Chinese Medical

After settling into my new job (code for working my butt off within 15 minutes of getting off the plane) my employer duly informs me that in order to obtain my foreign expert certificate and so remain in Beijing longer than 30 days, I need to undergo a full Chinese medical. They take pains to ensure me that the process is very basic and should only take a few minutes, so if I could make arrangements with the visa officer-cum-translator-cum-guide that would be great.

Obviously, I don’t have any problem with this new request, after all, anything that means I can stay in Beijing longer that 30 days is a good thing, right?

What my employer failed to mention was that quite possibly the hardest part of the medical would be finding the hospital! The visa officer was gracious enough to agree to meet me at a nearby subway station to escort me to the hospital, however, she failed to mention that the particular subway station in question may have more than one ‘exit B’! After spending nearly 20 minutes playing the ‘how can you be at exit B, if I’m at exit B and you’re not here’ game, we eventually met up and made our way to the aforementioned medical facility.

At the hospital things seemed pretty easy, I filled out all the forms, and started making my way around the various rooms. You see in China, going for a medical is like the gym. You stand around waiting for the particular doctor to be free to do the individual examinations. Heaven forbid a Doctor should branch out a take both your height and check your vision at the same time! Chaos would reign.

I was making good progress moving from room to room. Weight was ok, height was ok. My vision raised some questions (not because I’m blind but because the sight board is in some sort of bizarre characters! How do you say in Chinese; ‘I can see it I just don't know what it’s called’?) The chest x-ray was ok; they made me wear a pair of very trendy lead underpants, only. Apparently cancer in the balls is bad, but cancer of the head is no problem! The blood test was my usual; disappearing veins. The Chinese nurses must get trained in the Sydney blood bank, 'if you miss the vein, don’t panic just move the needle around in the patients arm until the blood appears.’ Ouch!

Then I come to the final, dreaded, internal examination. Now, at the time I had no idea what that meant, but the only thought going through my mind was; looks like I’m taking one for the team here (if you're picking up what I’m putting down).So I enter the room and all is well, the Doctor says;

“Ni hao”
“Ni hao” I respond hesitantly, wondering what the Chinese for, ‘take off your pants and bend over is’, and hoping he doesn't say it.

He motions for me to lift up my shirt. He looks at my stomach, nods all official like, and prods me several times hard in the stomach. I'm thinking, is that the internal examination, or is he just stretching his fingers, so as not to injure his tendons when I bend over. Then the dreaded signal, turn around, he motions something about my belt, oh no, this is it, the moment of truth... Then he says in shockingly bad English for a Doctor;

'America?'
“No, no” I say, “Australia.” But he doesn’t seem to comprehend.
“bu, bu” I exclaim, “Aodaliya, Aodaliya” panic has well and truly set in at this point.

I don't mind baring my arse to this guy, he is a doctor after all, I don't even mind if he wants to stick his fingers up my arse, HE IS A DOCTOR, right? but if he has to do it, I don't want him thinking I’m American, and so doing it angry. Nooooo, I want him to be happy and relaxed. RELAXED! I’m almost screaming now, “Aodaliya, Aodaliya”, and desperately searching for my translator, (you see the Chinese idea of privacy is having a medical exam in a small room with the door wide open and 20 foreigners and Chinese staring at you). Finally, the doctor (well the dude in the white coat, clearly implying he is a doctor, but by now I’m not convinced) says with a big smile;

“Ahhhh, Aodaliya... no problem, finish finish”

For the first time during the 5 minute exchange I relax my sphincter, stand up and almost run out. I found out later he was looking for surgery scars and had no intention of inserting a digit in my date. Thank god! It seems that according to Chinese doctors all Americans are fat, unhealthy beasts that are always moments from death, and so more than likely will be covered in surgery scars; a somewhat harsh judgment in my opinion.

Anyway, the moral of the story, and there is always a lesson to be learned, is;

1) Always make your nationality known. If you happened to be an American (not that there’s anything wrong with that!), say you're Canadian; and,

2) Just relax and take a deep breath, it will only take a moment.