Every year I take a PAP test, or a CTC as it is called in China. Last August, I was diagnosed with a uterine polypus. A “tumor?” Though a polypus is seldom cancerous, doctors insisted I have a biopsy. Were they concerned because I’m a foreigner or did they want to make money out of me? I preferred having the tumor removed rather than only a biopsy. They agreed. Before I knew it I was on the operation table after an electrocardiogram and a simple blood test.
　　
　　They started, but encountered some difficulties resulting from a previous operation. I could not stand the pain, and asked for anesthetic. Without any tests, any question about what I was allergic to or my signature, I was given a general anesthetic. I awoke half an hour later to be told it had not succeeded. I was scheduled to see the chief gynecologist.
　　As anyone who has had a consultation with a doctor in China knows, everything is public. Whatever ailments you have, everyone gets to hear about it. Moreover, the gynecologist examined 12 women before me with bare hands, except for using gloves for an internal examination. When my turn came, I tried to avoid her touching me as my situation was explained in my file, but she insisted on examination. “May I ask you to wash your hands, please?” I asked. Not offended, she did, with cold water, but no soap or disinfectant. She said they had none.
　　Then she answered a phone call, and I asked her to wash her hands again, and to wear two sets of gloves.
　　She prescribed me two pills (estrogen), to be taken during my trip to Europe, and said she would see me again on October 11. The thought of those unwashed hands haunted me.
　　On my flight back I met a doctor from the People’s Hospital of Beijing (Beijing Renmin Yiyuan), returning from a medical conference in Germany. We talked about medicine abroad and in China, hospitals and my own pending operation. I could not avoid mentioning the “unwashed hands,” and I told him I had reservations about seeing that doctor again.
　　He suggested I try the People’s Hospital and arranged an appointment for me with the gynecology department.
　　I was seen by a very patient Dr. Wang Jianliu. A type-B ultrasonic probe showed the tumor, but there was no way to say whether it is benign or m alignant. Dr. Wang scheduled me for a hysteroscopy on November 7.
　　The next Monday and half the next day, I completed the preparation process: chest X-rays, heart (the other hospital had given me the wrong report) and a dozen blood tests, CTC, blood pressure, temperature, allergy, and a long series of questions on my family and my own medical past. I also signed a waiver allowing the hospital to perform the surgery, and refused a waiver allowing them to give me blood transfusions. Strange situation as I had donated blood 80 times in Canada and 22 times in China, and now that it was my turn, I was afraid to receive blood from others.
　　I was offered the VIP room with only one bed, expensive but well worth it.
　　At 10 a.m. on November 7, they came to fetch me. I was not nervous having observed the conscientious staff and was sure they would provide me with the best care. Before and after the operation, I watched them to see whether they treated me better than Chinese patients, and was pleased to discover that they treated everyone equally well.
　　I had a choice of local or general anesthetic after the woman anesthetist explained risks and consequences.
　　Two hours later, I was returned to my room. Every hour or so my temperature and pulse rates were taken, the bottles of solutions were changed timely, and finally, I left at the end of the week. The “no cancer” result was a huge relief.
　　Although I had deposited 5,000 yuan (compulsory) and also paid an extra 500 yuan for “reserving a specific surgeon,” on checking out I had been handed a four-page detailed account asking for additional expenses, involving heating, clean sheets and nurses’ visits. Even the needles used were listed as an expense. Now I see why the Chinese wait until the last moment to see a doctor--it is too expensive, and a large portion of the population does not have medical insurance. As a foreigner in China, I am in the same boat. No wonder “medical attention” is one of the four great difficulties of the Chinese people. Mine was a “l(fā)ittle” operation, but including the money wasted on the first hospital, it cost me wages of six weeks.
　　Through that experience, I learned much about China’s medical system. Even more important, I learned there are some dedicated people who inspire confidence and hope, such as Dr. Wang Jianliu, his assistant Dr. Yuan Lei and their staff, who make the patients’ well being their top priority. I have visited Chinese and foreign friends in hospitals all around the country, and always hoped I would never be in their position. Now, if ever I need to be hospitalized again, I will definitely be heading back to the People’s Hospital.

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