China from a hospital balcony in Shanghai

Press, 4 November 1986, Page 21

China from a hospital balcony in Shanghai

MELVA ROBINSON of Nelson had a different view of China from most tourists. Her husband was admitted to hospital with a serious illness. She reports on ....

Most of my sightseeing - in China’s largest and most populated city was from a hospital balcony. From the fifth floor of Shanghai No. 1 hospital I looked down on Suzhou Creek, a scene of ceaseless activity: houseboats at their moorings, barges and various other craft weaving in and out, their horns and hooters blaring in a continuous cacophony of noise. The traffic bridges were crowded with drably dressed locals, some walking, more on bicycles, others on tricycles carting trailers laden with merchandise. On the right, a clock tower on the Post Office, and far to the left at the junction of the Huangpu River and Suzhou Creek, the big bridge with its two spans of latticed girders; and beyond the bridge the Huangpu River where ships, river steamers and yachts sailed in and out of the harbour almost as frequently as aircraft at Heathrow. At about 10 o’clock each morning sounds of band music wafted up to the balcony, a signal for 20 or 30 men to line up on the road beneath me, where for five minutes they performed their Tai-chi exercises, and I repeated their movements on my solitary balcony. My husband’s view of Shanghai was even more restricted: a selfcontained hospital room with bathroom attached, two single beds, their towelling top sheets like giant bath towels, and a table containing a large flask of hot water and two lidded glass cups.

Through the slits in the concrete parapet of the balcony, a glimpse of one of the traffic bridges, and further down on the big bridge a continuous stream of buses and trailer-buses which at night through the lattice-work sides of the bridge gave the impression of a gigantic caterpillar undulating across. One day he saw a junk in full sail gliding along the river into the harbour and became so excited he almost wrenched the tube from his arm. It was a relief to be here after the anxiety of the past few days when my husband had become so weak and parchment-pale it was obvious he was suffering from something more serious than the flu-bug which had affected most members of the tour group. He collapsed in the hotel lift one -night and had "to “be carried to our room where later he was very ill. A doctor arranged for tests to be' carried out in Shanghai No. 1 hospital; these revealed severe internal bleeding, probably from a longdormant ulcer, legacy of his years as a bomber pilot and instructor during World War II; his normal blood count of 12 or more was reduced to an alarming eight, and we were told that without treatment, there was a danger he would go into shock. So instead of wandering in bemused delight among the scenic beauties of Guilin, we were taken to a hospital room, where he was immediately put on to a saline drip. As I sat anxiously by his

bedside, home seemed further away than six times 6000 miles. Faced with the prospect of finding accommodation in this huge foreign city, where would I start? How would I cope with the language problem? Would I be able to find somewhere close to the hospital? The questions in my mind were endless — some I dared not ask — and there was no one to answer them. Soon two of the staff came in to set up a blood transfusion, one of the assistants pointed reassuringly to the English wording on the container — “Type O RHnegative.” (Weeks later we read: “The Chinese do not have RH-negative blood, and their blood banks don’t store it. Type O blood is also rare. If you’re a Type O RHnegative, then you’re in worse luck, since you can only accept a transfusion of the same and nothing else — and there aren’t many of us around.” — From “China” by Alan Samagalski and

Michael Buckley — printed in 1984). Later Chiang, the local guide who had been attached to our tour group returned from changing our group visas to individual ones, rescuing our luggage before it was whisked away to the airport, and endeavouring to arrange a later flight to Hong Kong. I pointed to the empty bed bedside my husband — “Would it be possible to be here with him?” “I find out,” said Chiang, and went away to consult hospital staff, returning with the good news that I could stay. This was an enormous relief and, with Chiang’s parting promise to come and see us the following day, I felt reassured and less alone. A meal was brought to me at 5 o’clock, and I was asleep soon afterwards, half waking as the staff came in at frequent intervals to check up on their patient. During the next few days I came to appreciate the caring and efficiency of the hospital staff: although communication was at times difficult, it was seldom impossible — both nationalities frequently resorted to miming. The long balcony was equipped with clothes lines strung across and clothes pegs attached. Several rooms led out to the balcony, and it seemed these were for foreigners and their relatives; in two adjacent rooms an Indonesian couple and their sister were staying to care for their mother who was undergoing treatment for cancer. They were very homesick for their own country, and didn’t like Shanghai — the hospital, the food, or the people in the city. “They have no etiquette,” the man complained, “they push you

aside in the street — they justhave no etiquette.” The hospital routine began at 6 a.m. each day, when two nurses arrived to re-attach the patient’s saline drip which was removed about 11 o’clock each night. Breakfast was at 7 a.m. during which a young girl would come in to clean the room, armed with a long-handled floppy-stranded mop and a dubious looking duster. She swished the mop nonchalantly around the floor paying scant attention to the corners or the space between the top of the beds and the wall where .at night cockroaches frolicked in the dust. And not only cockroaches: one night I confronted and shudderingly despatched a hugh beetle, as big as a fifty-cent piece. A deputation arrived in our room one day, and an important looking woman — the matron? — proudly introduced “head of our hospital,” who shook hands with Bob and me, wishing us well. When I expressed appreciation of the kindness and care of his staff, replied in careful well-modulated English, “Not at all. You are our honourable guests and our friends; it is our duty to care for you.” We soon came to recognise familiar faces among the staff, and proved false the myth that the Chinese are inscrutable and lacking in humour. While he was setting up the third blood transfusion, one of the doctors who spoke in halting English touched Bob’s sparsely-clad head, “Maybe you grow black hair now!” he quipped. On another occasion a nurse was having difficulty inserting the needle through the forest of hair on Bob’s arm (Chinese men are usually smooth-skinned). Her eyes twinkled above the mask as

