To Hospital

Cholesterol, uric acid, glucose -- these are the reasons that I needed to get blood taken, for my annual health form that my program requires me to complete again this year. I went to a private hospital here, was shown to the lab where I thought I had explained what I needed by pointing to the 15 items on the form.  

The receptionist checked off boxes on a receipt filled with the names of a couple hundred tests, looked up the prices of each, and wrote the price next to the ones she had checked. After adding the individual tests' prices, she wrote the total cost on the top of the page, explaining that I needed to go to the cashier (in another part of the hospital), pay the total, come back and then get the tests done. As I'm walking down the hall to the cashier, I start to total the costs of the individual tests to make sure the sum is correct. And I'm a bit surprised when I see she has checked off the test for syphilis. (What?! Do I look like I have syphilis? Because it certainly is not one of the tests I need done.) That can't be right, I think, then start to look at the names of the other tests. I get to 'stool sample' and turn around fast to run back to the lab.

No one here needs my stool, I explain to the receptionist. She looks at me with either an "are you sure?" look or an "I really don't care what you're saying" look. I'm not sure which. What matters though, is that I was adamant: absolutely no one at this hospital is testing my poop.

After clearing up the mix up, paying, and going back to the lab again, a lab technician calls me in where he is ready to take blood. It's rather uneventful, thankfully, although he has a moment of disbelief when in the midst of our conversation I explain that I don't have a television. I represent 'America,' and am now shattering his image of what that stands for. 'Are you really that poor?' he asks because that must be the first reason he can think of to NOT have a television. I wait before answering, and he quickly apologizes, telling me he was just joking. Good, I think, because I really don't want to have this conversation while you're sticking a sharp object in my arm. Conversation topics to avoid: the relative 'poverty' of Americans, the current fuel shortage, the increasing cost of everything due to the fuel shortage, politics, my lack of interest in soccer, how I don't like nsima...the list goes on. Perhaps silence is best in this moment.

The blood is put into two vials, he leaves and says someone else will be in to do the TB test that I need. I'm a bit perplexed when not one but two men walk into the room. Uh-oh, I think, this can't be a simple TB test. That doesn't take two people. What other test did the receptionist check me off for? They assure me it's the right test, so I ask them why there are two of them. They merely laugh. Which gets me even more worried. (Did I mention how much I hate going to hospitals? And double that for hospitals in countries other than the U.S.) I suddenly think that maybe the way they do the test here is so painful that one of them has to hold me down. Yes, I know that such an active imagination is not helpful in these types of situations.

A few seconds later, much to my shock, I learn why there are two of them. The older gentleman is holding up the needle which he has stuck into a vial; he holds both about an inch away from his eyes. He pulls the plunger down to fill the needle with the antibody while he says to the younger guy, "Okay, now I can't see anything, so you have to tell me when I have the right amount."

Huh? Hey you Mr. Blind Guy who is about to stick a sharp object into my arm, did you have to say that in English?! And, excuse me for being a bit rude here but what the hell do you mean you can't see? At this moment, an image from the book Naked in the Temple of Heaven comes to mind, where the narrator and her friend are in a hospital in rural China in the 1980s where they've gone because one is really ill. A hospital worker is about to give the sick woman an injection when her friend realizes there is rust on the needle. At least I know this needle is new and clean, but as a reflex I fold my arms across my chest and ask the guy directly: "What do you mean, you can't see?" He just chuckles and says that it doesn't matter because the needle can go anywhere on my forearm. Uh...not making me feel any better, dude.

I almost scrap the whole idea of getting the test done that day, but I really don't want to have to come back here again. I can't believe how brave (er...okay, stupid) I am as I unfold my arms and lay my right arm out for a blind man with a needle. And, although I can't say that it didn't hurt, it wasn't that bad, really. And since there's no reddening or swelling around the area now, I'd say that I'm TB-free.