I heard banging on my door at 11 pm Wednesday night, and found Cynthia bent over in pain. I called Laum and he arranged for Jon-Rob, the bus driver, to take us to town. We went to a private clinic where Bop and So-poo-et met us and acted as translators. While I watched a caterpillar inch its way across the floor and tried not to look at the dead roach, Cynthia explained her stomach pains, and they took her blood pressure. After about ten minutes, the nurses announced that there were no doctors there.
We headed to the Japanese Friendship Hospital in Mongkol Borei. This five building structure was a gift to Cambodia in 2007. When the dedication was held, Prime Minister Hun Sen declared that the hospital was very important, but reminded the people to take care of their health and do not rely on the hospital, doctors, or modern equipment.
That shouldn't be hard, considering I only saw three doctors in the entire place, and all the equipment was circa 1940. Cynthia was escorted to the "X-ray Room." The. As in the only one. I know because the door was labeled. It was right next to the "Ultra-Sound Room." After the doctor propped her up against this x-ray machine and left the room, I suggested that she remove the key hanging around her neck. The doctor took the x-ray while the three of us girls stood five feet away. He returned and removed a large sheet from the machine and held it in the air, so we could all see the varying shades of gray that were Cynthia's guts. I have only witnessed this sort of thing in old t.v. shows. The doctor determined she had an ulcer.
We all trotted into the "O.R." where the nurse gave her two shots in her butt. Meanwhile, random people wandered in and out to observe the show. The doctor didn't speak much English, but he reassured me that she would be fine because he had treated another white person earlier that day. There was no need to convince me of their expertise. I could see the poster on the O.R. wall demonstrating how doctors should properly wash their hands.
They loaded Cynthia on a creaky metal gurney (think M.A.S.H.), and we went into a large room in an adjoining building. An odor hit me as we entered. It was the smell of sickness. The room contained least 18 beds, all filled with sick or injured people. Their relatives slept on the floor beside them on mats. That is until we woke up the whole building. With the fluorescent lights ablaze and poor Cynthia moaning, nobody was sleeping anymore. Now, they were all staring at the white woman.
We stood around for a half hour for an unexplained reason. The patients' relatives began to mill about and tend to chores like emptying bed pans and fanning loved ones. Although it was a pleasant night out, the room was hot, and the ceiling fans just swirled around the fetid air. The beds didn't have sheets; instead, the patients slept on woven mats. Bags surrounded the beds with personal items like clothing, water, and shampoo. I alternated my time between staring at the piles of dirty food bowls in the hallway, and trying to locate soap next to any of the sinks.
An interesting game of musical beds began when the doctor told a male patient to get off his bed. He moved his stuff to another area and slept on a mat on the floor. Then, he wanted to switch the bed with an elderly man on the end. Everybody pitched in to help because clearly the one nurse couldn't handle it all. Finally, there was a free bed on the end - for the white woman, of course. Bop and So-poo-et left to get a mat and pillow for Cynthia while I stayed behind. The nurse brought me a plastic toddler's chair to sit on, and some man offered us his puke bucket (or at least that's what I think it was.)
I left shortly after that. Several teachers visited Cynthia today, and report that she's feeling better. She is expected to return tomorrow.
We headed to the Japanese Friendship Hospital in Mongkol Borei. This five building structure was a gift to Cambodia in 2007. When the dedication was held, Prime Minister Hun Sen declared that the hospital was very important, but reminded the people to take care of their health and do not rely on the hospital, doctors, or modern equipment.
That shouldn't be hard, considering I only saw three doctors in the entire place, and all the equipment was circa 1940. Cynthia was escorted to the "X-ray Room." The. As in the only one. I know because the door was labeled. It was right next to the "Ultra-Sound Room." After the doctor propped her up against this x-ray machine and left the room, I suggested that she remove the key hanging around her neck. The doctor took the x-ray while the three of us girls stood five feet away. He returned and removed a large sheet from the machine and held it in the air, so we could all see the varying shades of gray that were Cynthia's guts. I have only witnessed this sort of thing in old t.v. shows. The doctor determined she had an ulcer.
We all trotted into the "O.R." where the nurse gave her two shots in her butt. Meanwhile, random people wandered in and out to observe the show. The doctor didn't speak much English, but he reassured me that she would be fine because he had treated another white person earlier that day. There was no need to convince me of their expertise. I could see the poster on the O.R. wall demonstrating how doctors should properly wash their hands.
They loaded Cynthia on a creaky metal gurney (think M.A.S.H.), and we went into a large room in an adjoining building. An odor hit me as we entered. It was the smell of sickness. The room contained least 18 beds, all filled with sick or injured people. Their relatives slept on the floor beside them on mats. That is until we woke up the whole building. With the fluorescent lights ablaze and poor Cynthia moaning, nobody was sleeping anymore. Now, they were all staring at the white woman.
We stood around for a half hour for an unexplained reason. The patients' relatives began to mill about and tend to chores like emptying bed pans and fanning loved ones. Although it was a pleasant night out, the room was hot, and the ceiling fans just swirled around the fetid air. The beds didn't have sheets; instead, the patients slept on woven mats. Bags surrounded the beds with personal items like clothing, water, and shampoo. I alternated my time between staring at the piles of dirty food bowls in the hallway, and trying to locate soap next to any of the sinks.
An interesting game of musical beds began when the doctor told a male patient to get off his bed. He moved his stuff to another area and slept on a mat on the floor. Then, he wanted to switch the bed with an elderly man on the end. Everybody pitched in to help because clearly the one nurse couldn't handle it all. Finally, there was a free bed on the end - for the white woman, of course. Bop and So-poo-et left to get a mat and pillow for Cynthia while I stayed behind. The nurse brought me a plastic toddler's chair to sit on, and some man offered us his puke bucket (or at least that's what I think it was.)
I left shortly after that. Several teachers visited Cynthia today, and report that she's feeling better. She is expected to return tomorrow.
Better hope you don't get sick Carrie. That sounds scary!
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