Inside a Chinese Hospital
It is kind of national passion to complain about the health care system in Poland. Why, for the most ardent of the most ardent complainers I have bad news indeed – there is much more to whine about in China.
I was unlucky enough to come over Chinese medical facilities (hospitals, clinics, whatever, it’s all yiyuan) several times. Twice – to see the doctor for short visits to the doctor – once to accompany a friend suffering from aphtha, once to treat my own cold. Once again I came with another friend of mine to support her during an IV, and finally - a few days ago – with yet another friend in search of an orthopedic surgeon who would set her broken finger.
Long story short, Marta has done something to her finger, something unpleasant and painful and to find out what this “something” truly was, she set on a strenuous journey to an on-campus hospital. They ordered her to get X-rays done and so it turned out that her finger was broken. Yet, there was no orthopaedic ward on spot (even though there were several huge playgrounds, a track, large sports hall and a gym all on the campus), therefore, they sent her to the Haidian Yiyuan, the biggest hospital in our district. After wandering around the corridors for a while, trying to get a hospital card, looking for a registration point, looking for stairs, looking for the right floor, looking for the right stairs , looking for the right ward, and looking for the right office, we finally found the right doctor who, with kindest smile on his face said “we need a surgery! Now!” and immediately called the surgeon.
As Marta’s face got paler and paler in fear of both her finger and her wallet, the called-upon surgeon decided against the surgery (thank goodness) but then admitted “I am not competent enough. You should go to another hospital”.
So we did. We went to the Jishuitang hospital that has this peculiar Poland-1970s-commmunist-sanatory vibe to it where we had to get a card (again), register (again), pay (again) and finally head down the stairs.
To the basement. Literally.
Or rather it was a large cellar hall, with a row of metal cabinets, a stone floor, an a'la garage exit and a tiny little room filled with doctors and nurses. The ER, although hygienically much closer to a slaughterhouse – dirty sink, leftovers all over the the floor, scattered equipment, table covered with stains. The doctors took a look at the photo, looked at the finger, and then ordered her to get out, sit in the corridor and wait. 5 minutes later, a doctor/nurse/at-this-point-whatever in a dirty coat emerged from his little burrow , and then - in this corridor - he started setting the leg of a young patient – OK, done - started bandaging the other patient's hand – OK, done - Marta and I looked at it completely astonished, amazed and astounded. Finally, the doctor came to her, looked at her finger, prepared a stiffening and sent her home, carelessly saying "please come back next week, if something goes wrong - it's surgery!” It wasn’t surgery – thank God. But – if someone really hates Polish health care system, I strongly suggest them getting sick in China. Be my guest.
