11 DAYS - MEDICAL SYSTEM

As I'm sicker than I've been in years, it's an appropriate time for me to address a magical thing in Korea: The Medical System.

Yesterday my boss asked me, "Did you catch a cold?"

And yes. Yes, I did. I caught a cold. It might have had something to do with that bit of last weekend where I decided to  climb a mountain at 3 in the morning to catch the sunrise. Or the lack of sleep I committed to. Now it's Tuesday during my last full week in Korea and I can't breathe. My eyes are puffy and watering. I wake up sweating, then freezing, then sweating again. I'm wearing neck warmers and wool sweaters and it's still 65 degrees in the afternoon.

BUT, doctor to the rescue!

Regardless of what you enter for, there's two procedures that are bound to happen when you check into a hospital in Korea. First, they are going to hook you up to an IV. Second, they are going to give you a shot in the ass.

Considering the language barrier, the first time the latter happens it's quite shocking. One minute you're on your back. The next you're on your side getting a nice pat to the bum followed by a needle.

Tonight the school's bus driver dropped me at the hospital after work. After I explained my symptoms,  I was horizontal with an IV intact in under four minutes. Shortly after, a lady came to my bedside. "Hip," she said. And I turned over. From there I passed out. I awoke in sweat and I could hear the nurse watching cartoons.

I'm sure there are flaws, but they are definitely not in efficiency or affordability. If you have insurance, it's dirt cheap to get fixed. Feeling ill? Just pop in real quick to get some meds. Once a doctor spent an hour with me and the bill was only $12. In a shared room, my friend Kerryn stayed in a hospital bed for five nights (including three meals a day) for less than $8 a day. That's convenient.

A related story:
I got some x-rays done a few weeks ago on my chest. In the larger hospitals, all the rooms are labeled in both Korean and English. It should also be noted that visiting the doctor is similar to a pit stop: your vitals, teeth, heart, sight, hearing and blood are all checked in 30 minutes flat. As the nurse shuffled me from the room where I get my blood drawn to the room where I'm meant to get an x-ray, I notice the sign on the door. It's in all caps. BREAST SHOOTING ROOM.

I laugh.

This is what I've been staring at for the last hour and a half: