Last week Serena asked Wally and I if we wanted to join her and a couple others on a trip to Hainan (an island off the south of China that is known for beautiful beaches and lovely weather). It was to be a perfect interlude between the holidays and our and trip to the Philippines. If only.
Serena et al decided to take a plane to the island, but after hearing the price of transportation we decided to try a cheaper and more adventurous route. On Friday night we headed to Luohu train station to buy tickets for the next day to Guangzhou. From there we would hop on another train to the island; the whole thing would cost about 450RMB (~US$75) and take about 17 hours. Unfortunately we got such a late start that we arrived at Luohu just as the train station was closing. No big deal, we decided to get something to eat and try again tomorrow. Next to the station was a hotel restaurant called the Berlin Cafe that looked nice and not too pricey. As we sat down we were very pleased with our choice: the restaurant was beautiful, the music was great and the food was decent. We took our time eating a combination of Chinese and Western-type food and sipping a monster bottle of cheap Chinese champagne. Despite the chick-fight we witnessed outside the hotel and some issues getting home in a taxi, it was a really lovely evening.
The next morning I woke up sick. I spent some time on the toilet in the morning and a little time hugging it in the afternoon, but by late afternoon I was able to down half a banana and was feeling a little better. I decided that I was going to be miserable all night anyway, so I might as well be miserable on the train and wake up at the beach when I felt better. With that in mind, we hopped on the bus, as planned, at about 6:30pm to go back to Luohu. About half-way into the short trip I was not feeling well and was starting to overheat. Wally asked if I wanted to turn around, and I did, but the driver had just pulled away from a stop so we couldn't get off right away. As we stopped at a light just past that missed stop I knew I was going to be sick. Wally tried to get the guy to let us off at the light, but he wouldn't. Plan B was to find a plastic bag, but it was too late and I threw up all over myself. At this point the driver decided that he better let us off, which was good because I was extremely dizzy and my hearing was muffled. Wally drug me to a bench, where I promptly went from being overheated to having the chills, and he told me he was taking me to the doctor.
Before long I was sitting in the little clinic near his school where the doctor was asking questions about my symptoms. He told me to avoid oily food and fish (a real no-brainer since seafood was the culprit anyway), and then promptly wrote me a prescription for the Chinese cure-all: IV's. I paid my 320RMB (~US$45) and was lead to one of two beds in the clinic. They gave me a shot in my rear and poked my wrist before hooking me up to a massive bottle of liquid with two slightly smaller bottles hanging there for later. I was clearly in this for the long haul.
In the bed next to me was a little boy who was maybe 10 years old. This poor kid was so sick: he was passed out when I first got there but later woke up disoriented and nearly ripped his IV out trying to go to the bathroom. At this point his mom and another young lady came running up and tried to comfort him. He was crying a little and throwing up every 15 minutes or so and looked just so miserable. I tried to read and not see him throw up, but every minute felt like an hour in that uncomfortable bed.
About 3/4 of the way through my IV's my hand started to hurt. I tried to forget about it, figuring the new pain was all in my head, but it was hurting and throbbing more and more. I looked at my hand and saw that where the back of my hand is usually bony and veiny, a big bubble was growing. Oh shit! I had no idea what to do and didn't really know how to get a nurse to come over, so I just sat up and hoped someone would notice me. Luckily the mother of the sick boy saw my expanding hand and called a nurse over who switched the needle to the other hand and semi-gently scolded me for moving around too much (at least that was my interpretation of what she said).
Finally, after 2 hours, I was set free and headed back to Wally's with some medication and multiple reminders from the nurse to "come back tomorrow". I slept great that night and felt much better the next day (though I still couldn't eat anything) and after another round of IV's I was feeling nearly good as new. Around dinner time I said I felt good enough to travel, but we decided that losing that day made the trip not worth it anymore. This turned out to be a very good decision.
At about 9pm (which, coincidentally would have been the time we were boarding the train for the very long ride from Guangzhou to our city in Hainan) Wally started to feel sick. After a rough night, he made a visit to the school nurse and by dinner time we were both finally able to stomach some food.
So, I may have missed out on Hainan and it's beautiful beaches for now, but experiencing Chinese health care firsthand was definitely an experience. Not the most fun experience I've ever had, but an experience none the less.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Friday, December 19, 2008
A Night of Impromptu Karaoke
As strange as it sounds, I'm getting so used to this place that it kind of feels like home. I've settled into a sort-of routine and I have a decent grasp of how to get around (so much so, in fact, that I saw a clearly lost man in Longgang the other day and started to stop to help him before catching myself...I may know my way around, but I still can't speak Chinese well enough to share that information). I have my foreign friends and my teacher friends, and (believe it or not) I'm so used to hearing the constant background noise of a language I can't understand that I find myself agape when I happen to overhear an English conversation!
Yesterday at lunch Maggie mentioned something about a singing competition she is going to take part in. She loves to sing (really though, she sings constantly) but feels that she is out of practice so she said she wanted to work on it before the contest. At the time, I couldn't have known how involved I was going to become in this process.
