Sick in (not of) Korea
It started back in early December. At a friend’s house, suddenly dinner just did not seem to agree with me. I excused myself and left everything I had eaten in their nicely-decorated bathroom. Just food poisoning, I figured. I was planning for Tod’s arrival, and it didn’t seem worth following up one problematic meal - the first I had had since the week after my arrival. Two weeks later Tod was here and we went out to dinner and stayed up late talking and finally fell asleep on the same continent for the first time in four months.
I woke up the next morning viciously nauseous and I’ve been dealing with it ever since.
Nothing makes you miss home like being sick. Culture shock, language difficulties, unfamiliar food, suicidal bus drivers - I have learned to like or live with just about everything in Korea. But when a wave of nausea can come out of nowhere at any time, any place, I of course feel like staying home, in bed, for the duration. Or even better, just going home.
Instead I braved the Korean Medical System. Other than a flu shot, I had managed to stay completely clear of all things medical here in Korea and I have to admit “exploring national health insurance” had not been on my list of things to do. Not wanting to commute into Seoul, I checked the extremely well-organized internet pages for foreigners needing health care in Korea. They suggested Ajou University Hospital International Health Care Clinic in the nearby town of Suwon. This is the medical center where U.S. airmen from Osan Air Force Base and soldiers from Camp Humphreys in Pyeongtaek go when they need care beyond what can be provided on base. That seemed a pretty good recommendation.
I have no idea what health care is like for the ordinary Korean. From my perspective, I have never had such personal health care. An English-speaking staff member handled my paperwork and walked me from the clinic (a one-room waiting area) to the specialized division I needed (in my case Gastroenterology). She checked me in, pointed me out to the nurse, and left. A bit panicked, I pulled out my Korean-English dictionary and rapidly looked up words I might need - nauseous, pain, last week. The doctor however spoke pretty good English and understood me quite clearly. We arranged for a medical procedure the next week, and my English-speaking guide appeared, filled out my insurance paperwork, and took me downstairs to pay my bill. I was in and out in less than 45 minutes. When I returned for my medical procedure, it was the same - my guide walked me through the building, took my weight and blood pressure, and checked me through all the procedures. I panicked a bit when left with a Korean-speaking nurse, but an English-speaking nurse appeared and all went smoothly. My guide reappeared in the recovery room with Tod. After Tod and I ate lunch and I spoke with the doctor, the guide walked me through paying the bill.
Having never had this procedure done before, I do not know what it would cost in the United States. But I do know a colonoscopy, a similar procedure, is $6000-$10,000. The total bill for my initial consultation, procedure and follow up discussion? $335. I was put on a premier US drug for two weeks - total cost $35 for 14 pills. $35 would barely cover my prescription copay in the United States. Waiting time for the procedure - 1 week, and only because I could not come in sooner.
Yet there were other startling differences from U.S. health care that I felt less comfortable with. No one took my blood pressure until they needed it to calculate how much sedative they could give me. Same with taking my weight. No one ever took my temperature. No one ever asked me about drug allergies and no one took a health history; if I had anything wrong with me that was not in my stomach, I was going to have to volunteer that information, not wait to be asked. Privacy was more limited. My name was posted on a board outside the doctor’s office so people would know how many people were in front of them in line. We all waited directly outside the doctor’s office and if you sat in the right seat, you could hear most of the doctor-patient discussion.
I do not know whether Korea’s national health insurance limits the kind of care Koreans can get, or forces unreasonable waiting times, or limits their choice of doctors, as opponents of national health insurance claim happen with that type of system. But their medical system seemed quite up to date, and is internationally known for being more likely to perform too many than too few tests - they have all this amazing medical equipment and they are inclined to use it. I am curious how my reimbursement will happen in the American medical system. My Saint Anselm policy does cover faculty while abroad; you “simply send in the receipts”. We will see if it will be quite that easy.
I am now on a second set of drugs and things continue to get better; it is a process of trial and error, less satisfying than a simple “take this and all will be well”. My symptoms seem to be a side effect of my acid reflux disease, aggravated by the daily stresses of living abroad - not serious, just really annoying. On good days I travel to Seoul; I found the most amazing spa there with shiatsu massage and jade-lined heat rooms and salt-rock saunas to warm winter-cold bones. On bad days, I stay home and write blog entries, syllabi, a peer review on an article, a book review. Since I do not teach again until March 6, I have plenty to time to get this illness under control; this is a “good time” to be sick.
Living abroad means being open to new experiences every day. Some are expected, most are not. I am grateful most of my experiences have gone amazingly smoothly, including my interactions with the Korean medical system. Stay tuned to see what adventure happens next - I’ll be as surprised as you are.
1 comment January 28, 2008
