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A Quiet Blog and an MRI

I have been nursing a pinched nerve in my arm (cubital tunnel) for several years. Then in December I was shaking paint in Christmas ornaments to give to my English Club students and I aggravated the nerve real good...   In the past I have been able to manage the pain and get it to return to normal.  But that has not been the case this time. Hence the quietness of my blog as of late.

After a few months of struggle, I reached out to a physical therapist friend in the US for some suggestions. After a regiment of ibuprofen and rest didn’t provide relief,  he suggested a couple of nerve tests to see if there was damage to the nerve.  There are English speaking medical clinics in Shanghai that we thought we could go to. But as with all things here we needed help so Tom asked Jacky about it.  The company that Tom is here working for is an orthopedic manufacturer and has doctors here in Changzhou. Jacky called them and they said I could get the test done here in Changzhou and they made arrangements.  Cool. (I guess...it leaves me in the total dark about what is happening.) So our friend Stella, our driver--Wang Jian and Tom and I went to the hospital where we met up with an assistant of the orthopedic surgeon. It reminded me of the light bulb jokes.  How many people does it take to Darcee to a doctor in China?  Answer:  Way too many…


Just a note, they don't have doctor’s offices in China. If you want to see a doctor you go to the hospital and you get in the right line—hopefully it's the right line.   So you can imagine how many people would be at the hospital if there were no doctor's offices in the US and all the people needing to see the doctor were at the hospital and then you put that in Changzhou where there's four million + people and you can imagine the crowd.  Stepping into the hospitals here is like stepping into the 1970s. I might even say an earlier decade, but having not lived in them I can’t claim to know that.  The uniforms, the furnishings, floor plan, everything just feels dated. They have fairly modern equipment but little else is very retro.  Another thing that is very different here is that they don't have the same type of nursing care. Families do most of that type of work so you will see family members pushing other family members on beds through the halls, onto the elevators, off the elevators, and to the places they need to go. The family also has to provide all of the food for hospital patients, both of which adds to number of people at the hospital.   


And since everything's different in China, we didn't start with the recommended nerve testing, we went straight to the top with an MRI. I first had to go to a consultation. All it took for me to qualify for an MRI was me declaring I didn't have diabetes, saying my elbow hurt and the tech taking a couple of notes on a notepad written in Chinese characters.  Then she told us when to show up and to go downstairs and pay for it.  The total cost was $207–which we can submit to insurance. Pretty good deal, I'd say. 


The following Monday morning bright and early, four of us went to the hospital for the MRI. Again swarms of people. After finding the right room, I got in line. I changed from my shoes to a pair of hospital flip flops and waited by for my turn. Assembly line style. When it was my turn I walked into the room with the MRI scanner. I watched as they pulled another lady off.  They removed the blanket, the face shield and ear pads. She climbed down the plywood steps and I climbed up. They put the same blanket, ear pads and face shield on me and I said a prayer.  While she was climbing down I summoned Tom to photograph of my experience. I thought he could just photograph from the door but the tech started yelling at him and so from this picture you can see the three of us pointing.  Me telling Tom to just photo from there, the other two telling him to leave. So that ended the pictures we got.

If you look closely you can see the plywood steps. They gave me only two instructions in Chinese, Stella translated: I was to close my mouth and close my eyes.  That I did. I guess per my instructions I could have fidgeted, but I did not.


Here is one more picture that Tom took from the window with the lady before me on it.


The next day my results could be picked up. Wang Jian went to the hospital to obtain them for us. Clearly HIPAA laws are not a thing here.  It’s my most expensive souvenir to date.  I have them all in a neat little fabric-y envelope.  Lucky me.


A week later I was in the grocery store getting brave enough to buy a live lobster to make Greta’s birthday dinner when a message from Tom came in saying I needed to be ready to go to the hospital for my nerve testing soon.  Lobster pasta takes several hours, so that got put on hold. Next I received the following instructions from Stella:



Yes, I was puzzled.  But I did happen to have a hot water bottle so I got that ready with my gloves and waited for the entourage to pick me up.  I was a good girl and I did not push the doctor, I stayed calm and I maintained the temperature of my hand. I also learned that nerve testing isn’t all that fun. Stella tried to take my picture, but was told she couldn’t.  HIPAA laws may not be in force here, but photography is strictly not allowed, I guess. (Even though I was only separated by a curtain from a gentleman getting an EKG and someone else behind curtain #3 in some other procedure.)  


After that test we went to see the doctor. We had a little bit of a miracle in that process. It was late in the day and there were no time slots available for any of the orthopedic doctors. A hospital worker was walking by the kiosks where you sign up for these time slots. Someone in front of us asked this hospital worker for some help. As the worker started helping this lady in front of us, Stella asked her for help. She left the first lady and took us to another kiosk and opened up all of the screens for all of the doctors, but there were no slots available that day. She took us to some other employees across the way and talked to one of them who created a new appointment just for me. I paid ¥35 for this and then we went upstairs and got in line at the right doctor's door. (Thankfully Stella figured it all out---it wasn't quite that simple.) We waited 10 or 15 minutes until my name appeared on the screen and I could go in.

It was a tiny dark office with a table as a desk, a doctor and a tech who was taking notes on a computer. We handed him the MRI results, the nerve testing results and he rattled something off something to Stella in Chinese. She in turn said everything was just fine and that I just needed to rest it some more and put on a plaster. It was good news and bad news. I'm thankful nothing is very wrong. But it still hurts. I have been nursing it since December, so I’m a bit perplexed. But I guess more rest is needed. 


Jacky took Tom to buy me a Chinese medicated plaster (again, no HIPAA laws, as Jacky somehow knew the entire outcome of everything). It’s like an extra large Band-aid that smells something awful. If you take all of the essential oils and dump them into a bowl, mix them together and add in a little bit of boys’ locker room smell, rotting broccoli stench and a pinch of skunk, you might get kind of close to how bad they reek. Overwhelmingly bad.  But I want my arm to heal, so I’m giving it a good college try. I wear it at night so I don’t pass out from the stink.  But I won’t lie.  The smell has kept both Tom and I up at night and made our bedroom a bit unpleasant.  


Is it working?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  The jury is still out and my extended rest period is still in process.  Thankfully I remembered about voice to text and so I could update a few things on my blog.  But I am behind– even though my arm isn’t feeling the greatest, we’ve still been able to have several adventures that I need to record for the girls.  


So for now, I feel thankful that nothing is very wrong. After all, what's a little pain? So many before me have been through much worse. My family history is full of people who suffered with pain. And I feel them surrounding me. It's okay. Mortality is precious whatever state I'm in. I must make best use of my time and serve regardless how I feel. Besides, when I'm serving others I don't notice the pain quite as much–and that is such a blessing. 


And hopefully soon I can make Greta’s birthday lobster pasta. It takes a fair amount of elbow work to crack lobsters……

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