Make sure to read part one first : Down and Out in China, part 1
Sunday night, we were back in Huai'an. Monday morning, I was in Huai'an Hospital #1. The nurses put me in a plastic chair in the middle of a large room. In the room, there were 30 other plastic chairs, half of them filled with babies and their mothers. All of the babies were crying. Were the nurses sending me a message ? Most of the babies had needles in their bald heads. Some of the babies were peeing and defecating on the floor. I had an IV drip in my arm. I sat there for three hours, uncomfortably. So I left.
The Chinese could see that I was not well. "Feeble" was the word the Chinese English teachers used. But when I stated that I suspected something serious, they just smiled a knowing smile. "Nah, you just need to eat some meat !" This was the most common response...the most common cure that I was suggested. Others included "close your window to keep the miasmas away," "drink only hot water," and "you need to wear a thicker jacket." But the best explanation that I ever received was this : "Illness is like a tiger; if you're afraid, it strikes. If you're not afraid, it will leave you alone." I must have been petrified.
The next day was my last day at work. I couldn't lift the chalk, I could barely lift my own weight. The following morning (or was it the evening ?), I was talking to my mom on the phone. I have no memory of this conversation. She does. She said that after a few minutes, I told her that I was too tired to talk at that moment but that I would call back soon, and I hung up. Just afterwards, I called up a Chinese friend (this I do remember). He was always beating me at ping-pong, stating triumphantly : "You are not my rival !" But he was very nice, very helpful. He spoke to another teacher and together they took me to Huai'an Hospital #2. I was prepared for the worst. Fortunately, hospital numbers are not an indication of quality, because #2 was clean, modern, comfortable. I shared a room with a Chinese patient. Had no idea what his name or problem was. But he was very nice. He laughed through every second of Mr. Bean. And he even gave me a shave when I was too weak to do it myself. The doctors visited me often to practice their English. The nurses visited me because I was a celebrity in #2. I had an IV drip in my arm. I lay there for days, comfortably.
Meanwhile, in Florida, my mother was envisioning my lying on the floor, near death, and no one around to hear my muted screams. She called several times that day and the next, with increasing frequency. She knew the name of my school, but couldn't speak Chinese. So, naturally, she visited all the Chinese restaurants in town, asking if they could make the call...but, unfortunately, they only spoke Cantonese, not Mandarin. Next she asked my brother Christian if he knew any Chinese people. My brother studied engineering so he must know a few. Yeah, he knew a few Chinese. But none that spoke Mandarin. The next day, she got word that a friend of my brother's advisor spoke Mandarin. Success ! So he called my school, and got the number of #2. And then made a phone date rendez-vous for my mother and me. On my third day at hospital #2, my mom called. I'm pretty sure that if she hadn't found a Mandarin speaker, she would have learned enough of the language to make the call herself. Yeah, that's right, she's a superhero. I remember feeling happy to speak with her, and being positive about my stay in #2. I had walked for 100 meters that day and thought those few meters were the beginning of the road to recovery. But she urged me to get out of China. She was scared, too. Maybe my "tiger illness" was contagious ?
The next day, the doctors came in with a diagnosis to prove my mother right. "You have," wait for it..wait for it, "stomach flu"...dun dun dun ! At that moment, I knew that death awaited me if I stayed. So I gave Rob my credit card and asked him to buy me the first available ticket for the next available flight to Stockholm. And I left the hospital in the morning. During the day, I packed my bags, vomited, said goodbye to my soon-to-be ex-colleagues, vomited again, and went to bed. Early in the morning, Rob and I were driven to Nanjing airport. We said our goodbyes, and airport staff rolled me to the plane, where I sat uncomfortably for several hours before arriving in Beijing to change planes.
The doors opened. I waited for the other passengers to leave first. I was as mobile as my 99-year-old grandmother is today. That is to say, she can walk, short distances, but needs to hold on to firm objects for support. When the coast was clear, I stood hesitantly, and made my way to the door. I looked around. And again. And saw no wheelchair. Well, this could be troublesome. I only had an hour to make my new flight. No time to consider "what-ifs"; I started walking. I walked 100 meters. 200 meters, breaking my record at hospital #2. 300 meters, my concentration and strength waned. 400 meters and I was getting dizzy. And then I fell with a crash. I looked around. And again. And I waited. I saw a bunch of Chinese people walking around me like some wind around a Bernoullian wing. And no one stopped. Well, no time to consider "what-ifs"; I started crawling. Intensity of a soldier, motor skills of a three-month-old. After an eternity, and some burning elbows, I arrived at a horizontal escalator. And I rode it, horizontally. At the far end, I found an airport info kiosk. "I need help," I asked. "I need to get to my flight." She called the airport clinic. They brought the airport gurney and took me to the clinic. There, the doctor, who spoke English, plainly stated that I would not be allowed on the plane. "Bu-bu-but I ha-ha-have to get on that pl-pl-plane," I stammered. I said that I would sign any document necessary to get me on the plane...and sign I did !
