Medical appointment after medical appointment... I can tell you that one place that I don't favor in China is the local hospital. But before I share my story, know that this entry is not about a bash on the system here. It's a different way of payment. A different way of healthcare. A different way of governing. More than anything, it has made me grateful for the system and parameters we do have in place in America. My story, below, is a cry out for the people that have to walk the local process without a choice.
Our little guy has been going through serial casting since Jan, to assist in the range of motion in his knee. For me that means taking him to a local children's hospital every week to have one cast removed, and another put on. The process isn't so simple though.
It's first meeting a blessed ayi from his baby's home who chaperones me through the process, thankfully. Together we are barging through lines and lines of native families who are holding their children cradled in their arms, first standing patiently enough to pay the bill before the visit, and then waiting hours upon hours (sometimes days) to see a doctor. In the meantime, they are sitting on less than clean floors, feeding out of thermos containers. Once we are called up over the loud speaker, we make our way through the waiting room, and hand our sweet, frightened baby over to the individual covered in a mask and gown. They are sure we don't pass the yellow tape on the floor and the door is slammed behind them. I return to my seat, searching on my phone, overhearing the mumbled conversation which I cannot understand, and I feel the stares as I'm the only non-Chinese individual in the place.
The time passes so slowly and I anticipate him being released back to me. Sure enough, I hear his Chinese name shouted across the people, and the caring ayi and I run to the door to grab him. His clothes are half assembled and green plaster remains all over his body and clothing. He's bawling from the fear and abruptness that has just occurred, and I notice that his leg has been adjusted to a different angle for the casting this week. I wonder how much pain he is in, so I cradle him tightly and tell him it's ok. The stares continue, as they all realize I'm holding a Chinese baby.
My precious side-kick of an ayi helps to clean him up, apply a new diaper, and prepare the bottle that without-a-doubt always calms him. And then we take a deep breath and know that we thankfully have another 7 days before we have to go through this again.
I engaged in this process independently for 9 weeks before my mother arrived for a visit and I then encouraged her to witness my weekly challenge. I attempted to verbally prep her for this, but I don't know that I ever could truly describe the detail of the environment. As she followed me through the doors and hallways that day in March, we waited first for the cast removal. I remember the little boy laying so stiff and scared, listening to the saw switch to on, and the vibration rattle his body. Arms up over his head, he didn't cry - just stared at the ceiling. We left that room, and our sweet ayi rushed us down a different hall than I'd routinely taken. We were shuffled through a crammed line of people and into a small "L" shaped room where two doctors sat. They spoke limited English, but were familiar with Iowa, when they asked where we were from. Amazingly, I felt a connection.
That doctor reviewed the sweet baby's right leg, and then looked up at me and smiled. We were done with the casting for a while.
My mom, who had literally just met this boy days before, had tears of joy. So many prayers were answered. No longer did he need to be given a sponge bath, no longer did he have to squirm through the weekly process, no longer would he go without a touch or feeling to this limb. And no longer did I have to witness the poor logistic behind the healthcare here.
We took him home that day and he was a different boy. He was free!
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