If you’ve read at least ten of my posts concerning my experiences in China, you should know that 1) crazy things happened and 2) nothing was, well, easy. My first trip to a Chinese hospital was no exception. It is probably the most insane, embarrassing experience I had during my year and three days in China and quite possibly my life. With that said, I want to let you know that what you are about to read is extremely personal. If you don’t want learn about my experience in the gynecology section of the Shenyang hospital that I visited one fair day in March, I suggest you exit your browser now and come back in a few days when I have written about another memorable experience. However, if you decide to read on, and some part of your soul wants to learn what it is like to be a woman in China when her womanhood goes wack, I promise I’ve tried to take as much of the graphic grossness out as possible. One last warning, if you are still reading this – this story is personal, it’s a tad bit icky, and it will probably make you go EWWWW.

If you are still with me, thanks. Now on with the story.

I actually thought I had written about this long before, but when I searched through all of my old posts, the only thing I came across was the mention of my visit, but none of the details. Knowing I had written my experience down somewhere, I finally found it in my email. I had written home about it, but I had never made it public. Thankfully, the day that I sent the email was the same as the day I went to the hospital. Therefore, everything you are about to read is very accurate. I’ve gone through it though and added or taken somethings out because it was written during the time that my English had gone to super crap, but not too much.

Before we jump into the email I sent my parents though, I should go a little into the back story. It’s half of the reason I had to go to the hospital in Shenyang in the first place. Grr.

While we were being held against our will in Beijing, I somehow managed to get a yeast infection. I wasn’t all that worried at the time. I had had one in Fuyang, too, but with the help of one of my fellow teachers, I was able to get some cheap medicine down at the local OTC(Over The Counter – Pharmacy). Within a few days, I was back to normal and all was well with the world again. I meant to save the package just in case I had ever had another one, but when we moved, I lost it somewhere. Well, anyway, in Beijing, I discovered that I had another yeast infection. I went to the school there and asked Mandy, one of the school aides, if she could help me get some medicine. I showed her the word in my dictionary, but she didn’t quiet understand what was wrong with me. Finally, after some research on the internet, she thought she figured out what to tell the pharmacists and off we went. I would have just used the medicine that my mother had sent me some months back, but I had sent it on to Shenyang with all the rest of our stuff.

We walked into the OTC and Mandy started talking to the pharmacist for me. The pharmacists asked Mandy some questions and then Mandy translated for me. I tried to answer them for her the best that I could so she could correctly tell the pharmacists what my symptoms were. I think the pharmacists got the gist of what was wrong with me. She ended up giving me these strange blackish herbal things that had a horrible smell. I was instructed to put them where they hurt. I was sad that they didn’t give me the same medicine I had gotten in Fuyang, and a little scared that these smelly round things were going somewhere I’d rather not send them. I didn’t have much of a choice though, so I took them and prayed for the best.

Three days later, we arrived in Shenyang. The medicine the woman had given had done absolutely nothing except possibly make me worse. I could barely walk. There are just not words to describe how it felt . . . down there. After I got all of my suitcases and boxes unpacked, I was able to use the medicine my mother had sent me, but I was so far gone at that point that it didn’t much matter. It was time to ask for some professional help. And that is how I ended up at the Shenyang hospital.

March 12th, 2007 – An email to my parents.

Well, I just got back from the hospital. My yeast infection was driving me mad, and even though I took the medicine mom sent me, I thought that it was a good idea to go and get checked out. I feel better than I did this morning, but I think that I will take the new medicine I got to make sure that it goes away. This has been the worst yeast infection I’ve ever had. I mean, it’s painful just walking around. I’ve never had a yeast infection make me feel like I’ve gone horseback riding for eight days straight.

