A China-themed Lord’s Supper talk

Every second summer we visit family and friends in the U.S. and Canada, since Jessica’s from New Hampshire and I’m from B.C. This summer churches in both countries asked me to do the Sunday morning Communion talk, which means talking for a few minutes to prepare everyone to take the Lord’s Supper, which is, in those kinds of churches, a weekly ceremony where everyone very solemnly gets a cracker crumb and a sip of grape juice to commemorate Jesus’ death and silently think about its significance for a moment or two (symbolically, it’s sharing a meal together, hence the token “bread” and “wine”, in imitation of Jesus’ final meal with His closest followers before He was crucified).

While the form of this particular church heritage’s Lord’s Supper ceremony could be much improved (back in grad school we did it as part of a real meal with real food, sitting around an actual dinner table at someone’s apartment), someone who knows their Bible and theology would still be able to explain the powerful meanings and community implications that this ceremony is supposed to communicate.

Anyway, of course I made my talk China-themed, though different for each church since they’re both very different. The American church is mostly (but not entirely) white, middle and upper-middle class with a high level of education (closely connected to a local Christian university and it’s graduate school of theology). The Canadian church is in the middle of the most ethnically diverse region in all of Canada, so they have a large number of first-generation immigrants from Africa, Asia and Eastern Europe in addition to a born-and-raised-Canadian legacy crowd of fifth and sixth-generation immigrants.

Each church is also going through different things, so I emphasized different things to each church. At one church I said very little about the form/style of the ceremony but emphasized its social status division-demolishing meaning; in the other church I talked more about cultural differences. Below, I’ve mashed both talks together so it’s a bit of a mess, aiming for too many targets at once, but there it is.

~

When you live immersed in a culture that’s very different from the one you grew up in, like my family does in China, it gives you lots of opportunities to notice how our own culture from North America affects not only our understanding of the Gospel, but also our experience of life together in the Kingdom of God.

Take sharing a meal together, for example (since that’s what we’re about to do, at least symbolically). If there’s one thing the Chinese know how to do well, it’s eat together. When you’re invited to a meal in China, everyone sits around a round table, facing each other, looking across more food than the guests can possibly finish. And you literally eat and drink together; you don’t scoop food on to your plate with a serving spoon and then eat off your own plate. There are no serving spoons and you don’t get your own plate. You and everyone else each take each bite with chopsticks directly from the serving dishes. Foreigners in China (like us and the other North Americans and Europeans that we know) usually call this “eating family-style”.

And it’s not just the food: even though you get your own cup, you won’t fill it yourself; someone else will make sure it doesn’t stay empty. And before each sip from your cup you’ll first catch someone’s eye across the table, raise your glasses toward one another, and then drink together. Or you’ll first clink glasses with everyone before all drinking together. But you never drink on your own.
chinese_banquet_toast
It’s all intended to communicate acceptance, respect, and togetherness. When you literally share the same bowl of food and acknowledge one another with every single sip, you’re saying that we’re in the same group; you’re one of us and I’m one of you (or at the very least, we could be). You’re honouring each other. It’s a reinforcement and celebration of that circle of relationships, of that community.

And so here we are, on the other side of the world, symbolically sharing a meal that also expresses a kind of togetherness – but this is a togetherness that only Jesus’ death and resurrection can make possible: where the honour we all receive as guests at Christ’s table, as adopted siblings in His family, and as fellow subjects in His Kingdom, transcends and makes obsolete the artificial status divisions of race, nationality, economic class, and gender. Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female – we all sit equally at this table.

Now, the meal we’re about to share doesn’t look much like a Chinese meal. Maybe one day it could. But for now at least, this church does things according to the culture and traditions of the fourth, fifth and sixth-generation immigrants to Canada – white, native English speakers. We are lovers of efficiency and convenience, and we’re highly individualistic and private. That’s why we have our little cracker crumbs, single-sip cups, and individual moments of introspection where we see the back of one another’s heads instead of each other’s faces. It’s almost like someone in the 19th century asked, “How efficient and individualistic can we make this meal while still technically ‘eating together’?”

Our modern form of Communion emphasizes each individual person’s individual relationship with God more than our relationship with God, or with one another as God’s people together. That’s why, even though we’re sitting next to each other, we typically close our eyes and ignore each other so we can have our personal moment of prayer and reflection. You can maybe imagine how from a certain angle that looks a bit odd: everyone coming together and then trying to do the most important thing alone. But that’s our modern culture and tradition. You can take it or leave it.

The New Testament churches, however, did this ceremony much more like a real meal. They were served by the host family of whatever home they were meeting in, with real bread and real wine. We can safely assume this just based on what we know about the 1st century world in general, but we can also see this reflected in the specific problems that the first churches faced that were related to the Lord’s Supper (it’s hard to overeat on cracker crumbs, for example, and it’s even harder to get drunk on grape juice. Can you imagine? Getting drunk during the Lord’s Supper? Maybe that’s why we changed it to grape juice… So we got rid of the alcohol but kept the shot glasses…?). But it helps to remember that they weren’t only somberly memorializing Christ’s death; they were also celebrating His resurrection and the new life together that they shared because of it.

Those New Testament churches didn’t have church buildings or pews or special round silver trays with little shot glasses. The shared homes and dinner tables and food and wine. But still, regardless of what form or style we choose, whether 1st century or modern, when we share our cracker crumbs and sips of grape juice we’re remembering Jesus’ sacrifice for us, and we’re also proclaiming that Jesus’ triumph over death has given us hope and new life with Him, and new life with each other together under His authority in His Kingdom.

When we do this ceremony together, however we do it, we’re saying that we’re part of the same big family, eating at Jesus’ dinner table together, and that the spiritual family bond we share, the allegiance to Christ that binds us together, takes priority over all other identities and allegiances.

At this family dinner table sixth-generation immigrants honour the first-generation immigrants as equal members; senior managers and nannies take from the same bowl; university professors acknowledge cafeteria workers before they drink – all of us humbled and all of us honoured together under Christ.

So as we share the Lord’s Supper together, remembering how Christ’s body was broken and His blood was shed for us, and celebrating His resurrection and the new life together in His Kingdom under Him that His resurrection makes possible, let’s also use the image of a Chinese meal to consider what Jesus’ sacrifice and Jesus’ triumph mean for us together.

And since I’m playing the “host” today, we’ll imitate an ancient New Testament church by having my “household” serve the “meal”.

Heavenly Father, thank You for Jesus, who makes it possible for us to receive the honour of sitting at Your table. Please teach us to realize in fact around our actual dinner tables the kind of community that we symbolically proclaim this morning. Amen.

Taiwanese_Last_Supper
When Jesus ate with chopsticks. (Click for source.)

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*Just to clear up potential confusion: This description of drinking at Chinese meals applies to the main beverage, which is alcoholic – usually beer, baijiu, and/or wine. Each person will also get a cup for tea or hot water as a secondary beverage that you can drink casually on your own. But the alcohol is the main drink, as it’s the one with the social significance.

Songs about Qingdao! 青岛小嫚 by MC沙洲 & 爱青岛 by The Qingdao Allstars

Somehow we discovered MC沙洲, a local Qingdao hip-hop artist who has songs like 美丽青岛, IN青岛, 青岛MC, 青岛的夏天 and 青岛小嫚, all of which feature a heavy dose of Qingdaonese。

He also has a cameo in 爱青岛 by The Qingdao Allstars, in which a bunch of foreigners sing about Qingdao in English, Chinese and Qingdaonese (so I guess we’ll call that Qinglish?). Videos and lyrics for 青岛小嫚 and 爱青岛 below. Favourite lyric:

You’re my clam, I’m your hot pepper
Stir-fried together then it’s Qingdao flavour

你是我的蛤蜊 我是你的辣椒
放在一块儿炒才是青岛的味道

《青岛小嫚》
她是个青岛小嫚 动不动就生气 不愿意了甩了脸就走人
我站在原地还不知道怎么回事 手上拿着半个冰棍儿往下滴水
今天天气不错 该出去约会 我的青岛小嫚不弱 她是个辣妹
她最喜欢吃的就是路边小吃 最喜欢干的事儿就是没事找事儿
但是我不冲她发火 她比个男的有劲儿 还老穿个小裙子化装淑女
有的时候她也会温柔似水 那说明她饿了想让我喂她吃食 Oh
La la la la la la (Oh)
La la la la la la la
La la la la la la 我的青岛小嫚
打个啵 (Mua)
La la la la la la (Oh)
La la la la la la la
La la la la la la 我的青岛小嫚
一块儿唱 一块儿唱
La la la la la la (Oh)
La la la la la la la
La la la la la la 我的青岛小嫚
一块儿唱
La la la la la la (Oh)
La la la la la la la
La la la la la la 我的青岛小嫚
她买个破拖鞋要逛到晚上九点半 还老嫌我走路慢 她一个一个看
去游乐园玩那些奇怪东西 转呐转 转的我都头晕 她还不算完
有好好座不坐她让我买个摇篮 每天吃那么多饭也不怕坐断
白天上班的时候装的那么能干 下班回家就往床上钻 也不做饭
怎么那么懒 怎么她妈也不管 怎么她就成了我的心肝 我的陪伴
见不着我想她 见着我又烦 本来有个好灵感都让她搅乱

不唱我爱台妹我唱我爱青岛小嫚 爱她漂亮的大长腿和她说话口音
不化妆就出门 不愿意就打人 说她是个女屌丝她还那么恣儿
我唱歌那么好 她就跑调 去洗海澡她游我就狗刨
一个汉堡我吃饱她还得要 想去哪都问我我不认识道
你是我的蛤蜊 我是你的辣椒 放在一块儿炒才是青岛的味道
爱这里就要爱这里嫚 爱就要爱我的青岛小嫚

《爱青岛》
Everybody singing together
What do we say?
青岛啤酒好喝
咱们干杯
哈啤酒
吃蛤蜊
爱青岛
我们一起玩

come on every one
lets drink some fun
party all night
cheering the morning sun
spring skipping alright
waiting for the summer
fell back to sleep
cuz the winter is a bummer
ya need to be reminded
that your city is beautiful?
walk slow, watch her sunsets grow
lighting up the clouds like a rubies glow
drink your fill don’t spill your drink doh

请你开你的口
举起酒杯
先听李清say
Go with the flow
时间飞
废话甭说任何的时候
醉月如梭

像水流,no不是,像啤酒
哥们儿和朋友
饮一杯酒
不知不觉时间就被偷
喝多了
喝high了
看这个小妹儿穿得那么fly的
哦surprise了
中美关系好起来啦
希望青啤的新产品是苹果cider(赛达?)
小哥小心不要喝得那么快嘛

Everybody singing together
What do we say?
青岛啤酒好喝
咱们干杯
哈啤酒
吃蛤蜊
爱青岛
我们一起玩

我们来自青岛
我们热爱青岛
我们从来不在大街上尿尿
这是蛤蜊的调 这是小村庄的调
用我四方的口音唱个吆吆切可闹
我从来没去过 new york
我就去过胜利桥
跟我伙计们子吃个烧烤
我们看上去很屌 其实很表 哈大了酒就回家睡觉

我第一次到青岛(was love at first sight)
这个地方这么好
有山有海
(She be my cup of tea, I mean…)
它就是我的菜
还有青岛的扎啤就是我的最爱

外国的老巴子
听我嘻哈说一下
我想教你们
一点青岛话
牡蛎是海蛎子
蛤蜊是gala
烤肉是烤you
还有喝是哈

有蓝天碧海 红瓦和绿树
有喝的有吃的还有看的cool
你白恶银了你快白叨叨了
没见过老外说青岛话
太搞笑了

(I’m almost all out, but I got a couple more words-
They’re only for the cool kids, and not for the nerds)
叫哥们小哥,叫姐们小嫚
(And) 过来是个来 (let’s drink a BERR)

Everybody singing together
What do we say?
青岛啤酒好喝
咱们干杯
哈啤酒
吃蛤蜊
爱青岛
我们一起玩

Everybody singing together
What do we say?
青岛啤酒好喝
咱们干杯
哈啤酒
吃蛤蜊
爱青岛
我们一起玩

Comrade Papa

At least they don’t actually call him “Big Brother.”

comrade_papa_xi
“Staunchly unite around Comrade Xi Jinping as the core of the Central Party Committee. Unceasingly initiate fresh progress in the cause of socialism with Chinese characteristics.”
坚定团结在以习近平同志核心的党中央周围,不断开创中国特色社会主义事业新局面
(They call him “Papa Xi” 习大大.)