After school I had to tutor from 5-6. Tutoring jobs are one of the lovely perks of being an English speaker in this country; they are absolutely thrown at you and you get to charge pretty much whatever you want. The girl I tutor is in 4th grade with excellent English, so we just hang out, chat, and draw pictures and I get paid 150RMB (~$25) per hour. She also happens to be the music teacher's daughter. Maggie, of course, knows this, so when I went to meet up with the girl she tagged along to talk to the mom about working on her singing.
After tutoring I shuffled off to dinner and was waved over by Maggie who happened to be just finishing up. As I sat down she said, "I'm going to sing on the 6th floor tonight, would you like to join?". Laughing out loud I said no, which, judging by the look on her face, was the wrong answer. Feeling bad I asked, "what time?", only to find out that this was going to start in about 15 minutes. At this point I figured there was little chance to escape so I reluctantly agreed.
After we finished eating and washed our dishes she asked me if I was going to the office. In a last-ditch attempt to get out of singing I said no. Rallying quickly from my shocking answer she said, "Okay, you go to your dormitory first and then meet me at 6:30" (it was 6:25 at the time). Seeing that I was clearly NOT going to be able to wriggle my way out of this one, I agreed that it made more sense to go to the office since I didn't know where this singing room was.
A few minutes later we were trudging up to the 6th floor of one of the buildings where the maintenance guy let us in. I was shocked at what I saw: a massive KTV room right there in the school building! KTV is what they call the karaoke places in China; you and your friends sit in a room the size of a medium bedroom and sing. It is outfitted with plenty of comfy couch space and a couple tables, and there is an all-you-can-eat bar down the hallway. There are usually some colorful lighting fixtures and, of course, a stage. Fu'an School's KTV room was 6 times as big as a KTV, with all the crazy lights and couches, but no food and only the three of us.
Once we got the stereo working, Maggie informed me that she invited everyone she saw that night but only a few were going to come. Great. The only thing worse than karaoke with your friends is karaoke with just two people. Maggie insisted that I go first, but I insisted she went first since I had yet to see any English songs in the book. We found the page and she left me to peruse it as she sang her first song. Now, this was a pretty big book of songs; there were pages and pages of Chinese songs, a couple pages of Japanese songs, and one single page of English songs that was only 2/3 full. To make matters worse, I only recognized about half of the songs and only liked about 5 of them. Oh well. As we took turns singing a few people came and went, so there were always about 3 of us hanging out. I sang "Tears in Heaven" and a lot of Beatles and we all had a pretty good time for the first hour or so.
By hour 3 I was ready to make like a tree and leave, but Maggie still persisted. She insisted on me choosing songs even though I had fully exhausted any and all songs that I had a chance at being able to sing and had even faked my way through a couple. I finally decided that the only way out of there was to claim exhaustion and hit the road. This excuse always works in China because they believe that rest is an extremely important component of your healthy.
So at 9:30 I finally made it back to my room and I just laughed to think about what a strange and random night it was. I also realized that no matter how used to China I become, there will always be something waiting to surprise me.
Yesterday at lunch Maggie mentioned something about a singing competition she is going to take part in. She loves to sing (really though, she sings constantly) but feels that she is out of practice so she said she wanted to work on it before the contest. At the time, I couldn't have known how involved I was going to become in this process.
After school I had to tutor from 5-6. Tutoring jobs are one of the lovely perks of being an English speaker in this country; they are absolutely thrown at you and you get to charge pretty much whatever you want. The girl I tutor is in 4th grade with excellent English, so we just hang out, chat, and draw pictures and I get paid 150RMB (~$25) per hour. She also happens to be the music teacher's daughter. Maggie, of course, knows this, so when I went to meet up with the girl she tagged along to talk to the mom about working on her singing.
After tutoring I shuffled off to dinner and was waved over by Maggie who happened to be just finishing up. As I sat down she said, "I'm going to sing on the 6th floor tonight, would you like to join?". Laughing out loud I said no, which, judging by the look on her face, was the wrong answer. Feeling bad I asked, "what time?", only to find out that this was going to start in about 15 minutes. At this point I figured there was little chance to escape so I reluctantly agreed.
After we finished eating and washed our dishes she asked me if I was going to the office. In a last-ditch attempt to get out of singing I said no. Rallying quickly from my shocking answer she said, "Okay, you go to your dormitory first and then meet me at 6:30" (it was 6:25 at the time). Seeing that I was clearly NOT going to be able to wriggle my way out of this one, I agreed that it made more sense to go to the office since I didn't know where this singing room was.
A few minutes later we were trudging up to the 6th floor of one of the buildings where the maintenance guy let us in. I was shocked at what I saw: a massive KTV room right there in the school building! KTV is what they call the karaoke places in China; you and your friends sit in a room the size of a medium bedroom and sing. It is outfitted with plenty of comfy couch space and a couple tables, and there is an all-you-can-eat bar down the hallway. There are usually some colorful lighting fixtures and, of course, a stage. Fu'an School's KTV room was 6 times as big as a KTV, with all the crazy lights and couches, but no food and only the three of us.
