Fear of a little prick.

Under the Needle

Yesterday, in Linyi, Shandong, China on July 20th, 2004,I had an experience unlike any other in my somewhat diverse life long collection of varied experiences. A new teacher from Manchester England arrived-a right nice bloke. We get on quite well, and have stayed a little late in the office laughing to British comedy on BBC7 online.

We were to spend the morning going to the hospital to get a sort of physical to determine whether we were fit to stay in the country. It included an HIV test, blood pressure test, chest x-ray-standard enough, until you consider the conditions, the equipment and the state of the hospital. Dan, the English fellow, refered to it as the Black Hole of Calcutta, and he was not exagerating.

The exterior of the building could only be described by comparing it to a derelict building. The hallways were filthy, with peeling paint, and puddles on the floors. Upon our arrival, we filled out some forms. We were then ushered into an office for a preliminary physical. The office had two old desks with a man and a woman sitting at each, respectively. In the corner of the room was a plastic tub filled with water, and a bar of soap, which was meant to pass for a sink.

Once seated at the desk, they took our blood pressure on a device that looked like it dated back to the 1800's-instead of a needle, or a digital readout, it had a tube filled with mercury, like a thermometer. Blood pressure taken, they went about getting other vital statistics in a curious manner: "How many kilos do you way?" I tried to explain that we used pounds, but that didn't work. They might have tried a scale, you would think, but I guess they didn't have one.

"How tall are you in meters?" Once again, I was at a loss. With no scientific way of measuring my height, they had me stand up, and took a guess. I wish I had a kewpie doll to give them as a prize if they got it right but, then again, I'd now way of knowing if they succeeded.

"How's your vision?"

"Bad", was all I could come up with. "I wear glasses."

They then stuck a dirty thermometer in my ear, without putting a new plastic sheath on the end. After they got most of my info, they said, "Okay Daniel"...". They had written all my info in the English guy's file, even though there were photos on them, and had to copy it to mine before proceeding.

We then went for our blood tests. Dig this. I got to the window into which I would have to stretch my arm to be stuck with a needle. On the counter behind the window there were a pile of used needles, their plastic sheathes having been replaced to cover the business end, mind you, but still containing the remnants of blood of previous victims. I had joke with Dan as we walked down the halls that we might see a doctor behind one with a bloody cleaver and a menacing grin.He had forewarned me about his unnatural fear of needles and, by extrapolation, I supposed, hospitals. He was not happy, as he was dreading the bloodletting-he even said he might just make a run for it, and he was not joking. But, if you knew me, you would have realized that I found it all rather amusing, like turbulence on an airplane in a storm.

I got our assistant from the school to convince the nurse, or whatever she may have been, to despose of the old needles before she proceeded, so bare hands, and chucked them into a regular wastebasket. No hazmat, needle breaking storage bins. Then, without using something so commonplace and helpful as latex gloves, she applied iodine to my arm with a cotton swab, tied my arm off, and had a go at me with what was, thank God, a needle fresh out of a package.

Dan, by this point, was sweating, mumbling, and going a bit pale. He decided he had to wait, and went to have a cigarette. I found him outside. He said he didn't think he could go through with it, but I encouraged him to get it over. It hadn't helpled that I joked with him that he shouldn't tense his arm so the needle wouldn't break off. We climbed back up the stairs-elevators you ask? Ha!-to the third floor.

He was suffering from the flop sweats now. Aileen, the woman from our school, got him up to the counter, and the woman began to prep him. He had warned me to stand near, in case he fainted, and I agreed. Once they had him ready, we told him to look away, and he did. The needle went in, and he panicked a bit, but was alright. As soon as the needle was out, however, and the woman behind the glass had pressed another cotton swab against ' the pin prick for him to hold there, he collapsed into my arms. As I held his now soaked body up as well as I could-he's bigger and heavier than me, he began to convulse a little, and then came to.

"What happened", he asked sleepily.

"You passed out," I said.

He had now gone white as a sheet. His lips were blue, and he was covered in sweat. A bunch of hospital staff showed up, and helped me get him to a chair, where I poured Coca Cola into his mouth for him, as he held the swab fast against his arm. Aileen, who is so helpful and kind, was dabbing the sweat from his forehead with a tissue all the while.

As if that wasn't enough amusement for the day, we then descended to the ground floor for x-rays. For the chest x-ray, they take you into a room that they then seal off with a sliding metal door. There is a guillotine-looking device which they ask you to stand up against, with your head on the would be "blade", which they lower to half mast, so you can rest your chin upon it. They then gently place your knuckles against your back and, again gently, push your elbows further in front of you then you'd like them to go.

Though I was amused, I couldn't help wondering what it would be like if someone came in and began beating me on the back of the knees with a rubber hose or a billy club. "That wouldn't be fun at all," I surmised. The Doctor, at least I think he was a Doctor, then retreated to the safety of his office/control room, sliding the meat freezer-like door behind him with an ominous clang.

From the contorl room, Aileen translated instructions, like "Don't forget to breathe," over the microphone on the control console-high tech meets the middle-ages. That's not quite what she said, but I did have to remind myself that it's not respiration that makes you deaf. From that room the Doctor-type-guy used a joy-stick to bring the x-ray machine in for the kill.

After being relieved of duty by Dan, the Englishman, I waited in the control room. I went to the console with the joystick, and with Dan pressed up against the guillotine like a butterfly fillet, I leaned to the microphone and said, "We have ways of making you talk." "This is going to be more painful for me than it will be for you." Unfortunately the mic wasn't on-he could have used the comic relief after the previous episode.

Finished? Not till the we went to the electrocution chamber. We clambered back up to the third floor and went down to a room that said, in English, "Electrocardio-something-or-other,"above the door. In we went. I was asked to lay back-down on a filthy sheet and open my shirt. They then took a series of lead balls and metal suction cups attached to antique,
cloth insulated wires and, after slathering my chest with goo, proceeded to affix the various contacts to my torso and cranium. As Dan and Aileen looked on, I lightened the mood by saying, "I'll never tell you the
secret code!" "You'll never get me to talk." "Tell us who Mister Big is!" Dan finally quipped back, having somewhat recovered from his experience. Funny thing about Dan's situation: He was in the English Army for three years, and is a fair amateur boxer. He said he can get in a ring with blokes twice his size, and yet here he was passing out in a hospital at the sight of a needle.

Then again, as you've no doubt noticed, it was not a hospital as we recognize them. But for my part, I was pretty blasé about the whole affair, especially considering my unnatural distasted for microbes and germs in my old life. I guess I'm made of sterner stuff than I thought.