Hrm . . . where do I start? Well, I guess the first thing is that Chinese hospitals are very unlike western hospitals. I wouldn’t say it was clean, at least in comparison to the hospitals I’ve been to back home. All the paint on the walls was peeling and the floor was discolored and brown. It didn’t even have the typical hospital disinfected smell. I’m sure you know what I mean. I think that it had something to do with the bathrooms, but who knows. There was just so much to take in as we walked around. You’d really have to visit one yourself to know what I mean, although, I wouldn’t recommend it. I had to go though and I’m glad I did, but man, it was an experience for sure. Since there was no way I’d be able to get there and explain to a doctor what was wrong with me, I had Alice, one of the two teacher aides, take me. Phil tagged along for support.

It took Alice a while to find the gynecology section of the hospital, but after asking a few people she got it all worked out. Once we got to the right department, she registered me, but since she didn’t know all of my information, she wrote down a made up birthday, a name and her phone number. I don’t know why she just didn’t ask me. I would have told her. We then went into an office where they asked me what was wrong. The doctor asked Alice questions in Chinese and then Alice asked me the same questions in English. I gave her answers in English and then she gave my answers to the doctor in Chinese. This went back and forth for a while until they knew all of my symptoms. They wrote them all down in a little blue booklet and handed it back to me. (I’ve still got it somewhere. If I find it, I’ll take pictures and post them for you). It was hard for Alice to translate everything, but she did a good job with the limited English that she knew. I understood most of what she was saying. Then we had to wait for a bit. We got called back to the room for more questions, and then we had to wait again. Alice kept disappearing as we waited, apparently paying for services as we went or before we had them done. I’m not sure which, I just know she kept coming back with receipts. The only thing I figured out was that I wasn’t going to be able to leave the hospital until my debt was paid. China in general is very disorganized, so I wasn’t all too surprised to find the hospital acting in the same fashion. It was all sorta frustrating. I just wanted someone to make me better, and quick. Some time later we were called back into the room. And this is where it gets strange.

The room that we had been going in this entire time didn’t have a door. All it had was a door frame and a sheet to act as a door. On the other side of the drape, there was a desk where two doctor-looking people sat. They were constantly taking forms from people, filling them out and typing something into the computers before them. To the left of them was a half wall with an opening into what appeared to be an examining room, but it didn’t have a door or a sheet.

When it was my turn to be inspected, Alice motioned for me to enter the room. Before me was the ever wonderful examining table that I’ve learned to file under the adjectives invasive and uncomfortable. I heard the doctor say something to Alice, but didn’t understand. I looked to Alice for guidance, even though I was pretty sure what was about to happen.

“She wants you to take off your pants and underwear,” Alice said handing me a blue paper-like blanket. “And put this over you.” Hey, at least they gave me a blanket.

I was pretty familiar with this part of the act. I’d done it before, but usually there was no one else in the room. I looked at the doctor and Alice for a second, thinking that they would disappear so that I could disrobe in private, but the two of them stood there staring at me, waiting. I took it as a clue, and off came my clothes. Neither one looked the other way. Eh, I thought, I’m never going to see these people again, well, except for Alice, that is. I just met this woman yesterday, so you can imagine the embarrassing moment I was going through. I seriously doubt this was in her job description. I jumped up onto the table and assumed the position.

My table didn’t look anything like this one,but it served its purpose just the same.

The doctor snapped on her gloves and didn’t waste a minute. She tapped the stirrups(the foot rests – see picture above) and I obliged. Alice is still standing there, staring at me, taking in all their is to see. I guess after an experience like this, I can say that we have bonded in the strangest of ways. Down below the blue paper-like blanket the doctors face went and almost immediately her face popped back up. The face of total disgust she gave me almost made me laugh and also made me worry – dear God, what is wrong with me?!!

The doctor started speaking to Alice, probably telling her that this was the nastiest white woman she’s ever seen, but I guess I’ll never know. After a short conversation, Alice looked to me and started translating, probably leaving out all the dirty things the doctor just told her about me. Although, if she did, he face never showed it. All of the questions she asked me were pretty normal. Does it hurt? How long have it been hurting? And a few other rather embarrassing questions I am sure you’d rather not read about. But it wasn’t until she started referring to the “land down under” as the “Secret Passage” that I just about lost it. By lost it, I mean laugh. Eternally, I was rolling, but it was really hard to keep a straight face. I don’t know if she was trying to be polite or if she just didn’t know the real English word for it. For those curious, vagina in Chinese is ??, or yi-n bù, just in case you ever need to know.

Who knows, it could be on Jeopardy one day when I am rich and famous. Answer: During her year and three day stint in China, author Gabrielle Cook went to a Chinese hospital to make sure this certain part or her body wasn’t about to die. Question: What is a yi-n bù?

Anyway . . . all the while, there are 2 or 3 Chinese woman peering around the wall at me. Maybe they had never seen a white woman before or perhaps they were just very concerned. I probably should have been mortified, but I think I took it all very well, considering.

This is pretty much exactly what it looked like, including the nosy peeps staring around the corner as though I was the first magical unicorn they had ever set eyes on. Yes, I just referred to myself as a magical unicorn. I’m that special!

The doctor took a sample and then I got up and put my pants on. The 2 or 3 nosy peeps’ eyes had not wavered from the corner of the wall. They wanted to catch the thrilling finale of this five star movie. We had to wait on the results for like an hour and a half. Finally, we got the medicine I had been dying to get all day – all 4 different types of them – diflucan(which was a shock – I never thought I would have found that medicine in China of all places), some more monistat like things, some other monistat like things, and then some wash. If this doesn’t cure me, I don’t know what will. And that was my experience of a Chinese hospital. Not as bad as I thought, but then again, this was the best one in Shenyang. All in all everything cost me 267 RMB – about 34 bucks. That includes exam, test, and medicine. If only it was that cheap in America.

End of Email

And now that I have written a freaking novel . . .

I will try and ransack my memory banks for some more interesting stories, but I’m not sure any of them will be as crazy as the one you just read. Hopefully, I didn’t gross you out too much. Just remember, I did try to warn you! 🙂

Well, not really, but I can now say that my face graces a website, a few million brochures, a hand full of billboards, and even a few posters. The best part is that none of them are porn related at all!

These pictures are a bit old, but they were a part of a post I started and never finished while I was in China. I thought you guys might get a laugh out of them. In Xiamen, we couldn’t go far without seeing our face somewhere. I kept waiting for a stalker to appear, but the only thing that came close was a random taxi driver that knew exactly where we lived without saying a word.  It totally freaked me out.

If you want to see the website, you can click here.  There is an English version, but the last time I checked, there wasn’t any riveting reading or anything.

A picture of the article that was in the newspaper the day after our pot luck dinner. I made Beanie Weenies, and everyone seemed to enjoy them. One attendee even asked for the recipe, so that she could try making it herself.  I’m in that crowd of people somewhere.  Can you see me?  Oh, instead of taking their food back to a table, all the students and their friends stood around the table the entire time.  It was rather comical, really.

These are two of the brochures that the school would hand out to prospective students.
The small yellow one advertised summer school courses.
The bigger blue one advertised all of the courses offered at the school.

The school purchased several bus stop billboard spaces and slapped our pretty faces on them.  Sometimes we’d be standing there and one of the local people would look at the billboard and then us and then back to the billboard.  They then would point and smile and sometimes laugh.

Same bus stop billboard, but without Phil or myself standing in front of it.

“Don’t ask a question if you already know the answer.”

Ah, I have heard that statement many of times, but yet I don’t follow it.

Today in class we were going over an exercise that was talking about Japanese food. I thought hey, what the heck, while on the subject I’ll ask how they feel about Japan. Other students have asked me if I liked Japan, Korea(they never mentioned north or south) and what I thought about 9/11. I mean, if they can ask – why can’t I? So, I did.

“Do you guys like Japan.”

Usually, I have to explain myself, but this time they understood completely.

“NO! I hate Japan!” Emma said ecstatically. She really said it in bold italics, too.

Although I half expected it, I was taken aback just a little. Maybe it had to do with the bold italics thing. “Ok, Monica, what about you? Do you like Japan?”

“NO! I hate Japan too!”

At this point in the conversation I thought, well, I’ve already taken the plunge, I might as well take a swim while I’m at it.

“Why?” Ah, as a teacher you have to love this question.

“Because . . . because . . . a long time ago,” Emma started, but her tongue couldn’t spit out what she wanted to say in English. I could see the emotion behind her eyes and could all most hear the Chinese version of what she wanted to say bouncing in between her ears. “Because,” she said, lifting up her hands. She balled one into a fist and left the other one flat and open. I knew what was coming. It was pretty obvious. How else is one supposed to express hate and war without being able to verbalize it? And then it happened. She started pummeling her open hand with her fist. “Because,” she said, “Because.”

They were both quiet for a minute. They were frustrated that they couldn’t tell me why exactly, but I told them that that was OK and that I understood.

“Do you like Japan?” Emma asked.

Well, I don’t believe in lying so I told them the truth. “Yes.” Both of their eyes squinted together and their lips got very tight. If you know what look I’m talking about, which I’m sure some of you do, then you should be able to picture that image rather well. It was the look of mixed anger and disappointment, that I, their teacher, could in any way shape or form like their supposed enemy. It only lasted a second though.

It was as though they thought they had made me angry or something. I’m not sure what their logic was, but after giving me that horrid look, Emma perked up with a big smile on her face and said, “We like America. America is good.”

She gave me the thumbs up to demonstrate how good good was.

You are sitting in a blue plastic chair at a desk in a room that you know all too well. On your desk is a pencil with .5 mm lead. It’s the kind you hate because it breaks too easily if you press down too hard. Written on the blue plastic neck of the pencil in black ink is your least favorite number in the world. Two. Specifically, #2.

The room is quiet, except for the steady ticking of the clock positioned on the wall behind you. Every now and again there is a nervous roll of a pencil across a desk from someone sitting behind you. You’d roll your pencil too, but you don’t want to draw any attention from the woman standing behind the podium at the front of the room. It doesn’t even seem like she’s even paying attention, but you know that it’s all an act. Her eyes are trained to see anything and everything that might be deemed suspicious. Years of practice have taught you to remain still and quiet.

The woman, if you haven’t guessed yet, is your teacher and today is test day.

You’ve known about it for a week now and you studied for it, but your anxiety is still running a little high. Tests, well, they just make you squirm. And you’ve heard rumors about this test. A friend of a friend of a friend who knew this one person who dated this one person who took this test a few years back said that it completely made him self destruct. With rumors like that floating around, you have all the right to be just a tad bit nervous. It can’t be that hard, right? It’s just an English exam after all. What is there to be afraid of?

As the clock behind you flips to 9:30 am, the woman behind the desk lays the test face down on your desk. She’s gives you that look that says, “If you cheat, I will personally eat your soul.” You nod in understanding and flip it over.

Before you is the test that you’ve been losing sleep over all weekend.
The test is only one page. One line. One question.

The question is . . .

Why?

“You have until the end of class to finish your test. Good luck.”

*****
Humor me and answer that question for me.

I gave this question as a extra credit to my students on their test today, and they really did self destruct. They had no idea how to answer it.

And finally, a random picture from my collection. This picture comes from the selection I stole from Tim when we met up in Hong Kong.

So, the other day in class, I was telling my students about the party that the school is going to have on May 26th for no other reason than to spend money and to take pictures of students having fun. The school wants to use these pictures to show future students how much fun they can have if they join the program. Hey, I don’t mind the publicity stunt so much. There will be cake, fruit, drinks and a variety of other yummy dishes there as well. It’s a pot luck party. The only reason I’m coming though is for the cake. Heh.

I brought in the invitations, hoping that they(as in the invitations) would speak for themselves, but apparently I over-estimated them(as in my students). Even though their English has improved in the last few weeks and the invitations were written in the simplest English possible – they had a difficult time grasping what it was the little pieces of paper I handed them was telling them to do. Thankfully, one of the four finally got what I was trying to say and translated for me to the others.

“Oh, party,” the three others chimed in like little birds.

I thought it was probably best to then go over the invitations to make sure that they actually knew what they were responsible for and when they were to show up. That took another 10 minutes. 🙂

When I got to the line that said – “All staff, students, and their partners are allowed to attend.” – they all sorta looked at me funny.

“Partner?” They asked. “What does that mean?”

“You know, boyfriend, girlfriend, husband . . .”

“Oh,” Lisa, the brightest of the group said, “Boyfriend.” She pointed across the room. “She has a boyfriend.” She then translated what she said in Chinese and all the rest of the students were clued in.

“Monica, you have a boyfriend?” I asked.

Quiet Monica just nodded her head.

“Are you going to bring him to the party with you?”

Monica shook her head and quietly said, “No. He’s in Wenzhou.”

“Oh, ok. That’s alright. How long have you been dating.”

There was a long pause, as though she had to think about it. Or maybe she was counting in English in her head. ” Six months.”

“Ok, well, what about you, Yuti, do you have a boyfriend?”

Yuti’s eyes got really big for a second and then said almost hysterically, “Who? Me? No. I’m a good girl!”

Somehow, everyone understood that and laughter followed.

I guess that makes Monica a super bad girl then for having a boyfriend for six whole months.

Never a day goes by that one of my students says something that makes me laugh.

The other day, I had my students write five questions about themselves on the board. I wanted three of the sentences to be true and two of them to be false. When they misunderstood me and wrote five true sentences instead, I wasn’t surprised.

Most of the sentences were normal. They wrote about things that they liked to do, how they got to school everyday, and the other normal information you can drag out of a person who’s language is not your own. And then it was Monica’s turn, the quiet girl from way up north, and I mean way north. I don’t know when, but her parents decided to move from a city near the Russian/China border all the way down to Xiamen at some point in her 20 some years of life. Apparently, it hasn’t been that long since she left because she misses it enough to say the following:

I not good friends in Xiamen.
My good friends at hometown.

Yeah, I know what you are thinking, that’s sad, and I am not talking about how she wrote it.

In front of everyone she decided to tell the rest of the class, which was me and Emma at the time, that she doesn’t have any good friends in Xiamen. All of her good friends are back in her hometown – where ever that may be.

It made me think of me and how alike the two of us are. All of my good friends are 7,000 miles away from me, and even though I can talk to them through email and Skype – not being able to see them and hang out is something completely different. I’ve made friends here in China, but they can’t replace the ones that took half a lifetime to build.

If only Monica knew that she wasn’t alone.

I not good friends in Xiamen too.
My good friends at hometown too.

The following is a conversation that happened in my Part-Time Advance class this past Sunday morning. I was going over a questionaire in their book and having them discuss their answers.

“So, Jeff, if a foreigner took your picture, would you be A) flattered B) annoyed C) amused D) or none of the above?”

“I would be annoyed.”

Laughter in the classroom. “Why would you be annoyed?”

“Because that is the only word I know.”

More laughter in the room.

Several minutes later . . .

“Alright, number 5, Jeff. If you were walking down the beach with your girlfriend, would you A) hold her hand B) walk arm in arm C) walk close but not touch or D) none of the above?”

“My answer is D – none of the above.”

“OK, Jeff, why?

“Because I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Even more laughter in the classroom.

Funny stuff.

THE HORROR, THE HORROR!!!!

Run for your lives! Save yourself!

Oh, dear GOD! What is that?!

That’s a tough question really, but if you use your imagination, I’m sure you can think of something creative. My idea was that they were all foreign teachers that just found out they were living and working illegally in China. In all the confusion and mass hysteria of trying to leave the country, they were rounded up by the Chinese Alien Control Cowboy and were being thrown one by one into a pot of boiling water to be made into Laowai Tea. Hmm, sounds tasty, huh? Laowai is Chinese for foreigner or outsider, by the way, if you didn’t know.