Once we got the stereo working, Maggie informed me that she invited everyone she saw that night but only a few were going to come. Great. The only thing worse than karaoke with your friends is karaoke with just two people. Maggie insisted that I go first, but I insisted she went first since I had yet to see any English songs in the book. We found the page and she left me to peruse it as she sang her first song. Now, this was a pretty big book of songs; there were pages and pages of Chinese songs, a couple pages of Japanese songs, and one single page of English songs that was only 2/3 full. To make matters worse, I only recognized about half of the songs and only liked about 5 of them. Oh well. As we took turns singing a few people came and went, so there were always about 3 of us hanging out. I sang "Tears in Heaven" and a lot of Beatles and we all had a pretty good time for the first hour or so.
By hour 3 I was ready to make like a tree and leave, but Maggie still persisted. She insisted on me choosing songs even though I had fully exhausted any and all songs that I had a chance at being able to sing and had even faked my way through a couple. I finally decided that the only way out of there was to claim exhaustion and hit the road. This excuse always works in China because they believe that rest is an extremely important component of your healthy.
So at 9:30 I finally made it back to my room and I just laughed to think about what a strange and random night it was. I also realized that no matter how used to China I become, there will always be something waiting to surprise me.
Typical Junior High Behavior (?)
An incomplete list of the things kids have done in my classes:
~ played badminton
~ threw paper airplanes
~ punched a nearby student
~ knitted
~ played with live turtles
~ one kid said he would like to f*** me
~ asked for my signature
~ asked my blood type
~ given me their phone number
~ broke a clock (I was somewhat responsible for this one too though)
~ gotten a finger extremely stuck in a hole in their neighbor's desk
~ discreetly corrected my spelling of "favorite" and "color" (psst! Laoshi, you forgot the 'u'!)
~ played badminton
~ threw paper airplanes
~ punched a nearby student
~ knitted
~ played with live turtles
~ one kid said he would like to f*** me
~ asked for my signature
~ asked my blood type
~ given me their phone number
~ broke a clock (I was somewhat responsible for this one too though)
~ gotten a finger extremely stuck in a hole in their neighbor's desk
~ discreetly corrected my spelling of "favorite" and "color" (psst! Laoshi, you forgot the 'u'!)
Thursday, December 11, 2008
It doesn't matter if you win or lose, it's how you play the game
Every year in Longgang there is a basketball tournament for the teachers. Each school fields a women's team and a men's team to compete - no p.e. teachers allowed though, because they are "professionals". Because I am an American, and a tall one at that, I must be good at basketball, so they asked me to play. I insisted that I am not good at basketball and I don't even really like the sport, but they took this as me being modest and got very excited because they were certain I would carry their team to victory. Thursday I was given two jerseys and a new pair of shoes before being sent out to attended practice. "Practice" was really just about 20 minutes of shooting around followed by full-court 5-on-5 ball. This, of course, exhausted me. As the practice went on the group of students watching grew, and every time my team had the ball there were chants of Wai jiao, wai jiao! ("foreign teacher" 外教), which resulted in the ball being passed to me over and over, making me more and more exhausted. Finally (and mercifully), the practice ended and I was allowed to go pass out in my room. The next day in class, multiple boys called out "lao shi, Kobe!", with the appropriate basketball-shooting hand motions. I guess they think I'm good...silly youngsters. This Monday was game day and I was informed that the bus would be leaving at 5:30pm. Wally was coming to watch and the school was going to pay for a nice post-game dinner for everyone, so it looked to be turning into a nice little evening. However, at lunch Karina (an administrator) informed me that unfortunately I was not allowed to play because I'm paid by the Education Bureau, not the school. Bummer. I still wanted to watch the games though, and I'm so glad I did because they were absolutely ridiculous. In typical female fashion, the women teams made up for their lack of athleticism and talent by beating the shit out of each other, and the men strutted around like they were NBA All-Stars. In typical Chinese fashion, every man who was not currently playing basketball was smoking. I tried to get a picture of a man in a jersey smoking on the bench, but I couldn't get away with it on the sly...trust me though, it happened! Both teams lost that night, and Tuesday too, so we are out of the double-elimination tournament. Maggie told me that it is not important to win, we just have to try our best. I told her that we have a saying that, "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, it's how you play the game"...but only the losers say it. That, she found hilarious.
Thanksgiving
On Thanksgiving night I sat down at my computer with a glass of "Peanuts and Milk" to write about how strange/funny/etc. the day was in China. If you are paying attention you may be wondering why, then, this post is dated December 11th. There is a very simple answer to that question: nothing really happened.
The Sunday before Thanksgiving all of the CTLCers got together for our best approximation of the holiday feast. We had all of the basics like turkey, mashed potatoes, and yams, but there were some strange additions like these Chinese desserts with plastic dolls on top and orange juice. We all really enjoyed being in our big group again to laugh and commiserate about our experiences here. There was even a pick-up football game!
I had to get back to Longgang that night so I could teach the next morning, and the rest of the week proceeded as usual. I had been teaching about Thanksgiving for a week already and I was teaching it for the remainder of that week as well, so when Thursday came it was just like any other day. I taught my classes (all three of them...it was my "long" day) and at about 6pm I headed down to the cafeteria for dinner. As I grabbed my lunch box out of the cabinet it hit me: I'm getting ready to eat dinner in a cafeteria in China by myself on Thanksgiving. A knot started to form in my throat, but I immediately told myself to get over it because I was being ridiculous.
