Off To See The Doctor
Ling and I went to Zhaoqing's 'No.1' Baby Hospital today. We did so in the hope of, one, getting absolute confirmation that Ling was preggers, two, discovering 'how' pregnant she was and, three, obtaining some information about what the hell to do next. It was, needless to say, a shower of bureaucratic incompetence and general offensiveness.
So first to the reception desk, where we are told to go to the third floor. The woman on the third floor greets us with all the distaste of a fussy suburban housewife who has just discovered the cat has deposited a dead bird on the kitchen floor. Who were we and what in God's name were we doing asking her questions when her lunch break was only 30 minutes away?
I think I'm pregnant, says Ling.
So do you want to have an abortion?
It was the very first question: there was no hesitation in asking it.
Having reluctantly accepted our wish not to murder our firstborn, the lady sends us from department to department in order for various VIP doctors to sign our reams of paperwork. It was the same last time I visited a Chinese hospital. Then back downstairs where, just like last time, there are queues of patients waiting in line to pay their fees, hoping all the while that they don't keel over before the hand over their cash. In China - a country where trust is a commodity is severely short supply - it's money first, care later.
Next, we head back upstairs where Ling has to work out for herself that she is required to take an empty plastic container from an unguarded basket and deposite a urine sample therein (she has to climb ANOTHER flight of stairs to find the toilet, of course). She brings it back downstairs and wanders into a room where a woman who looks like it may (or may not) be her job to test urine is sitting, looking bored. Despite the door being wide open, she shoos Ling out and tells her to go to a tiny glass window just to her left instead. She takes the urine and tests it with a piece of equipment that looks to be indistinguishable from the 1RMB home pregnancy tests you can take yourself (indeed, the same ones that we have already used twice). Two minutes later, having stamped something indecipherable onto a bit of flimsy paper, she sends us back upstairs again, telling us the doctor there will explain everything.
Upstairs the doctor explains that whoever told us it was possible to reveal the exact date of conception is a fool. She looks at the paper for about half a second and then flings it back at us.
'Yes, you're pregnant. Do you want an abortion?' she asks.
When we tell her we don't, she loses interest. I daresay there's a commission on killing and we just aint the customers she wants to see. Of course, her mood is worsened by the fact the lunch break is now only five minutes away and any question that requires more than a one word answer is treated as a major burden on her existence. However, Ling, persistent as ever, wants to know roughly how old the baby is.
OK. When was your last period?
Oct 11.
So, today is November 27, er....46 days. It's 46 days old.
This is what we paid 12.6 RMB for.
Accepting the fact that we are going to get no advice from the so-called medical experts in this building (other than the 'Get an abortion' line), we go to leave. In desperation, we ask the kindly looking old lady on the makeshift reception desk next to the entrance what we should perhaps do next. Do we need a scan? Do we need to take pills? Eat greens? Come for regular check-ups?
And the reply: Have you thought about getting an abortion?
