“This weather matches my feelings.”

Lucas Erickson, March 7, 2012, 6:45 am

The weather here has been terrible—constant rain and gray days.  Today when I walked Henry to school it began to sleet.  It is no fun to be in a downward dip in your cultural acclimation and have the weather decide to follow your lead.  Needless to say, this is making any attempt at cheering up the kids fairly futile.  This morning when Lucas looked out at the cloudy sky and told me that this weather was a perfect match for how he was feeling inside, my heart sank.  I can remember feeling like that about 10 years ago when I had a touch of the old baby blues.  Looking out at that February sky that always seemed to get dark and dreadful so early in the afternoon, I couldn’t imagine that I would ever be able to manage leaving the house.  But Spring came in spite of my dour mood, and suddenly things seemed ok again.  I am hoping that any minute now Spring will come to Shanghai.  We could use it.

There was about an hour of reasonable weather yesterday.  The sun threatened to shine and tried to peek out of the clouds.  It didn’t last long, but it was just enough time to do a little shopping with another American who arrived in Shanghai about the same time as we did.  We had plans to head over the river to explore a bit, but ended up staying close to home to run errands.  One of these stops involved the sporting goods store to buy some gear for her son.  He is in middle school, and is playing baseball here in Shanghai.  To be able to practice, he needed an athletic supporter.  Moms love to buy these kinds of things, of course.  Even in English, purchasing a jock strap for your not-quite-grown son can be a terrifying experience.  Having to explain yourself and ask around to find what you need can be brutal when it involves someone else’s genitals.  And it doesn’t matter that you might be fine with every word ever used for boy anatomy.  The salespeople rarely have this kind of poise.

The sporting goods store here is pretty big so we were sure they would have what we needed.  We started the search hoping that it wouldn’t involve the usual Chinglish pantomime that seems to occur here on a daily basis.  No such luck.  An unsuspecting salesman with limited English approached us to offer his assistance.  Did we need any help?  Of course we did!  We explained in English.  My friend offered every synonym for jock strap known to man but was met with a baffled expression.  Where do you wear this thing?  The salesman was confused.  Was it to protect your stomach?  What sport was this for anyway?  He led us to the support belts for heavy lifting.  Nope, we explained.  It is for protecting this part HERE.  We vigorously pantomimed.  My friend kept suggesting situations where a cup would be helpful all of which made the salesman grow redder and redder in the face and more confused.  He questioned us to help determine what this mystery item was.  Why would a ball hit you there?   What sport was this for again?  He enlisted the help of a fellow associate.  My friend volunteered that you might need an athletic supporter for American football or for rugby.  This did not help.  Our first helper tried explaining to our new acquaintance in Chinese what he thought we were looking for.  The second man’s face grew red as well and he expressed his astonishment and confusion through an increasingly pained series of gasps and groans.  We pantomimed again and explained that it was like underwear.  It was special protective underwear for boys.  My friend once again demonstrated an imaginary ball hitting someone in the crotch.  The new salesman winced and blurted out, “Why?!”.  Desperate, they called in the big guns.

They hunted down the manager and once again tried to explain what they thought we might want.  He blushed as well and consulted with a female associate.  We did our wild demonstration again only to have the woman use a word in Chinese that I actually understood.  Don’t have.  She didn’t even come close to blushing.  After all this they didn’t have it.  Wait, the manager insisted, we should wait while he checked online.  Maybe they did have something like this.  We waited.  He returned holding two jock straps—one a junior size and one an adult.  We loudly expressed our thanks and gratitude only to then further scandalize him by involving him in the discussion of which size would fit best.  He shifted from one foot to the other as we examined the packaging and inspected the product.  Once my friend had made her selection, I asked him what it was called in Chinese.  He told me in a low voice and I repeated the word several times, each time making him more and more uncomfortable.  “The first part means ‘protection’”, he explained, “and the second part means… this area.”  He made a sweeping gesture to indicate what he meant, making it clear that he would rather die than discuss it any further.  But who can resist repeating a word like that?  Not me.  I am sure that never before had the manager been so relieved to have satisfied customers leave with their purchase.