As I sat down with my food, three 9th grade teachers I don't really know asked if they could sit with me. "Of course," I said, motioning for them to have a seat. It turns out that two of them don't really speak English at all and the other one only kind of speaks it, but we were able to sort of chat in broken Chinglish, and it was nice to be eating with people. I finished eating and as I got up to leave I told them I was so happy they sat by me because it was Thanksgiving and I would have been sad to eat alone. I don't know if they understood or not, but I wasn't kidding; I was thankful for that.
After dinner I decided to head across the street to the grocery store to seek out some American-ish food to gorge myself on in the name of the gluttonous holiday. This particular grocery store is pretty poor in terms of selection anyway, and American food is basically non-existent. I bought a small bag of dried fruit, some cookies that looked like those creme-filled vanilla/chocolate sandwich cookies (they weren't very good...kind of like crackers with a drop of icing on them) and a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Feeling moderately satisfied with my selection I headed home.
At my apartment I enjoyed my pseudo-American feast and cracked open my deliciously terribly PBR as I chatted with my family over Skype. As I talked to them and heard the hustle-bustle of everyone (animals included) I finally felt a little homesick.
I was sad because their lives were going on as usual and mine is completely upside-down and inside-out, I was sad because Thanksgiving came and went without much more than a blip here, and I was scared that Christmas will feel the same. However, more powerfully, I was thankful for the experiences I'm having here and I was incredibly thankful that the people I love are safe and sound and still on the other end of a phone line. Looking back, I realize that in some ways it may have been the best Thanksgiving I've ever had because I learned that I don't need to eat certain foods or even see my family to have a good Thanksgiving; all I need is to know that I am blessed in so many ways and to pause for just a moment to give thanks for all that I have...and the PBR was pretty nice too.
The Sunday before Thanksgiving all of the CTLCers got together for our best approximation of the holiday feast. We had all of the basics like turkey, mashed potatoes, and yams, but there were some strange additions like these Chinese desserts with plastic dolls on top and orange juice. We all really enjoyed being in our big group again to laugh and commiserate about our experiences here. There was even a pick-up football game!
I had to get back to Longgang that night so I could teach the next morning, and the rest of the week proceeded as usual. I had been teaching about Thanksgiving for a week already and I was teaching it for the remainder of that week as well, so when Thursday came it was just like any other day. I taught my classes (all three of them...it was my "long" day) and at about 6pm I headed down to the cafeteria for dinner. As I grabbed my lunch box out of the cabinet it hit me: I'm getting ready to eat dinner in a cafeteria in China by myself on Thanksgiving. A knot started to form in my throat, but I immediately told myself to get over it because I was being ridiculous.
As I sat down with my food, three 9th grade teachers I don't really know asked if they could sit with me. "Of course," I said, motioning for them to have a seat. It turns out that two of them don't really speak English at all and the other one only kind of speaks it, but we were able to sort of chat in broken Chinglish, and it was nice to be eating with people. I finished eating and as I got up to leave I told them I was so happy they sat by me because it was Thanksgiving and I would have been sad to eat alone. I don't know if they understood or not, but I wasn't kidding; I was thankful for that.
After dinner I decided to head across the street to the grocery store to seek out some American-ish food to gorge myself on in the name of the gluttonous holiday. This particular grocery store is pretty poor in terms of selection anyway, and American food is basically non-existent. I bought a small bag of dried fruit, some cookies that looked like those creme-filled vanilla/chocolate sandwich cookies (they weren't very good...kind of like crackers with a drop of icing on them) and a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Feeling moderately satisfied with my selection I headed home.
At my apartment I enjoyed my pseudo-American feast and cracked open my deliciously terribly PBR as I chatted with my family over Skype. As I talked to them and heard the hustle-bustle of everyone (animals included) I finally felt a little homesick.
I was sad because their lives were going on as usual and mine is completely upside-down and inside-out, I was sad because Thanksgiving came and went without much more than a blip here, and I was scared that Christmas will feel the same. However, more powerfully, I was thankful for the experiences I'm having here and I was incredibly thankful that the people I love are safe and sound and still on the other end of a phone line. Looking back, I realize that in some ways it may have been the best Thanksgiving I've ever had because I learned that I don't need to eat certain foods or even see my family to have a good Thanksgiving; all I need is to know that I am blessed in so many ways and to pause for just a moment to give thanks for all that I have...and the PBR was pretty nice too.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Chinese Health Care
"Amelia, I'm in the hospital"
This is the first thing my, obviously very drugged, boyfriend said to me on the phone Tuesday. Because of my crappy cell phone and his pain- and drug-induced state of mind, the ensuing conversation was very confusing. All I knew was he tore up his knee, surgery was involved, he was going to to be in the hospital for multiple days, and I was too far away to do anything except worry.
The next day I found out that he had been rushed into emergency surgery on Tuesday night and he was laid up in a hospital near his school for at least a week. I was happy to hear he was doing much better and that I would be able to visit him later that day. That afternoon I skipped Chinese class and headed up to Dongmen where I bought a small plant in a very Chinese-looking pot and took a taxi to his hospital (he's obsessed with house plants, he has 10 or more in his apartment).
