Friday, May 11, 2012

Broken Arms and Broken Places

I am sitting in Hong Kong with my 6 year old and using the word "lovies." It sounds clumsy coming from my American vocal cords, but here in the land of British English, it seems awkwardly appropriate.   This little jaunt across the water started on Tuesday in an unfortunate ripstick accident. A ripstick is a wobbly skateboard. As if skateboards weren't a tragic enough invention on their own.  

My 6 year old lovey broke her arm in two places and we wound up jamming our pores with the unmentionables of a Chinese hospital. As far as cultural issues are concerned, hospitals have received the #1 Most Frustrating Place award. In the entire galaxy. You rush around waving money and dangling limbs until a doctor tells you to sit down. There was a brief moment when I screamed at a doctor on this particular visit.

 For those in the Western world, please don't ever complain about healthcare. I promise that you are well taken care of. My daughter sat crammed into a room of various ailments while a friend pushed her way to pay. You will not be seen until money is paid. Period. No manner of screaming 6-year-olds with dislocated, multiple fractured arm is going to change that. Cue angry mother and her raging discourse at the doctor. There are pro's and con's to being a Chinese speaker now. 

But outside there was freshly squeezed orange juice for 80 cents. Please disregard the woman in pink sweat pants and ruffly scarf turban. She is probably dying of leprosy, but forgot her bank card and had to return home to die in a pile of her own flesh.

After carrying my daughter up and down multiple flights of stairs while her hand is bundled in a green baby blanket and denim belt strap, we were sent to hospital #2. The break was too complicated for hospital #1 and they couldn't fix it. Off to a taxi and more stairs. I'm trying to remain Godly, but bad words are starting to eeek their way out of my mouth. I am praying that I don't harbor cultural bitterness over all of this. But it is hard. Desperately hard. 

We were advised to seek medical care in Hong Kong. We left the hospital tired and crying. All of us. I tried to be strong, but found myself weeping uncontrollably like I had just seen the movie "My Girl" again. We headed out the next morning with her arm still very much broken, but wrapped in gauze.

The doctors in Hong Kong have been amazing. The Lord has been good in His care of our family. Minus the taxi driver that drove by flicking the steering wheel intermittently with his thumb and ring finger, this trip has been drama free. Oh ya, there was also that one moment where the broken English speaking nurse told my daughter in her drooping hospital gown, "Oooh, we close gown, you look too sexy!"

We head to the doctor one more time tomorrow and then fly out that night. We leave with thankful hearts and weary bodies. 

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