Today was another whirlwind day in Shanghai.  Basically, I spent the entire day on the move and I have three things to show for it.  First, I was finally able to get a bank card.  Up until now, I have had to rely on Mark to supply me with cash from the ATM so that I could make purchases.  I haven’t had access to the Chinese bank account, and when I want to make large purchases I have to borrow his debit card and leave him with the possibility of needing money and being unable to get any.  This is frustrating to say the least, but this isn’t a situation born of pure laziness.  I have been in Shanghai for two months now and it isn’t from lack of trying that I don’t have a debit card.  You see, the bank wouldn’t give me one.  Well, they wouldn’t give me one unless I opened my own account.  They thought it was crazy that Mark would want an additional card for his wife.  A joint account?  Ha, ha.  That suggestion is so funny!  The solution was for him to open an account for me and then just keep putting money into it from his account.  And depositing money is best done in the bank, mind you, and our internet banking is limited and, also, apparently has never worked.  Ah, China.  Why can’t things just be simple?  Why the crazy every day?  Just to mix things up, it turns out that other banks will let you have two debit cards for one account!  And they have internet banking!  In English!  So what do we decide to do?  Go and open another bank account, that’s what.  Now Mark gets the joy of changing his direct deposit and other information from one bank to another.  Check back with me in a year or so and I am sure it will all be close to figured out.  So now I have a debit card for an account with no money in it!  Chinese bank card—mission kind of accomplished.

I had grand plans to make it to the big electronics store down the street.  Yesterday for Leap Day they had a big sale where things were 29% off (so clever) but I couldn’t get to the store to save Mark money.  My Chinese teacher claims they have all of the items I have been scouring the city for and that the prices are relatively cheap.  She taught me how to say “food processor”, “blender”, and “digital slow cooker” in Chinese in preparation for my excursion.  Allegedly there are English-speaking staff working there, but I have learned not to count on that.  After my three hour bank trip I was going to see if anyone could understand my Mandarin and hopefully score some of my kitchen things.  I was debating whether I should walk or grab a taxi to save some time and energy when my phone rang.  It was Lucas’ school telling me he was sick and I needed to come and get him.  Change of plans.  Luckily, I had the school address and phone number along with my parking pass and parent ID card in my bag.  Emergency preparedness!  For once I had enough cash for the big ride to Shanghai American School and I was right by the taxi stand!  I sprung into action.  I was amazed at how easy this was!  I was in a taxi going to pick up the sick kid!  Without incident!  Of course, this could not last.  The driver had no idea where he was going and asked me to call the school for directions.  A few weeks ago this would have made me nervous, but we were going in the right direction so I stayed calm even though it took me more than one call to actually get a person on the other end of the line.  I handed the phone to the driver and he sorted things out.  He still pulled out his map, though, which meant he was driving, talking on the phone, and reading the map at the same time.  We slowed to a crawl and wandered into other lanes as he tried to get his bearings.  Horns honked and other cars swerved to avoid us, but this isn’t so strange for Shanghai.  He eventually handed the phone back to me and we barreled down the road.

Lucas’ school is a good 40 minute ride from our house, and once I am there I need a taxi to take me back home.  I remembered how this has left me stranded before so I figured I would ask the driver to wait for me while I went in to get Lucas.  But how to communicate this to the driver using only five or so words in Chinese?  Not possible, I decided, and called Mark’s assistant.  Once again I handed the driver the phone and he swerved and talked until things were worked out.  He found the school, waited until I had Lucas, and even managed to get us on the way to our house in one germy piece.  The ride home was uneventful until we arrived at our compound.  We usually come in the last gate, but this afternoon it was locked down tight and not a security guard around.  Our taxi joined the line of honking cars and waiting bicycles, but nothing happened.  Lucas and I got out of the car and hiked to another gate.  When I called to find out why the gate was closed and when it would be reopened I was told it was closed… forever!  Just because.  Closed even for foot traffic.  FOREVER!  Oh, China!  You are so silly.  But we were home, so mission survive-a-quick-change-of-plans was—accomplished!

And my third exciting accomplishment?  I wanted a bubble tea and I got one!  Ok, it was cold and I had wanted a hot one, but I am still going to say that mission order-a-drink-through-a-combination-of-Mandarin/pantomime was—accomplished!  And, yes, I am going to count that as my third big event.  The end.

In getting ready to move, I thought I was ready for some of the challenges.  I assumed that there would be some bumps for the kids with school and that our new house would be smaller than our old one.  I was even ready for the challenge of feeding the family once we arrived in China—or so I thought.  I had no idea how much of my time and energy would be spent on a daily basis trying to figure out how and what to cook over here.  I have always prided myself on the fact that the kids are pretty good eaters.  They will usually try almost anything, and, more often than not, discover that they love the thing they had earlier been hesitant to taste.  I like exploring and figuring out how to use local ingredients.  I like seeing what the locals eat and going to the markets.  When we lived in Paris, I spent most of my afternoons deciding what to make for dinner and then shopping.  I remember those afternoons as great experiences.  Yes, I sometimes had trouble asking for what I wanted in French and I had to make substitutions when I wanted something specific form home, but France has beautiful markets (duh) and I was usually more than willing to change what I ate when something better presented itself.  I was flexible and we ate really well.  When I couldn’t find salsa, I figured out how to make it myself.  I made friends with the butcher.  I was really just learning how to cook so sometimes my creations fell flat, but other times I was surprised to find that I could make something really delicious.  We had a house full of roommates who were always willing to try the things I made and mealtimes were full and joyous.  I was expecting our time in Shanghai to feel a little like this.  Well, this is no Paris.  Not yet, anyway.