As soon as I was out of the taxi and surveyed my surroundings, I realized that finding him in this messy complex was not going to be easy. I knew the building number, floor, and room number I was heading to, but this complex looked as organized as a 5-year-olds Lego project: building 1 was next to building 2 which was next to building 6, and buildings 3-5 were not in plain sight. As a further complication, I could not remember the word for "building" so I couldn't even ask anyone if I had to. Eventually I happened upon a map with big numbers on it and saw that I had to walk through a sketchy-looking construction zone to get to the right place. I should not have been surprised by this because there are always sketchy-looking construction zones, and you always have to walk through the middle of them to get places. Such is life in a developing country.
I got to building 3 and saw the sign for "bone and joint surgery" and knew I was in the right place. As the elevator doors opened on the third floor I was greeted with big cloud of cigarette smoke. Apparently cigarette smoke is not bad for hospital patients in China.
As I entered the "bone and joint surgery" hallway I was greeted by a smiling, waving Chinese man I didn't recognize. I figured he must have seen a white person wandering around and assumed I was looking for the only white patient in the place (this, of course, was the correct assumption).
The room (like the rest of the hospital) felt reminiscent of a US hospital in the 1950's: four simple metal beds in a stark-white room, with patients wearing hospital gowns heavily faded from years of repeated washings. The room was full of people talking and shuffling bags of food and bottles of water, and the patient where laying there looking uncomfortable. Wally explained that the nurses in the hospital don't take care of people the way they do in the States: they administer medicine and run tests, but that's basically it. If patients need to eat, bathe, use a bedpan, or otherwise move around, it is up to family members to help them. This is unfortunate for a foreigner whose closest family members live on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, so a school employee has been appointed as his designated caretaker.
I had been there less than 15 minutes when a doctor walked in wearing a mask and well-worn scrubs, dragging a gurney. After a brief conversation with the caretaker it was clear that some sort of test or procedure was in order. I was assured that they don't bar visitors from any part of the hospital, so I was invited along to wherever it was he was headed.
We shuffled onto the elevator then down a twisting hallway to the radiology area. There we took a number and continued to the next building, up another elevator and into an ECG room. I stayed in the hallway while they pulled a sheet around him so passer-bys wouldn't be scandalized by his very un-Chinese amount of chest hair. After handing me the machine printout, we headed back to radiology where I again stayed in the hall while they x-rayed his chest, because they don't bother to protect anyone from unnecessary radiation.
Now, if you have been paying attention you might be asking yourself "If he tore up his knee, why does he need an ECG and a chest x-ray?" The answer is this: God only knows. He has no idea why they ran these tests, nor why they keep testing his blood sugar like some diabetes patient. His best guess is that it is some combination of curiosity about a foreigner, odd ideas of "health" in China, and a desire to run up the bill.
Eventually we made it back to his crowded room and he was (painfully) pushed back into bed. I stayed as long as I could without risking my ability to make it back to Longgang that night, and the rest of the time was pretty uneventful. Only time will tell how knee surgery recovery will go in China, but he seems to doing pretty well so far!
This is the first thing my, obviously very drugged, boyfriend said to me on the phone Tuesday. Because of my crappy cell phone and his pain- and drug-induced state of mind, the ensuing conversation was very confusing. All I knew was he tore up his knee, surgery was involved, he was going to to be in the hospital for multiple days, and I was too far away to do anything except worry.
The next day I found out that he had been rushed into emergency surgery on Tuesday night and he was laid up in a hospital near his school for at least a week. I was happy to hear he was doing much better and that I would be able to visit him later that day. That afternoon I skipped Chinese class and headed up to Dongmen where I bought a small plant in a very Chinese-looking pot and took a taxi to his hospital (he's obsessed with house plants, he has 10 or more in his apartment).
As soon as I was out of the taxi and surveyed my surroundings, I realized that finding him in this messy complex was not going to be easy. I knew the building number, floor, and room number I was heading to, but this complex looked as organized as a 5-year-olds Lego project: building 1 was next to building 2 which was next to building 6, and buildings 3-5 were not in plain sight. As a further complication, I could not remember the word for "building" so I couldn't even ask anyone if I had to. Eventually I happened upon a map with big numbers on it and saw that I had to walk through a sketchy-looking construction zone to get to the right place. I should not have been surprised by this because there are always sketchy-looking construction zones, and you always have to walk through the middle of them to get places. Such is life in a developing country.
I got to building 3 and saw the sign for "bone and joint surgery" and knew I was in the right place. As the elevator doors opened on the third floor I was greeted with big cloud of cigarette smoke. Apparently cigarette smoke is not bad for hospital patients in China.
As I entered the "bone and joint surgery" hallway I was greeted by a smiling, waving Chinese man I didn't recognize. I figured he must have seen a white person wandering around and assumed I was looking for the only white patient in the place (this, of course, was the correct assumption).