Misadventures at a Chinese Hospital in Qingdao

Our About page says we’re “trying to live into and love — and some days just survive — China.” That last bit is just supposed to be some tongue-in-cheek hyperbole, but it recently became a little too literal.

For reasons that no doubt expose my questionable judgment, I tried to use the nearby local Chinese hospital in our un-redeveloped patch of an older outlying district of a wannabe 2nd-tier Chinese city, rather than the big downtown hospital that sometimes has Western-trained doctors in a clinic specially targeted to foreigners. I mean, how complicated could it be to get treatment for a persistent cough? What could go wrong, you know? As it turns out… a few things.

* * * * *

Why Not Choose a Local Chinese Hospital?
Of course we’ve seen the headlines and heard the stories about Chinese hospital corruption and low standards. But we’ve had two tolerable experiences at this particular hospital before: once when our two-year-old had bad pneumonia she got prescribed oral antibiotics and breathing machine meds (when we resisted hospitalization), and recently when the same kid had diarrhea she got prescribed ‘normal’ diarrhea medicine plus Chinese herbal belly button plugs (just for kicks).

I figured it’d be more convenient (wrong) and less expensive (also wrong) to visit a Chinese doctor I could walk to and pay 6å…ƒ to see rather than visit a maybe-Western-trained sort-of English-speaking Chinese doctor who costs 100å…ƒ to see plus 70å…ƒ in taxi money round-trip. And just the fact that I knew I could navigate a Chinese hospital visit on my own kind of made me want to give it a shot.

* * * * *

How to Get From the Front Doors to a Filled Prescription… in 11 Easy Steps (at least)
The Number “4” People’s Hospital is pretty average; you can find better and you can find worse (it wasn’t actually the Number “4”; I’m obscuring that detail to protect the possibly-guilty and because “4” means “die” in Chinese).

The process…

  1. from walking in the door and taking a number (<5min)
  2. to paying, getting a card, and registering to see a doctor (15min)
  3. to seeing a doctor (15min)
  4. to paying for tests (15min)
  5. to getting tests done (45min)
  6. to picking up the test results (30min for blood; 4hrs for CT printout — but the doctor has them almost instantly via the hospital’s computer network)
  7. to seeing the doctor again for a diagnosis and prescription (15min if you spend time arguing like me)
  8. to getting the skin test done to check for allergies to the prescribed meds (20min)
  9. to paying for those meds (15min)
  10. to receiving your meds (5min)
  11. to getting your IV drip prepared and inserted into your circulatory system (IV drips are a national pastime in China) (15min)

…can appear daunting at first. Each one of the points above represents a trip to a different window and/or office and/or machine, and most of them involve standing in crowded noisy lines of other sick people. (The times above are what it took for me the other day.)

Honestly, Number “4” People’s was decently navigable; at any point in the process you can ask a nurse at the booth by the main entrance and she’ll tell you what to do. To get your test results you insert your hospital card into an ATM-like machine (your name displays on a screen when they’re ready to print), but the doctor had my results on her computer before I’d made it back to her office from the testing room.

But you should probably bring a Chinese friend if:

  • You’re too sick to stand for a while in the crowded heat and yell through glass windows and run around a bit;
  • You don’t have at bare-minimum solid HSK4-level Chinese (this might not be enough). Aside from the all the medical vocabulary, it’s just noisy and hard to hear clearly.

* * * * *

How Not to Handle Your Average Local Chinese Doctor
I’d walked in at 9:30am and ping-ponged through Steps 1-6 by 11:10. Now I’m back in the doctor’s office (Step 7)… and this is when things start to go bad.

I’m not saying ‘bad’ because there’s no privacy with the door wide open and other people in the room, one of whom will eventually chime in on my consultation — that’s normal and expected. I’m saying ‘bad’ because she looks at my CT scan and says: “You need to be admitted for 7-10 days and take IV antibiotics.”

