A haphazard chronicle of my inevitable misadventures during a year in Vietnam and points east.

p.s. I'll be pitifully grateful if you send me email during my exile: TravelerKaty@hotmail.com

October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 February 2006 March 2006 May 2006

 
PART 3: Could I Get Some Pain Medication Over Here?

As I entered the hospital I realized for the first time that I had had an escort during my drive. Amazingly, The Armwrecker had followed my cab to the hospital, with his girlfriend sitting behind him clutching whatever mangled motorbike parts had fallen off during the accident. I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth -- his presence was a serious godsend. Nobody in that hospital spoke English.

The setup in this emergency room is clearly designed for large numbers of casualties. As you walk in from outside there is a medium sized waiting room with plastic chairs around the perimeter half full of the usual ER Saturday evening casualties. I ignored this room, as I was not in the mood to wait, given that I had blood dripping through my gauze at this point. Also, it's terrible to say, but I knew I could get away with it -- in situations like this, being a bloody pale-faced foreign accident victim really does shoot you to the front of the line.

The next room was where all the action was. It was big and bright, with high ceilings and cement floors, clean but run-down. Along one wall there were a series of desks manned by nurses or attendants, and the room featured several rows of narrow white-sheeted beds. No blankets -- Saigon is still hotter than hell. It was apparently a slow evening -- only about a quarter of the beds were occupied. Around the outside of the room were doors leading to mysterious rooms and offices. One of these rooms featured periodic moans and screams -- I hoped that wasn't my next stop, but since all the door labels were in Vietnamese, I had no idea.

The Armwrecker, his girlfriend, a nurse and a doctor (see what good service surprise foreigners get in Vietnamese hospitals?) swiftly guided me to a bed in the dead center of the huge room. Though they may not have intended it, this made it possible for everyone in the room to clearly watch my progress with fascinated curiousity while they weren't bemoaning their own wounds or those of their loved ones. Personally I didn't care where they put me. I was just glad that the sheets looked clean and was ready to begin my ongoing and lengthy campaign to get pain medication.

This is how my initial conversation with The Armwrecker went, as he attempted to fill out the hospital registration forms for me:

The Armwrecker: What is your name?
Me: Kathlyn Warren. Could I get some pain medication?
The Armwrecker: Address?
Me: 15B/27 Le Thanh Ton. Does the doctor have any pills I can take, do you think?
The Armwrecker: Telephone?
Me: Here's my card. Have you asked about the pain pills yet?

And so on.

After a cursory clean-up of my chin wound (though I was still absolutely covered with blood -- fortunately I was wearing a deep red shirt that night) and a few more direct attempts with the doctor and nurse to get some pain medication, I was wheeled off to the x-ray department.

Well, I was going to finish this today, but it's too long and it's too nice a day. Tune in tomorrow for PART 4: Your Mother Was Right -- Always Wear Clean Underwear.

© 2003 Katy Warren



posted by Katy at 7:43 PM