So they whisked me away straight to the plane, no lines, no waiting, only cursory glances at my papers. The flight attendant took one look at my condition and asked the neighbors to change their seats. At least, that's how I imagined it. Could very well have been the neighbors who asked to distance themselves from me. Anyway, within minutes I was sound asleep and didn't wake again 'til our arrival at Arlanda airport outside of Stockholm. When I stepped off the plane I was relieved to see airport staff with an empty wheelchair...for me ! My dad waited for me inside, and we immediately went to the hospital to deliver my bodily fluids for testing.
The next day, we came back and several doctors interviewed me. The 2nd or 3rd one made a very important observation; he said that, as a Swede, I shouldn't have such dark skin. Dark blotches on my face and back were one of the symptoms of my disease. And then on a hunch, he checked the cortisol levels of my blood. Not so much as a nanogram, it was untraceable. And then he knew. I had Addison's disease, which is an auto-immune disease whereby my immune system attacked my adrenal glands, and for no good reason ! And all my cortisol- and aldosterone-producing cells were killed off. Good thing I got to the hospital in Sweden, 'cause accorinding to the doctor, I was down to my last week or two of life. So I spent the next five days in the hospital, with an IV drip in both arms, pumping in toxic levels of those hormones. After two days, I could eat and walk. After three, I could bathe. After five, I was new again, and so I left the hospital, and lived in Sweden for the next two years where I learned Swedish and got to know my grandmother. The only lasting effects of my experiences in China and with my disease are my deep gratitude towards Rob, a need to take pills daily, and one kick-ass story.
Sunday night, we were back in Huai'an. Monday morning, I was in Huai'an Hospital #1. The nurses put me in a plastic chair in the middle of a large room. In the room, there were 30 other plastic chairs, half of them filled with babies and their mothers. All of the babies were crying. Were the nurses sending me a message ? Most of the babies had needles in their bald heads. Some of the babies were peeing and defecating on the floor. I had an IV drip in my arm. I sat there for three hours, uncomfortably. So I left.
The Chinese could see that I was not well. "Feeble" was the word the Chinese English teachers used. But when I stated that I suspected something serious, they just smiled a knowing smile. "Nah, you just need to eat some meat !" This was the most common response...the most common cure that I was suggested. Others included "close your window to keep the miasmas away," "drink only hot water," and "you need to wear a thicker jacket." But the best explanation that I ever received was this : "Illness is like a tiger; if you're afraid, it strikes. If you're not afraid, it will leave you alone." I must have been petrified.
The next day was my last day at work. I couldn't lift the chalk, I could barely lift my own weight. The following morning (or was it the evening ?), I was talking to my mom on the phone. I have no memory of this conversation. She does. She said that after a few minutes, I told her that I was too tired to talk at that moment but that I would call back soon, and I hung up. Just afterwards, I called up a Chinese friend (this I do remember). He was always beating me at ping-pong, stating triumphantly : "You are not my rival !" But he was very nice, very helpful. He spoke to another teacher and together they took me to Huai'an Hospital #2. I was prepared for the worst. Fortunately, hospital numbers are not an indication of quality, because #2 was clean, modern, comfortable. I shared a room with a Chinese patient. Had no idea what his name or problem was. But he was very nice. He laughed through every second of Mr. Bean. And he even gave me a shave when I was too weak to do it myself. The doctors visited me often to practice their English. The nurses visited me because I was a celebrity in #2. I had an IV drip in my arm. I lay there for days, comfortably.