“Can’t I just take antibiotics pills? I’ve never needed an IV before. Usually we just take pills for this.”

“You’re pneumonia is too serious for pills. You need to be admitted. Look here…” She shows me her screen:
CT_scan_pneumonia
“…That’s your heart. That black part is your lungs. It’s supposed to be all black. See all this? This here that looks like meat? That’s the pneumonia.”

This is not what I want to hear. As if I know how to judge the seriousness of a CT scan. And sure, I know the Chinese doctor stereotypes — over-treat everything (especially with IVs and unnecessary hospitalization and surgery) just to make extra sure, and never mind a financial incentive to over-prescribe — but I mean, come on. Really?

There’s no way I’m being admitted; we leave for North America in just over two weeks, we have a newborn and two young kids at home, and I have work to do. So I’m still aiming for pills while trying not to be too rude: “I can’t be admitted; that’s impossible. Can we really not use pills in this situation?”

“I really don’t want to give you oral antibiotics,” she says while flipping through my CT images, “Not for pneumonia that’s this serious.”

I haven’t given up yet, “Well, what’s the difference between me taking pills or an IV? Is it just that pills will take longer? Because I don’t mind! I can take pills for weeks if I need to!”

“Your pneumonia is really too serious. You’ve got to be on an IV…” She will not budge. After some more back and forth — during which I wish now that I’d just flat-out refused and forced her to give me pills — I agree to come sit in the hospital’s Infusion Hall twice a day for four hours at a time for three days, after which she’ll maybe consider giving me pills depending on my progress. We also go back and forth about whether I can just do the IVs in our neighbourhood’s clinic, but she refuses. I have to come into their hospital twice a day for four hours at a time.

It’s insane; I can’t believe I’m agreeing to it but my only other option is hospitalization, and by this point I’m feeling pretty sick.

infusion_convoI want to walk out and catch a cab straight to the foreigner clinic at Qingdao Municipal or even to super-expensive Family United — anywhere a doctor will prescribe oral antibiotics. But here’s the catch: it’s the beginning of the Dragon Boat Festival national long weekend. Jessica’s already called both those other hospitals and neither has an American-trained doctor available. At Family United I’d have to go to Emergency, so with tests we’re talking 10,000å…ƒ (their nurse’s estimate!) and I’d still be seeing a locally trained Chinese doctor!

* * * * *

From the Infusion Hall to the ER… in under 10min
So that’s why I show up again at 3:30 to collect my CT printout and go on a drip for the first time in my life (though we did sell plenty of our plasma in college; I’ve got lots of experience sitting in a chair for hours with a needle in my arm).

It takes more time to get from Step 8 to Step 11 than I’d anticipated (plus I wasted about 15min standing in line at the wrong time). I send Jessica this photo at 4:28. The drip’s been in for about a minute:
POd_inthe_infusionhall
I’ve got my laptop so I can do some work, and my Chinese reading’s loaded on my phone. Neither has enough battery to last the full four hours, even used consecutively. I’ve forgotten my book. So far I’ve been polite to everyone and kept my face pleasant, but I’m in a foul mood. I can’t believe I’m going along with this. I’m about to start in on my Chinese reading when…

…huh. does my stomach feel weird? i don’t think so… maybe i’m imagining it? or does it? it’s hard to tell… … wait, no, it does feel a little weird, maybe i’m hungry… … wait, are my fingers tingling? the heck…? my fingers are tingling… … oh man i need to rest my head somewhere…

“Hey, nurse! Please come here.”

“What?”

“I feel uncomfortable.”

“Oh! Haha. I don’t know. Hold on… Hey! Older Sister! Come here!” I see her wave down a nurse who looks slightly older than this rookie, who’s in the middle of a funny conversation with a coworker. They all get off work in about 20 minutes.

…am i sweating? i’m sweating… why am i sweating…

“What’s the problem?”

“I feel really uncomfortable,” I’m slumped forward in the chair, I wonder if I’m slurring.

