I have been feeling under the weather lately (ok, for the past month!), so I finally found my courage and made an appointment with a doctor here in Korea. Amazingly, and most helpfully, they have a "foreigner's clinic" attached to the new Medi Park "Women & Baby's" Hospital.
Since I arrived and began processing my health insurance, I have heard stories of Korean health care. "Don't be nervous," and "Don't be fooled by appearances...it really is good care," have been a couple of the more common comments. Korean health care is a social program, but benefits apparently run out sometime in old age, as one's children are expected to take care of their parents and include them on health care plans. As in all of Korea, health care, therefore, is marketed and designed for the young.
I should have known my experience would be different when I made the appointment.First, I spoke with "Wendy", a nurse, who told me to call her on the phone whenever I came to the hospital, instead of checking in. "I will take care of you that day," she said, so I actually thought I was talking directly to my doctor. And second, my appointment was on Saturday. Awesome.
The hospital itself is pink, reminiscent of terracotta homes I've seen in South Florida. I walked into what reminded me of an island airport terminal, sans palm fronds - a brightly lit indoor area, bustling with families and pregnant women, with coffee bar to the left, travel agency to the right, and ads everywhere for health products and therapies. The information desk staffed by matching girls in their flight-attendant-esque uniforms sitting behind computers did nothing to assure me that this was, indeed, a hospital. I called Wendy, she came out in red polo shirt and denim skirt, and again, I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. She led me upstairs - a glass, see-through staircase that made me feel I was in the Michigan Avenue Banana Republic - where I was led to a red leather chair and a glass table to complete some basic paperwork.
The diagnostic interview is a little different when using a translator. She directed the interview between me and the head nurse, and it was a little disconcerting for her to focus on things that I didn't necessarily want to focus on.
Since it was a Women's hospital, and despite my symptoms, I had to take a pregnancy test first, as if that were the a) answer to everything and/or b) the gateway to everything else. They sent me off with a dixie cup (quite literally) and off I went. Carried it back with a paper towel over it, because that just seemed the right thing to do, and deposited it onto the front desk, where I was directed, to another uniformed twin who instantly dipsticked it. Nothing like instant results.
I won't bore you with the details of the rest of my rooms, doctors, and such, but let's just say that whatever you need, if it's a bloodtest, an x-ray, ultrasound, what have you, they whisk you off to whatever room it's in and get it all done right away. And, it being Korea, the needles are really tiny, so they don't hurt at all! All terribly efficient and fast: 45 minutes from the minute I arrived, I was headed out the door.
Will await blood test results in one week, and hopefully they can give me the reason for my persistent fatigue. And, as full of good blogging material this was, I hope to not have to visit Medi Park again soon:)
Since I arrived and began processing my health insurance, I have heard stories of Korean health care. "Don't be nervous," and "Don't be fooled by appearances...it really is good care," have been a couple of the more common comments. Korean health care is a social program, but benefits apparently run out sometime in old age, as one's children are expected to take care of their parents and include them on health care plans. As in all of Korea, health care, therefore, is marketed and designed for the young.
I should have known my experience would be different when I made the appointment.First, I spoke with "Wendy", a nurse, who told me to call her on the phone whenever I came to the hospital, instead of checking in. "I will take care of you that day," she said, so I actually thought I was talking directly to my doctor. And second, my appointment was on Saturday. Awesome.
The hospital itself is pink, reminiscent of terracotta homes I've seen in South Florida. I walked into what reminded me of an island airport terminal, sans palm fronds - a brightly lit indoor area, bustling with families and pregnant women, with coffee bar to the left, travel agency to the right, and ads everywhere for health products and therapies. The information desk staffed by matching girls in their flight-attendant-esque uniforms sitting behind computers did nothing to assure me that this was, indeed, a hospital. I called Wendy, she came out in red polo shirt and denim skirt, and again, I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. She led me upstairs - a glass, see-through staircase that made me feel I was in the Michigan Avenue Banana Republic - where I was led to a red leather chair and a glass table to complete some basic paperwork.
The diagnostic interview is a little different when using a translator. She directed the interview between me and the head nurse, and it was a little disconcerting for her to focus on things that I didn't necessarily want to focus on.
Since it was a Women's hospital, and despite my symptoms, I had to take a pregnancy test first, as if that were the a) answer to everything and/or b) the gateway to everything else. They sent me off with a dixie cup (quite literally) and off I went. Carried it back with a paper towel over it, because that just seemed the right thing to do, and deposited it onto the front desk, where I was directed, to another uniformed twin who instantly dipsticked it. Nothing like instant results.
 |
| the cup |
Will await blood test results in one week, and hopefully they can give me the reason for my persistent fatigue. And, as full of good blogging material this was, I hope to not have to visit Medi Park again soon:)
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