It's not a true abroad experience without a trip to the doctors, am I right? In Australia I came down with pneumonia only two weeks after being there. It was terrifying, and that was in a first world country with native English speakers. I even got cheered up by my doctor who attended NYU as we joked about New York together. But in Cambodia, it's a whole other story.
At first I didn't want to go. Who wants to go to the doctor anyway? Especially in Cambodia! Then again, this could be something worse than my personal diagnosis from Mayo Clinic.
Thankfully I know the Khmer word for name so I was able to write that down when handed a pen and paper upon my arrival. Then the nurse wrote 19 on the paper and it took me a few minutes to figure out she wanted to know the year I was born. She ended up weighing me, measuring me, and probably thinking I was quite dumb as to not know my own weight and height. Actually, I do know my weight and height, but I don't know the metric system so I lied.
Soon I was trying to explain to the doctor what is wrong with me. That is very hard when I do not speak Khmer and he does not speak English. I don't think he picked up on my attempt at charades either. The next thing I know, I was laying on a bed with the male doctor so hesitant to touch my stomach and feel for pain, four people are looking over me, I have no idea what anyone is saying, and I just began to laugh. This probably didn't help the doctor trying to feel my stomach, but I couldn't help myself.
Thankfully a man came in the room and asked if I spoke English and my eyes lit up. Through this translator I learned the doctor wanted a blood test and an x-ray. I don't know too much about medical issues but I knew I did not need an x-ray. Turns out, by x-ray he meant ultrasound. Now I really knew I did not need an ultrasound. They were probably thinking this white girl comes in with stomach pains so she must be pregnant.
We stepped outside in order to reach the ultrasound room and passed a man sitting on an old plastic chair. His shirt was unbuttoned showing his full gut, and he was playing a game on his phone. That man was the ultrasound technician. Now here I am with blue goo all over my stomach, watching my insides on the screen above numerous photos of babies, trying to explain that I am not pregnant in my best Khmer to a man that didn't even button his shirt for this procedure. "Atay baby! Atay baby!" meaning "No baby! No baby!" was not very convincing for him. If that wasn't bad enough, I also ended up doing a urine sample in an outhouse with no soap to wash my hands afterward. But worst of all was my blood test.
I went into the room and saw an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball placed in a pair of tongs. This man was not wearing any gloves. I repeat, he was not wearing any gloves. There weren't even gloves for him if he wanted to wear them! He ignored the tongs, took the cotton ball with his fingers, wiped my arm, squeezed the excess liquid out, and continued to wipe my arm. Did he think this is sanitary? Still glove-less he took the needle and injected it into my vein. I just stared at the floor because I could not bare to look at what was actually happening.
Sixty seven dollars later my stomach was sticky with ultrasound goop, my arm was bleeding, and I now had 118 pills prescribed to take. I was told there is bacteria in my stomach, but don't we all have bacteria in our stomachs? I went home and googled all my meds and it turns out they are to kill parasites. Awesome. Nothing like a real Cambodia experience without having a parasite living inside you!
I also cannot tell my family this news or else they would either die of shock, try to come here to be with me, or try to get me to come home. Writing a blog post about it probably isn't the smartest idea, but this could also be a test to see if they actually read this. Now excuse me while I go take my afternoon dose of pills and try kill this thing once and for all.