The Accidental (Medical) Tourist
Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.
Where we are: Hua Hin, Thailand—a little beach break seemed like just what the doctor ordered.
The Accidental (Medical) Tourist:
Prior to 2020, we had a pretty good system: visit the US for a few weeks in May every year, then get back on the road. Our US visits were always a crazy blur of visiting with family and friends, stocking up on preferred brands we can only get in the US (yes, I’m fussy about underwear), eating all the foods we’ve missed, refilling prescriptions, and going to doctor appointments. LOTS of doctor appointments.
If you were to sit down and make a list of every routine medical appointment you have in a year, I bet it would be a long list. We’ve been in the habit of cramming all that into the ten days we’re in Raleigh, going back and forth to Duke University, sometimes multiple times in a day.
When we realized the pandemic was going to be serious last year, we cancelled all those appointments. We weren’t the only ones who shied away from routine check-ups, but the fact that we didn’t want to reschedule earned us more than a few reminder emails. We figured we’d make do, even if it was suboptimal. We scrambled around in Japan, and managed to get stop-gap prescriptions for the medications we both needed. Then in South Korea, we found a dentist and got our teeth cleaned. Pleased with the cleaning, Lee decided to go ahead and get a bunch of work done that he’d been delaying.
When we got out of quarantine in Bangkok, we decided to it was the right time and place to catch up on all the tests and exams we had skipped in 2020. Our year of making-do, medically speaking, has been perfectly fine, but eventually you do start to worry about the bits and parts.
The very first thing we did (after squeezing Toby half to death) was get our teeth cleaned. We have a dentist here in Bangkok whom we’ve been seeing since 2016. We LOVE this practice—they do the best, most thorough cleanings we’ve ever had (we’ve had our teeth cleaned in a lot of places—it’s sort of an easy, low-risk way to assess the medical system, plus we don’t want to have unexpected problems creep up on us in, say, the wilds of Patagonia). Anyway, our dentist here is fantastic, with all the latest bells and whistles. Everyone speaks perfect English. The hygiene is comparable to (or better than) what we’ve had our whole lives in the US.
Plus there’s a grand piano in the waiting room, and no televisions in the exam rooms. It’s a soothing little oasis of peace. Yes, I just said “soothing oasis of peace” in the context of a dentist. Thailand is full of surprises.
So then, with shiny smooth teeth, we jumped into what’s called ‘medical tourism.’ In the last two months, between us, we’ve had: a mammogram/pap smear, a colonoscopy, typhoid booster shots, a bunch of skin cancer biopsies and excisions, loads of blood work, a set of x-rays, and a contrast MRI.
The care we’ve gotten here in Thailand has consistently been both prompt and excellent, with the added benefit of being extremely caring. I called my rheumatologist in the US to try and get a telehealth appointment, and was told I couldn’t have one until April. So I messaged the hospital (all medical care here is in a hospital) I’ve been going to in Bangkok, and had an appointment the next day. He ordered the exact tests my doctor in the US would’ve ordered. Every doctor we’ve seen has listened carefully to our concerns. We’ve never felt rushed. The costs have been explained clearly, up front.
Everything has been routine, but when you’re far from home, in a culture you don’t fully understand, with a language you don’t speak, going to the doctor can seem like a big risk. I’ve always thought the idea of ‘medical tourism’ seemed a little sketchy, and we were a little nervous before the first couple of appointments, but everything has gone incredibly smoothly.
The only unexpected complication was the MRI. I discovered a weird bump on my ankle, so a very nice orthopedic doctor thought it best to take a look. This was the second MRI I’ve ever had. Lee asked me afterward if it had bothered me—if I felt uncomfortable in the machine. For what it’s worth, I’m not generally claustrophobic, so I doubt it would’ve bothered me much anyway, but the machine I was in was surprisingly open—I didn’t quite expect it to be so up-to-date.
Anyway—now I’m trussed up in a walking boot, with a torn tendon in my ankle. (I blame excessive quarantine exercise—next quarantine, I’ll be taking it super-easy.)
The ankle may or may not heal in this boot. If it doesn’t, I guess I’ll be looking at tendon repair surgery, which has a perfectly miserable sounding recovery time. I’ve always just assumed that anything big like that would, obviously, be best taken care of in the US. But now I’m not sure. The medical professionals here are so kind and reassuring (concern for the wellbeing of others is a huge part of the culture here—see: Covid response).
All other things being equal (training, hygiene, technology), I think it’s a question of what’s more important to me: familiarity or hand-holding. I’ve never had surgery before, so honestly? I have to say I surprise myself, but—the hand-holding might win.
From my writer’s notebook:
In my very first ‘writer’s notebook’ segment, more than a year ago, I talked about the infamous 1994 theft of Edvard Munch’s painting The Scream. In that segment, I mentioned a book I really enjoyed: The Rescue Artist, by Edward Dolnick. The rescue artist of the title is the (at that time) Scotland Yard agent who was mostly responsible for recovering the painting, a man named Charles Hill. I saw last week that Hill had died recently; I highly recommend Dolnick’s book, if you enjoy nonfiction crime stories. Hill was an interesting character, and I was sorry to see that he had died.
Take care,
Lisa
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