Well, on a more serious note, that crazy poster I am posing next to was one of the posters that the former Shenyang WECL English School had hanging in the hallway. Former you say? Yep. Former. When we left to go to Beijing to get our health exam, Shenyang WECL was alive and kicking and trying desperately to find us some students to teach. A week later we returned to find every piece of paper, sign, and poster(including the poster up top) that was related to the school stripped off the wall and thrown into the storage room to collect dust. Apparently, in our absence, they decided that Shenyang WECL English School wasn’t doing so hot and that they should pursue other interests until they could get their act together. What did they decide to do? Well, they thought turning the 8th floor of the high rise we were teaching on into a floor of cozy apartments. No joke. The plans for how they would look were lined up on the wall by the front door. And to make things more interesting, when I went into the room where our office had been, all of the desks, including all the other furniture they had brought in were missing.

“Umm,” I said to Chris, our friend and assistant, “Where did our stuff go?”

“Oh, they moved it into the other room. Your desk is mine now.”

And sure enough it was, along with the computers they had let us use.

“When did they decide to scrap WECL and build apartments Chris?”

“About two days after you left.”

Wow. I knew things in China were changing quickly, but that’s unbelievable! They didn’t even wait until we moved out to switch shop. Another crazy thing was the all of the staff for the school was still there. They just were no longer concerned with who we were and what we were doing there. Apparently, they were now working with whomever decided to reconstruct the 8th floor into apartments. When their job title changed, so did their responsibility. Thankfully, Chris was there to help us get everything situated for our move to Xiamen. He was a great guy, and I’m sad that we weren’t able to stay in Shenyang and get to know him more. I miss him.

Ah, a home.

Things that make us super happy.

1. Xiamen is beautiful.
2. The weather is great. (Feels like I am back home.)
3. Our apartment is wonderful. It is probably the best one we have had since coming to China.
4. The school is clean, new, and only a hop jump and a skip away from our front door.
5. The staff is very welcoming and kind.
6. We actually have students to teach, even if there are only 4 or so.
7. Did I mention that Xiamen is beautiful?

I think we are really going to like this place, at least right up until the typhoon comes and washes us away. Heh. : )

I’ve got tons of things to post, and I will get them up soon. Promise. I just have work to do now. Imagine that. It’s been awhile since I’ve been a teacher. I haven’t worked since January 15th or so. It’s going to take time getting used to the whole “I am a teacher” bit again, but I do know that I will enjoy this much better than Fuyang’s Yong Xing Middle School. That is for damn sure.

All was not wasted at Yongxing. Most of my students didn’t give a lick about English and could have cared even less that I traveled 7000 some odd miles to come teach them, but there were at least 2 students that made my teaching worth all the pain and agony I had to endure these last 4 months. Let me give you a prime example. Below you will find an email that one my students sent me a few days ago. Grey is a very bright and wonderful girl and will be going on to High School next year. She was one of the few students that would stay after class to talk to me, and would ask me to help her with her English. The email just about made it cry. The one thing it made me remember though, is that teaching is about the one or two people that reach and care and all the rest don’t matter. Read on and see what I mean. I won’t be posting in the next few days because we will be traveling, but I will try to post about our travels soon as well as some pictures.

Miss Cook,
When you told me that you may leave Fuyang,I really feel frustrated.This term I have joined many competitions and English speech.But do you know,when I was in primary school,my English was very poor,my English teachers didn’t like me, it made me sad.When I was in junior six, I attended
a foreign language school entrance examination,because of my poor English, I was failed in that exam.From then on ,I made up my mind to learn English well.
Time flies,now I am in junior three,sometimes I thought maybe I wouldn’t practise English more ,because of the arduous task of learning,but I didn’t.
Since you came to our school,you regards me as your friends,you tell me a lot about English and English culture,I think you are not only are good teacher,but also a good friends.Thank you ,Miss Cook.
Perhaps we will not meet in the future,but I will still remember the wonderful time we spent together,I wish you to have nice days,wonderful weeks,purple years and a successful life.
Best wishes from Grey

Makes you smile doesn’t it? Emails like this make teaching worth while. I’ll have to print it out and frame it and read it when things get tough up north. It will make me remember what teaching is all about when I start to forget again.