Often times from friends and family back home, I’m often told how scary the idea of moving abroad can be. And I have to agree: picking up everything and moving halfway across the world in itself sounds daunting. Honestly for me, it was never too frightening of a plan at the start. I always knew I was going to do it, no matter what. But I may have met my scariest situation yet while abroad.
It was the fourth of November and I was sitting at home with an upset tummy. I called off work, feeling guilty that I did until I got sick later on. So I rested, drinking fluids and trying to just let my stomach settle. Later on, my roommate helped me to see a doctor. He spoke English and was going to prescribe me something for my stomach, thinking it was just a flu bug. Just as he was talking to me about the medicine he was going to give me, my ears started to ring. My vision blurred. I’d only experienced that sensation once in my life: when I was about to pass out.
Next thing I know, I’m lying on the doctor’s bed as he’s pinching a nerve in my shoulder and my hand to get me to wake up. They made me drink a concoction of Super Supau and water and waited to take my blood pressure again. And again. And again. Then it was decided I’d have to go to the one place I actually dread most: the hospital.
In America, I grew up under the understanding that the only reason anyone would ever go to a hospital is if something was seriously wrong. Mostly for two reasons: the wait time and the price. Several family members of mine had gone to the hospital for something small like stitches and waited hours and paid hundreds of dollars. Despite my reservations, after passing out at the doctor’s, it was clear that a hospital was needed.
Several routine checks later, I was sitting at a nurse’s station as she attempted to put in an IV. I nearly passed out–again–before they found me a wheelchair and I was pulled out to the waiting area to wait for my EKG test. Honestly, most of the night is a blur, but I remember the important details: the doctor’s checking everything–literally everything–to make sure nothing was wrong, my best friend assisting me till the wee hours of the morning, and the end result.
By the end of a six hour medical trip between two locations, I’d gotten my vitals checked about four or five times, a urine test, an EKG, an echo test, two IV bags, four blood tests, and a little cat nap in a wheelchair in the lobby. All for the total cost of about $33 USD. Now, that was one of the bonuses of the entire experience. The other being my best friend, because I don’t know what I would have done if I was living alone.
What made this entire shenanigan frightening was the fact that I was able to text my family, but nothing could calm their worries because they were a day’s trip away. I always tell people living abroad is one of the biggest and most exciting things you may ever do in this life, because it really tests you, but it also exposes to you what matters most. For me, the only thing I would change about my first and hopefully only hospital trip for along time was the fact that my family wasn’t within reach. Whenever something medical goes wrong, the last thing you want is to be far from those you love.
With that being said, I’d like to tell everyone that I’m in much better health now. The doctors concluded that it was a virus of some sort, and all I needed was some rest, medicine, and lots and lots of rice porridge. So with that being said, I hope this holiday season you all remain healthy and remember to take time to yourself! Your health is your number one priority, no matter what. Don’t forget to take care of yourself and give yourself all that you need to thrive.