“Here eat this.” She shoves a piece of candy in my mouth. I crunch it down as fast as I can. One of them pushes me back up into a sitting position.

…candy? the heck… oh man this is not getting better… i’m sweating buckets… i must be dripping on the floor… i’m dripping… ohhh black stars… white stars… am i gonna barf? …if i barf where should i barf? …not on my clothes… clear a space on the floor here…

Suddenly there are doctors — two, I think. They’re talking to the nurses. One looks straight at me and says, “What’s your name?”

“My name is Lu Tianlang.” …fuzzy black stars on the edges of my vision… and blinding bright whiteness like the washed-out parts of a photo…

His face is right in front of me, “Have you eaten? Did you have lunch?”

“At three in the afternoon I had three zongzi.”

He turns to the others, “It’s definitely not low blood sugar.”

…slumped… sweat… tingling… i can’t see clearly… a face, question…

“What is your name?” All I can see is his face and collar; all around and behind him are the bright white shining stars. I try to focus on his face.

“My name is Lu Tianlang.” …pretty sure i slurred that one…

An old man wheels a gurney up, they help me climb on — I’m oddly aware of the fact that I remember to grab my phone first — someone puts the laptop between my shins, they’re wheeling me down the hall. I think I hear them say the word ç³– in reference to whatever IV solution they used to swap out my medicine (guessing it’s this). I can feel the stars and tingling start to recede, and I tell them I’m starting to feel better. The doctors seem happy; they try out some English on me.

Chinese_ER_convoIn the neighbouring building’s ER they take blood pressure and do an EKG. I watch the doctor read the printout. He smiles, gives me a thumbs up, says I’m fine and leaves. I flag down a nurse who says I can go as soon as my drip bag is done in about 45 minutes. I’d better think of something to tell Jessica…

* * * * *

Outside the main entrance I thankfully get a cab immediately. The driver’s 60 years old. We chat. I mention what’s just happened. He takes a sideways look back in the direction of Number “4” People’s and mutters, “That place is no good. They don’t know what they’re doing in there. I don’t go there. They don’t know what they’re doing…” Then he lectures me about the importance of being healthy.

I’m feeling crappy and slightly scared. I have no medicine and tomorrow I’ll have to try another hospital. But I’ve got all kinds of warm feelings for this taxi shifu. It’s like ‘China’ decided to throw me a bone after all, even on a Bad China Day.

* * * * *

Salvation
1:30pm the next day is the soonest I can get to see a foreign-trained doctor — a “Dr. Qi” who works at the Municipal Hospital’s International Clinic. I imagine the consultation being mostly in Chinese, like the previous two times I’d seen doctors at that clinic.

But then he walks in and starts speaking *American.*

What?! …JACKPOT!!! MY NIGHTMARE IS OVER AND I’M GETTING PILLS!!! I COULD KISS THIS GUY RIGHT NOW! (Except for, you know, the pneumonia.) I wonder if the shock showed on my face.

I suspect he gets this reaction a lot. Another China long-termer in Qingdao told me later,

“I cried the first time I went in to see Dr. Chee. I couldn’t believe I was doing it in English and I just lost it right there in his office!”

I can understand that!

Turns out his name’s not even Qi (Mainland Chinese spelling for the surname 綦) like I’d assumed from hearing it spoken; it’s Chee (for 朱), as in his family probably originally immigrated from Hong Kong or somewhere (mine originally came from the Ukraine and Switzerland — hey, small world!).

This doctor visit is a full-on miracle of modern medical science. He’s better than a lot of doctors I’ve seen in North America, and I’m not just saying that because he prescribed me oral antibiotics that are literally 5x cheaper than the IV meds I’d bought the day before. If you are a sick English-speaking foreigner in Qingdao, Dr. Chee at the Qingdao Municipal Hospital’s International Clinic is your man!

* * * * *

One Final Awkward
But there’s one last task to do on the way home: get that nearly 600å…ƒ worth of IV antibiotics refunded. This requires authorization from the doctor who prescribed them. So I’m going to walk into her office at Number “4” People’s with some other hospital’s blood test gauze taped to my arm and a bag of pills that she wouldn’t give me but some other doctor obviously has, and ask her to refund two huge bags of stuff she insisted I buy even though I’d said I didn’t want to, and even though submitting to her treatment had landed me in the ER. Awkward.