The room (like the rest of the hospital) felt reminiscent of a US hospital in the 1950's: four simple metal beds in a stark-white room, with patients wearing hospital gowns heavily faded from years of repeated washings. The room was full of people talking and shuffling bags of food and bottles of water, and the patient where laying there looking uncomfortable. Wally explained that the nurses in the hospital don't take care of people the way they do in the States: they administer medicine and run tests, but that's basically it. If patients need to eat, bathe, use a bedpan, or otherwise move around, it is up to family members to help them. This is unfortunate for a foreigner whose closest family members live on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, so a school employee has been appointed as his designated caretaker.
I had been there less than 15 minutes when a doctor walked in wearing a mask and well-worn scrubs, dragging a gurney. After a brief conversation with the caretaker it was clear that some sort of test or procedure was in order. I was assured that they don't bar visitors from any part of the hospital, so I was invited along to wherever it was he was headed.
We shuffled onto the elevator then down a twisting hallway to the radiology area. There we took a number and continued to the next building, up another elevator and into an ECG room. I stayed in the hallway while they pulled a sheet around him so passer-bys wouldn't be scandalized by his very un-Chinese amount of chest hair. After handing me the machine printout, we headed back to radiology where I again stayed in the hall while they x-rayed his chest, because they don't bother to protect anyone from unnecessary radiation.
Now, if you have been paying attention you might be asking yourself "If he tore up his knee, why does he need an ECG and a chest x-ray?" The answer is this: God only knows. He has no idea why they ran these tests, nor why they keep testing his blood sugar like some diabetes patient. His best guess is that it is some combination of curiosity about a foreigner, odd ideas of "health" in China, and a desire to run up the bill.
Eventually we made it back to his crowded room and he was (painfully) pushed back into bed. I stayed as long as I could without risking my ability to make it back to Longgang that night, and the rest of the time was pretty uneventful. Only time will tell how knee surgery recovery will go in China, but he seems to doing pretty well so far!
Monday, November 17, 2008
The sports meeting and "Successful Land"
Last Wednesday morning I woke up sick. My throat felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper, my nose was running, and as the day progressed I got shakier and shakier. Somehow, luckily, I ended up not teaching my two lessons that day because the teachers forgot I was supposed to, and after a trip to the school nurse I was armed with some Chinese medicine. The rest of the day I took it easy and made sure to go to bed early because I knew I had a couple of long days in front of me.
The next morning I was feeling a little better, so I put on my new track suit and ridiculous China shoes and headed downstairs bright and early for the opening ceremony of the "sports meeting". As it turns out, a "sports meeting" is basically a school-wide track meet, and because it is in China, there must be a certain level of pomp and circumstance to start it off. Because I am a token figure, rather than and actual teacher, I got to sit next to the principal and other administrators on the stage as the procession went by. First a group of kids in military uniforms marched by with flags, then each class in each grade went by and paused for some chant right in front of all of us. With nine grades and eight classes per grade, you can do the math and guess how long this whole thing took, but it was kind of cool. Some of the younger kids rode by on roller skates or bikes rather than marching, and some of them wiped out pretty bad. I'd love to say it wasn't funny, but it was.
After the opening ceremony was over and all the speeches were made, the events got going. There were races, shot put, archery, high jump, and the littlest kids did relay races and three-legged races in the middle of the track with their parents. I was asked by several people if this is how our sports meetings are in America. They didn't seem all that surprised when I told them we don't have sports meetings in America (I guess our reputation precedes us).
An hour or so later I heard my name (well, their bastardized pronunciation of my name) and someone whisked me away to the shot put area; apparently this is one of the things I signed up for. Everyone seemed very excited for me to be there because they were sure I was going to be very good at it. I, on the other hand, was nervous because I had never thrown a shot put before in my life, I have no idea how to do the spin thing, and I'm still slightly wimpy about my right shoulder. The first woman went, then the second, and I realized that "correct form" in not even remotely important and it was perfectly acceptable to sort of shuffle forward and hurl the ball. Fantastic. When my turn came, a grinning 8th grade boy who was in charge of fetching the shot put after we threw it, handed it to me with a thumbs up and said "Very good!" High praise indeed considering all I had done so far was not drop it on my foot. I shuffled up and threw it...a good two feet past all the other throws. A chorus of "very good!" and "so strong!" with plenty of thumbs-up showed their approval. My next throw went a couple feet past my first and my third went a couple feet past that. When all was said and done, not only had I beat all the other female teachers by over 2m, I had beat the school record by 7cm. Not bad for a rookie!
The next morning I was feeling a little better, so I put on my new track suit and ridiculous China shoes and headed downstairs bright and early for the opening ceremony of the "sports meeting". As it turns out, a "sports meeting" is basically a school-wide track meet, and because it is in China, there must be a certain level of pomp and circumstance to start it off. Because I am a token figure, rather than and actual teacher, I got to sit next to the principal and other administrators on the stage as the procession went by. First a group of kids in military uniforms marched by with flags, then each class in each grade went by and paused for some chant right in front of all of us. With nine grades and eight classes per grade, you can do the math and guess how long this whole thing took, but it was kind of cool. Some of the younger kids rode by on roller skates or bikes rather than marching, and some of them wiped out pretty bad. I'd love to say it wasn't funny, but it was.
