2 Idiots Abroad

After a long bus ride back from the ski resort, we were really looking forward to the prospect of a late night emergency department visit. After ensuring our fellow ski enthusiasts, plus Ivan, were safely tucked away in the comfort of a mid-range love motel named “Big W”, we headed to Kyungpook National University Hospital. We managed to bumble our way through registration despite the obvious language issues and were then ushered into the triage section. Here we encountered a site you would never see in any Aussie hospital: Many young and fresh-faced doctors/ docs-in-training standing around looking bored. It’s likely they developed some blood-lust due purely to the boredom factor. Cue Emma’s mildly-exciting-looking facial lacerations and swelling. Only one problem- “These ‘whities’ probably speak the Engrish – Oh no!” The young docs have a brief discussion before shoving forward an anxious-looking kid in blue scrubs and a white coat.

In admirably decent English he takes an account of what has happened and begins the examination. (Note: Almost all of the docs we encounter can actually speak English but are mortified at the prospect of utilising their years of slavery and study with actual English speakers.) A few examinations, wound dressings, a CAT scan, and a couple x-rays, Brad’s phone has run out of battery power and he has been forced to stop playing Angry Birds. Watching someone squat on their hospital bed and shit into a plastic bowl provided solid entertainment, but it was short. When Em returns he is using her phone to google balding celebrities.



Next, Em got some stitches from the plastic surgeon and his trainee. It was now past midnight and we couldn’t believe there were graveyard shift docs from all specialties still in the building. Then comes the dreaded news: 1) The sniffer is broken, 2) It will not heal itself and requires surgery. The younger plastics guru is kind enough to show Em the x-ray and CAT scan to explain this second point. (NB: Used the CAT scan to quickly assess brain quality- sufficiently grooved surface, large prefrontal cortex, and small ventricles. Brain jackpot!)

Next was some surgery prep stuff- a cardiogram (where the doc looked particularly uncomfortable placing electrodes around Em’s breasts) and a blood test (performed sans gloves just to up the anxiety about Korean surgery hygiene practices). Finally, all that was left was for Em to collect her meds from the pharmacy dispenser window and pee in a cup. After hours on a bus and then hours waiting around in the hospital Em was a little dehydrated and worried that she may not be able to produce the required sample. She discovered that hospital toilets resemble most others in Korea, verging on filthy with an overflowing toilet paper bin. She was disturbed but managed to accomplish her mission and pee. But “Oh shit! Oh no!” the mission was not just to pee, but to pee IN THE CUP! In her distracted mind-state she had forgotten that she was supposed to use the cup! “Fuck! Fuck! Now what?... OK. I will see if there is anything left in the tank. *squeeze* Oh no! Not a drop… No choice but to return with the empty cup…” Em returned to Bradley and explained the situation. Although not overjoyed with the situation, the laughter-induced sharp pains in her newly stitched wound was some consolation. After a few minutes one of the doctors thinks she sat back down with the cup because she didn’t understand to take it to the nurses’ station. Em had to show her empty cup and proclaim “Ob-say-o” (Translation: Without/ not here). He was confused but kindly and returns with a cup of water. It didn’t take long to notice that the water cup was identical to the piss cup except for a little yellow sticky label. Surely paper cups aren’t designed to be so very multipurpose. Fairly safe bet they are used for blood tests and stool samples too. This was a little concerning.

So, at this point the two idiotic foreigners go about collecting and consuming machine-dispensed espresso coffees and large amounts of water. After about 20 minutes success was achieved and the required sample was produced to the internal chant of “The pee goes in the cup. The pee goes IN THE CUP.” This sample probably suggested a seriously unhealthy caffeine addiction in the patient but it would have to do. Finally, we were released.
The next day there was an appointment for more surgery prep stuff. Uneventful, except for navigating the way back to the hospital with one eye swollen completely shut and with the other without contact lenses or glasses (too much swelling). Interestingly, Em was also pooping blood by this stage, but the docs weren’t too alarmed and put it down to impact-related internal bruising. Thank God we didn’t have to go through the “in the cup” routine again. She was fitted with some nose plasters and was sent on her painful, half blind way.

One week later, after enough swelling had subsided, she was back for surgery. Em changed into some very attractive pjs and a mesh shower cap…

…then was placed in a waiting bed and attached to a drip. It was all quite uneventful. She was greeted by her docs, wheeled into the OR, and slipped into an induced snooze.

Em awoke drowning in her own blood but still entirely paralysed by the anaesthetic. Unnerving. Not sure how long it was until something was done, but it was long enough to pass out again after a couple minutes and piss the bed while unconscious. After the initial shock of not being able to breathe subsided, Em was mortified to realise that she was wearing pee-pants! What was going on? Surely remembering to pee in the cup on the second go didn’t mean forgetting normal behaviour is to pee in the toilet bowl? Anyway, it ceased to matter because then the pain set in. The break itself was maybe a 7 on the pain scale, the following days 4-5ish, but this was an instant and enduring TEN. Brad soon arrived bedside and took this pic. Note the ridiculously weak little attempt at the cutesy photo peace sign pose...

The next few hours were a blur for Em, with Brad perfectly acting the part of a supportive and concerned partner. He patted her hand, rarely diverted his attention to playing Angry Birds, hardly let out a giggle when the nurse had to help with changing into clean PJs because of the bedwetting incident, and pretended not to be appalled by the impossibly large wads of blood-soaked gauze stuck in his girlfriend’s face.

When he had to go to ‘work’ the docs decided Em was too sick to release that day as anticipated. Unfortunately, after a few hours the pain meds had entirely worn off but she was still too weak to sit up and hit the nurse button on the back of the bed. Her bed was behind the last curtain and thus there was also no hope a passer-by could see her predicament. It was the most pathetic site one could imagine. Em lay in bed whimpering and gave up wiping away the blood so that it trickled all over her face and smeared across the pillows. Eventually a visitor for the patient next door had a nosy peak into the area, freaked out a little, and fetched the nurse. Ahhhhhhhh the sweet relief of morphine. Thank you kindly nurse-fetcher. The nurse herself was also lovely, wiped away the blood, and attached a very attractive moustache bandage to stem the red flow.

That night and the next day were much the same, except that the nice day nurse was replaced by a hard-arsed old night shift matron. Another minor difference was that instead of being too weak to reach the nurse button late at night, Em pressed it and nobody responded. Predawn hours of pathetic whimpering followed. Thank goodness the faulty emergency response systems and lack of patient-medication planning wasn’t occurring in a place where it could endanger people’s lives.

Desperate to be released from hospital “care” and have access to pain killers (if only some bloody panadol, please!), Em received a visit from the plastic surgeons and was cleared. Brad went downstairs to sort the bill while Em could get dressed to go. Or, as it turned out, she could discover that somebody had rummaged through the closet and stolen her clothing while she was asleep. The kindly English-speaking admin man from downstairs confirmed that unfortunately patient clothing is stolen from time to time. Who would have thought that the only crime in SK is stealing the crappy tracksuit pants that people wear to hospital? Anyway, after staggering to the nurses desk so her IV tube could be removed (yet another oversight), Em had to endure the agony of walking along with the humiliation of leaving in enormous hospital PJs with no elastic left in the waist.
From this point on things greatly improved, and therefore cease to be funny or interesting to the masochists who presumably read this blog. End