I walk straight up to her office just after 4pm without taking a number (she gets off at 5). I’m polite and smiley; she’s chatty, if a bit flustered and rushed. She’s assumed I’m there to return the drugs and immediately gets after it. I can’t describe the process because she personally does all the running around between floors and departments and windows for me — I just follow her and stand off to the side.

We talk all about what happened 24 hours before, and she keeps saying, “It’s really strange!” over and over. She doesn’t verbally apologize, and we don’t even come close to broaching the subject of, “So what do I do now?” Apparently it’s an unspoken understanding that I’ve found another doctor, or at least that I won’t continue with her. She’s super accommodating, and at 4:30 hands me my partial refund, says a hurried goodbye and rushes into the elevator with someone.

Was it an unspoken apology? Was she afraid I’d make trouble? Collusion between the pharmaceutical and medical industries is rampant in China, and her prescription cost 5x more than what the American doctor at a more prestigious downtown hospital prescribed. Was she afraid of being accused of something? I can’t know, but it’s all possible.

And no joke: they refunded me 444.64å…ƒ (of 581): “Die, die, die, unimpededly die.” That’s gotta be the most inauspicious Chinese hospital receipt ever.

* * * * *

That evening I thanked her on Weixin for helping me return the drugs; I just wanted to say goodbye and close things out. She replied with a written apology and a 100å…ƒ hongbao:
doctor_apology_hongbao

Not at all, I still feel apologetic. It was Bangda [a particular drug], and you did a skin test, so I thought it over, not excluding being too nervous or low blood sugar. But no, how about you first take oral antibiotics and see. I’m really embarrassed, I hope you’ll understand! Here’s a hongbao to express my apology!

I asked several different Chinese friends how to respond to that: Should I take the hongbao? Not take the hongbao? What should I say? I replied with what one of them told me to say, and tried to return a portion of the hongbao like another suggested (she didn’t take it):

It didn’t cause a health problem, so it’s fine, medical science isn’t perfect, anyone can make mistakes, let’s just consider it my contribution to the accumulating experience of medical science.

How often does that happen in China? A doctor giving a patient a hongbao? It’s usually the other way around. Here’s the anti-bribery sign from the front desk at the international clinic in the downtown hospital:

no_hongbao_please
HONEST MEDICAL TREATMENT, REFUSE TO ACCEPT HONGBAO
诚信医疗 拒收红包
Now that I think of it, I didn’t see any of these signs at Number “4” People’s. Maybe that should have been a clue! (Here’s another one from a previous medical adventure in Huangdao.)

Diagnosing & Prescribing for Pneumonia
Qingdao Number “4” People’s Hospital:

  • Consult: 6å…ƒ
  • Meds + IV fees: 597å…ƒ (and pressure to accept hospitalization!)

Qingdao Municipal Hospital’s International Clinic:

  • Consult: 100å…ƒ
  • Meds: 118å…ƒ

I want to assume the best and give benefit of doubt, but a part of me still wonders how to interpret that 100å…ƒ hongbao apology.

“Be careful of hospital scalpers”

beware_hospital_scalpers_China
“Guard against hospital scalpers.” 谨防医托

To find out what a “hospital scalper” is see this article: Scalped: At China’s creaking hospitals, illegal ticket touts defy crackdown.

Took this photo during my misadventures at a local Chinese hospital earlier this week. I wouldn’t say the place was an Orwellian nightmare, exactly, but “creaking” definitely sounds right. Didn’t notice any scalpers, but I was plenty distracted at the time.

Beijing rain, sunset and morning

Three photos from our recent overnight embassy trip to Beijing. First, driving north from the Beijing South Station:
rainy_Beijing
Two photos from the 15th floor of our hotel in the embassy district:
Beijing_sunset
Beijing_morning

Market day in Qingdao

Market days (大集) are every five days, on the lunar calendar’s 2s and 7s. If you’re going to 赶集, those are the best days.
marketday
This new location for Licunji (李村集) doesn’t compare to the old one, but market day still brings out tons of people.