After the opening ceremony was over and all the speeches were made, the events got going. There were races, shot put, archery, high jump, and the littlest kids did relay races and three-legged races in the middle of the track with their parents. I was asked by several people if this is how our sports meetings are in America. They didn't seem all that surprised when I told them we don't have sports meetings in America (I guess our reputation precedes us).
An hour or so later I heard my name (well, their bastardized pronunciation of my name) and someone whisked me away to the shot put area; apparently this is one of the things I signed up for. Everyone seemed very excited for me to be there because they were sure I was going to be very good at it. I, on the other hand, was nervous because I had never thrown a shot put before in my life, I have no idea how to do the spin thing, and I'm still slightly wimpy about my right shoulder. The first woman went, then the second, and I realized that "correct form" in not even remotely important and it was perfectly acceptable to sort of shuffle forward and hurl the ball. Fantastic. When my turn came, a grinning 8th grade boy who was in charge of fetching the shot put after we threw it, handed it to me with a thumbs up and said "Very good!" High praise indeed considering all I had done so far was not drop it on my foot. I shuffled up and threw it...a good two feet past all the other throws. A chorus of "very good!" and "so strong!" with plenty of thumbs-up showed their approval. My next throw went a couple feet past my first and my third went a couple feet past that. When all was said and done, not only had I beat all the other female teachers by over 2m, I had beat the school record by 7cm. Not bad for a rookie!
Students hanging out
Me with a couple of 7th graders...why do they look so scared?!?!
China Shoes
I was supposed to run in a 100m race later that day, but I didn't hear my name because I was busy chatting with last years foreign teacher, Michael. He teaches at a different school in Longgang this year and had the afternoon off, so he stopped by to watch. We spent the afternoon chatting about sports day and having our pictures taken by students (sometimes they asked first, sometimes they didn't). At some point they told us that there would be a dinner later and they wanted Michael to come along too. He accepted and at 5:30pm all the teachers and administrators piled into a couple of buses and headed to the restaurant. As we turned into the parking lot we saw a beautiful open-air restaurant, situated in the middle of a garden, partially up a hill. We also heard the first murmurs of gou rou.
Gou rou is one of the things in China that disgusts Americans. The mere thought of it makes most of us shudder and think "how could they?!?" Gou rou (狗肉) is dog meat. I was told that many old Chinese people think that gou rou is very good for your healthy and it is warm for your inside. With hesitant anticipation they asked, "will you try?"
"Yeah, I'll try a little"
We sat down and dinner started to come pretty quickly. Gou rou was the second dish to arrive and it was disgusting. I'm sure that this was partially psychosomatic and partially because the two bites I tried were too fatty, but either way I'm not a fan. Before long the toasting started. Since I was just starting to feel better from my cold, the last thing I wanted to do was drink beer. However, since I had put on such a performance last time we all drank together, and because Michael was there, I felt there was little I could do about it without being rude.
I woke up the next morning with a vague memory of being in the Principal's living room drinking tea and found a drunken text conversation on my phone (and was later told I also had a drunken regular conversation on the phone). I also found that, even though my throat felt better, I was completely unable to speak. Mei guan xi ("never mind" 没关系), I put my track suit back on and headed downstairs for day two of the sports meeting.
All the teachers I saw at the track greeted me with a hearty "Hey! Amelia! How's your throat?" (in some combination of Chinese and/or English) and I found out that I had apparently spoken Chinese all night long in my drunken stupor. Fantastic. I was told many times that I speak it very well and I should use it more, though, so that's a moderately good sign. All the students I saw asked "Who was that guy you were with yesterday?" and seemed very disappointed by the answer of "another foreign teacher"; apparently they were really hoping he was my boyfriend.
The very last event of the sports meeting was the teachers' relay race. Each grade picks 4 women and 2 men to compete in a 4x250 race. I, of course, was included in this race and all the other teachers seemed to think this was unfair...except the lone female p.e. teacher who took it as a personal challenge. Before the race I was told by many teachers that I should run slowly and one teacher even said "may your legs work as well as your voice today"...which I thought was hilarious. They explained to me, no less than 10 times, that one teacher was going to hand me the baton when it was my turn to run, and when I was done I was supposed to hand it to this other teacher. I'm not sure why they were so sure I was going to get this confused, but it was nice that they were keeping me informed.
I was the 5th person on my team to go and by the time I was up we were already behind by a few places. I took off running and all the students lost it. They were yelling and screaming and I was running faster than I had any business running. In the last stretch I felt my weight was getting pitched too far forward, but I was able to right myself. Just as I was back on balance, the teacher running in front of me wiped out; I was so glad it was her and not me! I handed off the baton (nearly taking out the teacher I was handing it to) and a few minutes later the race was over and we got third place. Lots of "good job" and "so fast" all around, and it was back to the stage for the closing ceremony. About 45 minutes of speeches and certificates later, I was up in my room preparing for the weekend.
Closing ceremony
Me, Joy, Maggie, and Michael
Earlier in the day I had been invited to an event taking place that evening and continuing through the next day. It wasn't clear what exactly was going on, all I was told was that it would be relaxing, there might be a boat, it would be a good chance to practice Chinese, and it would be cold. With that description in mind I packed a small bag of things and went down to the gate at 5:30, as instructed.
