DeliLife & A Near-Miss With Nipple Clamps
I had been dreading today for a few weeks. In order to receive legal residency, we are required by China to undergo full medical exams unlike anything I have ever had in America. I am interested in the history of these exams—I heard there are precedents for excluding foreigners with various diagnoses, including HIV. They do seem to be quite an organized affair, with an entire hospital designated for travelers. I saw the largest concentration of white people I have encountered so far, all accompanied by a Chinese translator/advocate. We had our own chaperone, a man named Vincent who met us at the hospital and carried us through the process.
Before we entered the hospital proper, we had to get our photos taken, passport style, and clip them to our registration forms. In my photo I look both washed out and exceedingly disgusted. To be fair, it was 9 AM and we had been barred from eating or drinking for twelve hours. We proceeded to another building, where we did some more registration. I was very nervous for the next part. Returning fellows had warned us that the exams were very invasive and extensive and that we would have to parade around in hospital gowns in a group. I imagined myself wear a tiny, flimsy paper gown being publicly humiliated in front of my new colleagues. Fortunately, it was not that dramatic. We each received a locker to put our belongings in before we went into small dressing rooms to remove the clothes on the upper halves of our bodies and dress in the gowns. Thankfully the gowns were made of a sturdy waffle-weave fabric with multiple ties and no possibility of accidental nudity. Upon gowning up, we were sent into the hallway where we paraded from one tiny hospital room to another.
In each room, we would hand our documents to the medical staff and slip behind a curtain for whatever procedure we would be receiving. The least interesting exams were the X-ray and the blood pressure check, although the X-ray machine was not like one I had ever seen. We also received an ultrasound and an EKG. I had never been given either before and was unprepared for the tiny clips they placed on me for the EKG. I thought perhaps they were about to nipple clamp me. At the end of each exam, the staff handed us back our forms and directed us to the next room. It was efficient and impersonal, which I was thankful for. Too many people in that building had touched me; I didn’t need anyone to talk to me.
After getting my blood drawn (and getting through it without nearly fainting for the first time ever—am I cured?), I was allowed to dress and our group checked out of the hospital. We had been told these exams would be a bonding experience. I think they were. There is nothing like sitting in the hallway with your coworkers, all pressing pieces of gauze against your fresh wounds. I felt bonded to the other patients too. We had been through something strange together.
We happily taxied to campus, where we visited a nearby mall to break our fast. I was delighted by the mall food cart, adorably called “DeliLife” and offering many options. I had something that Cheng Mun translated as “Healthy Vegetarian Dumpling.” Today we also successfully set up our new Chinese bank accounts.
I keep thinking that as these admin tasks are completed that I will start to feel more normal, that things will settle down and become routine. I am no longer convinced this is true. No matter how much time I spend sorting through the garbage in our house, organizing my sock drawer, and signing up for a bike subscription, I will still be an American in China, a traveler 8,000 miles from home. It is going to be an experience with high and low points. I will ride the wave of being a person just like I do in America. The difference here is that right now, everything I do takes 20x more emotional energy than it would. We went to the superstore a few days ago and I have never been more overwhelmed. All the colors and product categories were the same as in America: you could buy fresh fruit and an egg beater at the same time, yet despite the familiarity, I could read none of the text, the organization of the aisles felt counterintuitive, and calculating prices meant constant division by 6. (If you are an American in China, you need to work on your memory of the multiples of 6.) I left the store with some fruit and a towel, no real groceries or necessities. The experience simply required too much mental energy to fully complete.
As in my last post, I find myself being careful not to make it appear that I am unhappy. While I have plenty of complaints, I am doing fine. I am tired and drained and confused, but I am not miserable. I am trying to simply be. I have realized that the best I can do is just be here, allowing the experience to take the form that it takes. I think each day will look different. Maybe sometimes I will feel like a full member of society or at least like a competent visitor! Other days I know I am going to struggle to make it out of the apartment. I have decided to accept that. As much pressure as I feel to become a more easygoing person than I was before, to enjoy myself and be carefree, I do not think that is very me. Instead, I aim to feel whatever feelings I have and recognize that like waves, they are only passing.