Meanwhile, in Florida, my mother was envisioning my lying on the floor, near death, and no one around to hear my muted screams. She called several times that day and the next, with increasing frequency. She knew the name of my school, but couldn't speak Chinese. So, naturally, she visited all the Chinese restaurants in town, asking if they could make the call...but, unfortunately, they only spoke Cantonese, not Mandarin. Next she asked my brother Christian if he knew any Chinese people. My brother studied engineering so he must know a few. Yeah, he knew a few Chinese. But none that spoke Mandarin. The next day, she got word that a friend of my brother's advisor spoke Mandarin. Success ! So he called my school, and got the number of #2. And then made a phone date rendez-vous for my mother and me. On my third day at hospital #2, my mom called. I'm pretty sure that if she hadn't found a Mandarin speaker, she would have learned enough of the language to make the call herself. Yeah, that's right, she's a superhero. I remember feeling happy to speak with her, and being positive about my stay in #2. I had walked for 100 meters that day and thought those few meters were the beginning of the road to recovery. But she urged me to get out of China. She was scared, too. Maybe my "tiger illness" was contagious ?
The next day, the doctors came in with a diagnosis to prove my mother right. "You have," wait for it..wait for it, "stomach flu"...dun dun dun ! At that moment, I knew that death awaited me if I stayed. So I gave Rob my credit card and asked him to buy me the first available ticket for the next available flight to Stockholm. And I left the hospital in the morning. During the day, I packed my bags, vomited, said goodbye to my soon-to-be ex-colleagues, vomited again, and went to bed. Early in the morning, Rob and I were driven to Nanjing airport. We said our goodbyes, and airport staff rolled me to the plane, where I sat uncomfortably for several hours before arriving in Beijing to change planes.
The doors opened. I waited for the other passengers to leave first. I was as mobile as my 99-year-old grandmother is today. That is to say, she can walk, short distances, but needs to hold on to firm objects for support. When the coast was clear, I stood hesitantly, and made my way to the door. I looked around. And again. And saw no wheelchair. Well, this could be troublesome. I only had an hour to make my new flight. No time to consider "what-ifs"; I started walking. I walked 100 meters. 200 meters, breaking my record at hospital #2. 300 meters, my concentration and strength waned. 400 meters and I was getting dizzy. And then I fell with a crash. I looked around. And again. And I waited. I saw a bunch of Chinese people walking around me like some wind around a Bernoullian wing. And no one stopped. Well, no time to consider "what-ifs"; I started crawling. Intensity of a soldier, motor skills of a three-month-old. After an eternity, and some burning elbows, I arrived at a horizontal escalator. And I rode it, horizontally. At the far end, I found an airport info kiosk. "I need help," I asked. "I need to get to my flight." She called the airport clinic. They brought the airport gurney and took me to the clinic. There, the doctor, who spoke English, plainly stated that I would not be allowed on the plane. "Bu-bu-but I ha-ha-have to get on that pl-pl-plane," I stammered. I said that I would sign any document necessary to get me on the plane...and sign I did !
So they whisked me away straight to the plane, no lines, no waiting, only cursory glances at my papers. The flight attendant took one look at my condition and asked the neighbors to change their seats. At least, that's how I imagined it. Could very well have been the neighbors who asked to distance themselves from me. Anyway, within minutes I was sound asleep and didn't wake again 'til our arrival at Arlanda airport outside of Stockholm. When I stepped off the plane I was relieved to see airport staff with an empty wheelchair...for me ! My dad waited for me inside, and we immediately went to the hospital to deliver my bodily fluids for testing.
The next day, we came back and several doctors interviewed me. The 2nd or 3rd one made a very important observation; he said that, as a Swede, I shouldn't have such dark skin. Dark blotches on my face and back were one of the symptoms of my disease. And then on a hunch, he checked the cortisol levels of my blood. Not so much as a nanogram, it was untraceable. And then he knew. I had Addison's disease, which is an auto-immune disease whereby my immune system attacked my adrenal glands, and for no good reason ! And all my cortisol- and aldosterone-producing cells were killed off. Good thing I got to the hospital in Sweden, 'cause accorinding to the doctor, I was down to my last week or two of life. So I spent the next five days in the hospital, with an IV drip in both arms, pumping in toxic levels of those hormones. After two days, I could eat and walk. After three, I could bathe. After five, I was new again, and so I left the hospital, and lived in Sweden for the next two years where I learned Swedish and got to know my grandmother. The only lasting effects of my experiences in China and with my disease are my deep gratitude towards Rob, a need to take pills daily, and one kick-ass story.
I've heard you tell this story a couple of times and it doesn't cease to amaze me. I'm so glad you got the hell out of Dodge!
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