As I waited for someone to show up and tell me where to go, a well-meaning teacher asked me where I was going. The following conversation went on in a combination of broken Chinese and broken English:
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know, I'm supposed to take a bus."
"But the bus just left!"
"I know, not that bus."
"Okay, where are you going?"
"I don't know where I'm going. No one told me, they told me to wait here."
"But if you tell me where you are going I can help you."
"I don't know where I'm going, but the 7th grade English teacher does."
At this point she either understood or got tired of trying because she just smiled and awkwardly said "Okay, I go now!"
Before long some other teachers showed up and we all piled onto a big bus and headed to the nearby town of Fenggang. We ate a delicious dinner in a nice restaurant (complete with some campy-looking live singers who tried to impress me with their English) and then stowed our stuff in our luxe hotel rooms before heading to the spa. At the spa we relaxed for a couple hours and got foot massages before heading back to the hotel around midnight.
The next morning we tried to sleep in (no easy task for a bunch of teachers who get up at 6 or 7am every single day) and had a late breakfast before heading off to the real reason for this excursion: a meeting. Luckily they took pity on me and let me sit out of the meeting which was, of course, totally in Chinese. The 7th grade English teacher also played hooky to sit outside and chat. We had some really interesting conversations about language and culture, and I was shocked at how good her English is when she gets going!
The meeting lasted about 3 hours, so at about 1pm we headed to the next part of the outing: barbecue. We pulled up to a park, cheerily named "Successful Land" and were carted off to the grill area. Now, Chinese dining is generally a free-for-all, so of course a barbecue is no different. You sit around the pit and everyone cooks stuff and eats it as it finishes. We had vegetables, hot dogs, chicken, pork, yams and more. There was rampant bone-spitting and loud chewing, and it was delicious!
The melee went on for about an hour before we were handed some ticket things and told to "go have fun". We rode paddle boats, shot arrows, played with clay, rode a carousel, did bumper cars, rode a horse, and rode the scariest roller coaster I've ever seen. Now, I'm not really a fan of roller coasters anyway because I'm generally not a fan of being thrown around in the name of fun; and riding a Chinese roller coaster sounds just plain suicidal. This thing looked like it was constructed in 1953 and it's last paint job was probably in 1997. It was small and creaky and the seat belts looked like they were swiped from an old Grand Am. Despite my better judgement I got in and held on and, against all odds, survived the experience.
We finally left Successful Land and Fenggang around dinnertime and I rushed off to downtown Shenzhen to hang out with some friends and listen to a live band. Finally, on Sunday I was able to really rest, relax, and start to recover from my cold and the ridiculous events of the last few days!
As I waited for someone to show up and tell me where to go, a well-meaning teacher asked me where I was going. The following conversation went on in a combination of broken Chinese and broken English:
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know, I'm supposed to take a bus."
"But the bus just left!"
"I know, not that bus."
"Okay, where are you going?"
"I don't know where I'm going. No one told me, they told me to wait here."
"But if you tell me where you are going I can help you."
"I don't know where I'm going, but the 7th grade English teacher does."
At this point she either understood or got tired of trying because she just smiled and awkwardly said "Okay, I go now!"
Before long some other teachers showed up and we all piled onto a big bus and headed to the nearby town of Fenggang. We ate a delicious dinner in a nice restaurant (complete with some campy-looking live singers who tried to impress me with their English) and then stowed our stuff in our luxe hotel rooms before heading to the spa. At the spa we relaxed for a couple hours and got foot massages before heading back to the hotel around midnight.
The next morning we tried to sleep in (no easy task for a bunch of teachers who get up at 6 or 7am every single day) and had a late breakfast before heading off to the real reason for this excursion: a meeting. Luckily they took pity on me and let me sit out of the meeting which was, of course, totally in Chinese. The 7th grade English teacher also played hooky to sit outside and chat. We had some really interesting conversations about language and culture, and I was shocked at how good her English is when she gets going!
The meeting lasted about 3 hours, so at about 1pm we headed to the next part of the outing: barbecue. We pulled up to a park, cheerily named "Successful Land" and were carted off to the grill area. Now, Chinese dining is generally a free-for-all, so of course a barbecue is no different. You sit around the pit and everyone cooks stuff and eats it as it finishes. We had vegetables, hot dogs, chicken, pork, yams and more. There was rampant bone-spitting and loud chewing, and it was delicious!
The melee went on for about an hour before we were handed some ticket things and told to "go have fun". We rode paddle boats, shot arrows, played with clay, rode a carousel, did bumper cars, rode a horse, and rode the scariest roller coaster I've ever seen. Now, I'm not really a fan of roller coasters anyway because I'm generally not a fan of being thrown around in the name of fun; and riding a Chinese roller coaster sounds just plain suicidal. This thing looked like it was constructed in 1953 and it's last paint job was probably in 1997. It was small and creaky and the seat belts looked like they were swiped from an old Grand Am. Despite my better judgement I got in and held on and, against all odds, survived the experience.
We finally left Successful Land and Fenggang around dinnertime and I rushed off to downtown Shenzhen to hang out with some friends and listen to a live band. Finally, on Sunday I was able to really rest, relax, and start to recover from my cold and the ridiculous events of the last few days!
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