Part of the problem is my own.  I want things to get to the point where they are easy and I want that feeling now.  Shanghai is fun for exploring, but not when you need dinner on the table for 3 kids at 6:30 sharp.  I have really had difficulty with this lately.  They are not my hungry roommates from Paris, not by a long shot.  My kids have usually spent the day tasting new things at school (school lunch is saving me, by the way) and when they get home they want familiar snacks and a no surprises dinner.  I want to give that to them, but finding the ingredients here to make what used to be my go to meals is complicated.  Look, I haven’t even made it to the actual markets yet.  Right now I am navigating a maze of multiple supermarkets.  If I ever go back to work we will starve to death because my carefully crafted system of supermarket shopping will collapse around us.  The supermarkets are worthy of a post all by themselves but suffice it to say that imported things are available… for a price and right now it seems that everything we want to eat is somehow imported.  Oh, and it is never all available at one store.  I go to multiple places just to make burritos and then we are all disappointed with what ends up on the table.  When I find something that I thought we would have to learn to live without, I do a little dance of joy.  Usually, however, my dancing is interrupted because my next step is trying not to hyperventilate over the price.  This is especially painful if I have just recently thrown THE EXACT SAME ITEM in the garbage during the pantry purge in Baltimore.  Don’t worry; the next few posts will contain hard evidence of this painful experience.  I just paid 72rmb for parmesan cheese after searching everywhere for something other than the kind in the can.  Yes, $12 for a hunk of cheese.  Not even the really delicious cheese that would have been worthy of a $12 splurge!  Of course, the next day parmesan was everywhere and the exact same piece was 52rmb.  Really, it doesn’t pay to dwell on it.  The lasagna I made was passable (it is usually to die for) and only one kid refused to eat it.  It probably cost me $75 and gave me a handful of gray hair, but at least we all lived to tell about it, right?  Yeah, right.

The lost bag turned out to be a nonevent.  Once the restaurant opened my bag was sitting behind the bar. It had been there all night and everything was still in it when we picked it up.  One of the few things that really should have been a big deal but wasn’t, as opposed to all the little things here that should be easy but are enormously difficult.  Figuring out where to get things that we have become accustomed to as “necessities”, organizing deliverymen, and finding simple things that would normally take a trip to Target all become day-long ordeals for me in China.  And we aren’t even out in some remote area; we are living in a giant, thriving city.  A city where you would think pretty much anything would be available.  Not so, of course, and one of those things is emergency care.

Health care in general here operates on a different system.  Mark’s business has need for strong healthcare services, and, living in Baltimore, we have always had numerous choices not only for primary physicians, but also for hospitals and specialists.  I loved our pediatrician.  Loved, loved, loved him.  We plan on visiting Dr. Bodnar every summer when we head to Grandmom and GrandDad’s house.  The dentist, too, particularly after I got a good dose of Shanghai healthcare last week.

Now, I am no expert and we haven’t yet had to use much in the way of facilities here, but when the younger kids’ school offered a “Hospital Tour”, I was told it was vital to attend.  Normally, I wouldn’t be very interested in a tour like that.  I mean, I can figure out how to get to the doctor, right?  I have three kids- two of them frequent flyers in the emergency room.  When I jokingly mentioned this to the parent liaison at school, she signed me up right away and even handed me the printed information so that I could read it in advance.  Ha, ha, um… ha?  Actually, not funny.  Not funny at all.

When I attended the orientation at Lucas’ school I had gotten a bit of a feel for how serious things might be if there was an emergency for us here.  Lucas has asthma.  It doesn’t bother him much and he doesn’t need an inhaler, but it can give him a nasty cough and sometimes (like for several years in a row, always right before Christmas) give him pneumonia.  Not serious, in the hospital pneumonia, but the kind that lingers and makes you look like hell and sound even worse.  Every single time I tell someone in Shanghai that Lucas has asthma their face changes.  “Did you bring plenty of his medicine?”  they nervously ask,  “From home?”  They want to know if I have found a doctor yet.  Maybe they have heard that there might be a new one- a good one—at a particular place. The Western doctors don’t stay long, apparently, and they are often on rotations that move them in and out of the country.  You might find one you like, people warn, and then never see them again.  They might not be there when you need them like some sort of horror movie script.