she touched first his arm, then his bald head. Meals were always brought in by the same smiling little man, but it was impossible to eat more than a quarter of the generous servings. The fare was neither Chinese nor European, although I think it was intended to be European: cold hard-boiled egg and two hunks of stale bread and jam for breakfast, and sweet hot milk which I usually disposed of in the bathroom. Mid-day dinner and tea were much the same — a bowl of hot soup, always the same tomato flavour, with cabbage or mushrooms added. The soup and milk were the only hot items; everything else was served cold. Cold fish fillets fried in batter; cold weiner schnitzel type meat; cold green beans or cauliflower with chillis; and cold potato chips, surprisingly palatable; then apples or pears which in our country would probably be considered rejects.’ I think .it would have been almost impossible to cope without Chiang, our local guide, a very caring and helpful young man who called at the hospital nearly every day, talked with the doctors, assisted with language and other problems, and accompanied me on various occasions when I would have been ufiable to manage alone. On the day we walked to the office in the Peace Hotel to collect and pay for air tickets to Hong Kong, the heat and humidity were excessive and I felt quite faint. When it was discovered our visas expired on the twenty-eighth of the month and our flight was for the twentyninth, I groaned at the prospect of a further foot-wearying trip to extend them. Chiang quickly offered, “I go; you stay here.” On the other occasion Chiang told me, “I have some free time tomorrow, without any tour group; I could take you somewhere to shop if you want.” He endeavoured to get a taxi — a hopeless quest in Shanghai

/where taxi-drivers prefer longdistance fares — then asked diffidently if I would mind public transport — riding on a bus. Mind? I was delighted to have the chance, and we hurried along the road and managed to squeeze on to an overcrowded bus — “Watch your handbag!” warned Chiang. It was quite an experience strap-hanging with the Chinese, and trying to remain impervious to their stares of curiosity.

One morning at the hospital when the doctors made their usual call, they seemed unhappy with Bob!s progress, and indicated in their hesitant English that we would not be able to travel for another week. This was quite a shock, as we had thought he was improving. In vain I showed them our Hong Kong-New Zealand tickets in an endeavour to convince them that if we missed that flight, it would be weeks before another booking-’ became available. The prospect seemed bleak, and when they left I was in despair. I explained to Mr Zhai (head of the hospital), and finally, with some reluctance, the doctors agreed we could travel, but begged us to go to Hong Kong hospital if Bob’s condition worsened. Chiang walked with me to the Telecommunications Office beyond the Peace Hotel, where I spoke with the secretary of the New Zealand High Commission in Hong Kong, who quickly summed up the situation, offered to meet us at Hong Kong airport and make all necessary arrangements, and recommended we should secure from the Shanghai

hospital a certificate that Bob would be fit to travel. Back at the hospital, Chiang talked with Mr Zhai who told me, “Everything is arranged; we will give you certificate.” He patted my arm in a fatherly manner, “I wish you safe and happy travel.” Next, to the office downstairs to pay the hospital account, and to the dispensary to collect medication for the journey. Chiang had looked after us so well, it was difficult to express our gratitude to him. My tentative suggestion of payment was met with a firm refusal: “For my guiding, you pay no money,” he told me, “but you pay taxi to airport, and for me to get back to city.” On the last day at the hospital I tried to photograph some of the staff, and their reactions were varied and amusing. Our smiling little waiter stood to attention, adopting a very serious expression; there was no way we could persuade him to relax, so the resulting picture bears only a slight resemblance to our cheerful smiler. One of the doctors was obviously flattered; he walked over to the glass balcony door, moving it to serve as a mirror, smoothed . bjs. thick ; blaqk.hair and , gener-.,,,, ally preened himself before returning to the bedside where he leaned over to adjust the collar of his fellow doctor, a woman; then, standing on either side of the patient and holding his hands, they posed for the camera. As he bade us farewell, the doctor told Bob, “The blood we have given you has forged our friendship.” I paid a farewell visit to the Indonesians next door, and gave them what remained of our green-tea sachets. “Green tea?” they exclaimed in incredulous delight, ’we haven’t had green tea for long time.” Shortly afterwards there was a knock at our door, and they appeared with a

parting gift, a Chinese wall hanging. “You will always be in our hearts,” the man told us with appropriate gestures, his hand over his heart, "and when you come to Indonesia, we want you to sleep in our house.” At quarter to six on departure day, Chiang arrived with the taxi-driver. A last look from the balcony — daylight was just breaking and the big bridge was silhouetted against a reddening sky. One of the woman doctors accompanied us down in the lift and helped us into the taxi. We sped through the streets, already crowded with thousands of people, and passed through avenues of trees to the airport. We felt quite emotional as we farewelled Chiang; our expressions of thanks and gratitudeseemed so inadequate. . Soon we were on our own, and in the cold departure lounge listened to flight announcements in Chinese, wondering with some apprehension how we would know when our flight was called, but a group of Americans on' the same flight befriended us, and we followed them out to the waiting aircraft. At Hong Kong we were met by the secretary of the New Zealand High Commission, who had cani .ceHed our,, hptef boqkings, .collected mall, and arranged for a medical check by the airport doctor to confirm Bob’s fitness to travel. And from Hong Kong, right through to New Zealand and home, Air Nuigini and Air New Zealand staff were most considerate and helpful, providing a special diet on the aircraft, and a wheel-chair at every stopping point. As the long journey ended and I stepped on to the tarmac at our home airport, I recalled television pictures of the Pope coming down the steps of his aircraft and kneeling to kiss the ground of his homeland. In spirit I did the same.

Chiang to the rescue again