Doctor's Office, Take Three

When I woke up this past Saturday with a slight sore throat, I immediately blamed my director, who had taken us out for dinner and endless bottles of Soju on Friday night. When the sore throat blossomed to include a fever and the inability to swallow much beyond water, I was perplexed. This was the third time in as many months that I had these symptoms – and I have already been through two different doctors who had both given me the Korean shot in the ass (of what, I have no idea), an IV (again: no idea) and a bagful of colorful pills to choke down for the next week. The problem was with each doctor’s visit, I could never really articulate my symptoms much beyond pointing at my throat and grimacing. Conversely, I never had any idea the names of the fistful of pills they were directing me to take three times a day. While I’m enjoying that the health care is virtually free, my Korean class has not delved into enough medical vocab to keep up with my frequent flier status at the local clinics and so I have little to no idea what I’m subjecting my body to.

So, on Monday I found myself once again walking around my neighborhood looking for a doctor. I didn’t want to go back to the first guy, who my students later informed me was a gastrointestinal specialist – which would explain the framed illustrations of colonoscopies that adorned his walls. The second doctor I visited at 3 a.m. in the “emergency room” of the closest hospital – not because it was truly an emergency, but simply because I couldn’t sleep and figured someone there would speak English. Right? Wrong. Turns out, it was a good thing it wasn’t a life-or-death situation; after entering a space that truly lived up to the “room” part of its title, I had to wake up the doctor who was snoring loudly on three chairs pushed together, who basically prescribed the shot in my ass while still asleep.

I’d like to say that after a solid month of Korean class twice a week, I was finally able to converse with my new doctor. However the first month has focused on the alphabet, the two (two!) numbering systems, and memorizing mostly nouns for vocabulary. When were we starting verbs? Monday. Where was I during Monday’s class? Stumbling around my neighborhood, trying to read the neon building signs and figuring out which floors looked like doctor’s offices. A general rule: any building with a pharmacy on the ground floor usually also houses a doctor’s office, medical clinic or a dentist's office. Which I walked into before abruptly turning around after seeing the familiar earpieces.

Settling on a fourth floor “internal medicine clinic” in a building not far from my house, I shared the elevator ride up with a newborn, her parents and a friendly old man attached to an IV who, judging by the Dunkin’ Donuts cup in his hand, had just run out for his morning cup of coffee. Why let a little thing like an IV get in the way of that?

The clinic was nicer than where my previous attempts at health had taken me – dark, hardwood floors led to a waiting room lined with plants and fountains. I wondered if this was some kind of private clinic and if I would be forced to return to the Colonoscopy Wizard after they rejected my health insurance. But, after flashing my card and performing my usual throat-point-and-grimace routine, I was told to take a seat and the doctor would be right out.

Five minutes later, after watching the old man wheel his IV from room to room, chatting with everyone in the place and sipping his coffee, the doctor came out and excitedly introduced himself, proudly showing off his near fluent English. Ushering me into his office, he immediately demanded to know where I was from.

    Doctor: Canada? England?
    Me: The U.S.
    Doctor: Oh good! I love America. I’m going to America. Maybe I’ll see you in America!

For the next ten minutes, he told me about how he studies English every day so eventually he can move his family to America, preferably the West coast, and continue to study medicine, preferably at Stanford, and his wife, who is very beautiful and is a nurse, not at this clinic but at the hospital down the street – have you been to the hospital? – is going to also study when they get to America and after they both have jobs then they are going to have kids, preferably two, and did I know anyone in California? Is it very warm all the time? Do you even need a coat?

I’m constantly amazed that after almost eight years of Bush dragging our name through the mud on a near daily basis there is any goodwill for us left in the world. But this man could not have been more excited that I held an American passport, and nearly passed out when I told him that my school employed four more teachers from the Land of the Free. He immediately grabbed his business card, scribbled down his cell phone number and insisted that I call him so we can all go out for drinks one night (“I buy, don’t worry”) and talk more about everything American.

He sure did.

Only after I agreed that we would indeed hang out did he get around to asking me what was wrong. Finally relieved that I could do more than point and grimace, I told him how my throat has basically been hurting for the last three weeks, and how I’d been to two previous doctors who had given me shots and IVs and pills but I don’t think they understood when I told them it wasn’t a common cold and I needed antibiotics. Nodding knowingly, he had me open my mouth wide and say, “I love Americaaaaaaaaa.” Just kidding. But he might as well have.

Confirming that I had been walking around with tonsillitis for god knows how long, he promptly ordered a shot in the ass (I seriously think they’re addicted to it) and another round of pills. I tried to get him to tell me what the pills were, but his English only got us as far as “they will help you feel better.” Well, I hope so.

Sharing the elevator down with the old man, who now had his coat on and looked like he was going to take his IV for a spin around the block, I stopped at the pharmacy where they quickly filled my prescription and threw in a bag of deer antler juice for good measure. (The total cost for both doctor and meds? Six dollars.) I still have no idea what I’m taking, but at least now I know the doctor is invested in me getting better, if only so he can have an American drinking buddy.