Lucas needed a test for tuberculosis.  I hadn’t realized before we left the States and only found out once we were here with no trip back planned for several months.  The school needed it and wouldn’t wait very long.  All new students—no exceptions.  I asked the school nurse where I should go to get the test done and she gave me the card of a local hospital.  I say local, but it is 45 minutes from my house and on the other side of the river.  I showed the card to some of the mothers from the PTSA and everyone agreed that this was the only place they would “trust”, the only place that would have a “safe” test.

If you have ever had the chance to be tested for tb, then you know that the test requires two visits to the doctor.  The first is to get the needle prick to inject you with the test and the second is to actually look at the pinprick site to note any changes in the skin.  There was no way to head over to that hospital, especially not twice over the course of a few days, without missing school and spending the entire day in a taxi.  Surely there must be some closer place to do this, right?  Wrong.  I called a few of the places that were in my handy dandy sneak peek for the hospital tour only to learn that no one does the test.  They would do a chest X-ray, but nothing else.  It seemed extreme to have an X-ray when we already knew Lucas didn’t have any possibility of having tb.  Maybe I was misunderstanding.  Maybe this was a language mix up.  I called Mark who had his assistant call the clinics back.  Even in Mandarin the answer was the same.  There is only one place to get the test and it was going to eat up two full days making the test happen.  So I made an appointment for the X-ray.  The more complicated thing was once again somehow going to be easier.

Going on the hospital tour cleared up some of these issues.  Well, not cleared up, actually.  The hospital tour made it crystal clear that I had no idea what we were getting into when we came to Shanghai.  Yes, it is a modern city in many ways, but it is still a Chinese city with a very different system when it comes to healthcare, a system that is going to take me a while to figure out.

It turns out that the moms I met at Lucas’ school were right.  There really is only one hospital where you can get 24 hour Western medicine with English speaking doctors all in one self-contained place.  The hospital that is 45 minutes away, of course!  The focus of the tour was to acquaint us with the places that were closer to us in the event of an emergency.  Because in a real emergency 45 minutes might be too far away.  The other moms had cautioned not to go anywhere else other than the Western hospital “unless you are bleeding to death”.  There is apparently some truth to this so we were investigating the places where we would go when we needed immediate care.  We had a sit down session first before getting on the bus.

The quick takeaways:

1. Never call an ambulance unless you cannot get the person into a cab.  The ambulances here are not equipped with anything medical and are not staffed by paramedics.  When one had to come to the school, they used a bed sheet to get the patient to the elevator, laid her on the floor once they got there, and then picked her up in the sheet again to get her to a van.  They will take you to the nearest hospital by whatever route they choose and then you will need to pay them when you get out.  They might check your blood pressure but they will charge you extra for it.
2. You need to preregister at your hospital of choice because they will make you register before they will treat you.
3. You might need to pay upfront so keep a giant wad of cash (like 20,000 rmb!!) and your passports handy.
4. We need multiple emergency cards with the hospital address printed in Chinese for the taxi driver and we need to keep all the emergency information handy so that we can grab it and run out the door, hopefully with some friend or neighbor who speaks Chinese.
5. In the event of a real emergency in the middle of the night we will most likely end up in a Chinese hospital.

It was confusing, particularly since after hours many of the English speaking places did not inspire confidence.  At one, the one that seemed the most promising, the person showing us around made a point to emphasize the “imported medicine”, catered food, and the great beds from Italy.  We never met a doctor.  The guide told us that there weren’t many people there at night because there weren’t “many emergencies” and that if no one was at the desk it meant they were in the back and we should yell to get their attention.  Most telling, perhaps, was the fact that she told us at night they could handle “fevers, stomach aches, things like that”, but that if you were in a car accident then you should go to the Chinese hospital.  Most of the places are special expat parts of a regular Chinese hospital and we had to walk through them to get to the Western sections.  It was always crowded with both the very sick and the healthy all mixed together.  They were loud and people moved through the building like they do on the street, filling all the available space.  People were smoking.  Bandaged eyes and heads were on full display.  One patient lay on a gurney close to the front door.  When we got back on the bus we slathered ourselves in hand sanitizer.

I hadn’t realized that you couldn’t get any medicine over the counter.  I didn’t know you needed to pay for individual items, like a cast for a broken arm, for example, before you could have the arm set.  Even if I spoke Mandarin, the hospital would still be impossible.  Vaccines were recommended that had never occurred to me in the United States.  We talked about the need for everyone to have first aid training.  I mentioned that I had been recertified in CPR last year.  That was good, the parent liaison agreed, but then she reminded me, there isn’t any 911 here.  In China, I’m the paramedic.  That is a job I never intended to have.  Crap.