatever you took off, back on, they let the next person into the room. Which is weird. I'm all for efficiency, but I'd like to get my earrings back on before the next person comes in, please. And yes, earrings were the least of my worries.
From x-rays we traversed the halls to the "gynecological exam". Which wasn't a gynecological exam so much as a man (I assume he was a doctor, but honestly I have no idea) pressing on my stomach and saying "Hurts?".
Zach, however, was not so lucky. His exam apparently involved a swab like object being inserted into his urethra. He is scarred for life. Or so he says.
It does seem rather unpleasant, and I'm not really sure what they're testing for that wouldn't show up on blood work.
After the pressing, and the scarring, the last thing to do was get our blood pressure taken. Mine was lovely, as it always is. A glorious 115/60. Again, Zach was not so lucky. He had to take his twice because it was too high the first time. Even the second time was pretty up there, but the read out on the machine pleased the nurse, and so she checked the box, and we were free to go.
And go we did. Straight to a delicious Middle Eastern restaurant where I had a shwarma wrap, hummus, and lemon tea. Mmmm hummus.
From there we went to Jenny Lou's.
Jenny Lou's is the foreign grocery store, and it's a dream.
Cereal, cheese, meats, cake mixes, pasta, refried beans, tortillas, chips, dips, ice cream... you name it, they've got it.
Well, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration.
But they have Dr. Pepper. Mind you, it's over $1 per can. But it's there.
I didn't buy anything. I kept my hands firmly in my pockets the entire time.
I'm going to wait until payday, and then splurge for some of the things we've been missing most.
Like really great cereals for Super Husband.
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