第一人民医院 / Number One People’s Hospital

第一人民医院

80年代中期,我去上海出差,住在外滩著名的和平饭店。当时我遭遇了一次严重的食物中毒,只得推迟会议,在床上躺了一天多,但我最终还是决定去看看医生。

幸运的是,我同事有位亲戚是退休干部。一个电话打过去,全套救护立即赶到,我都未免有点受宠若惊了。

首先,饭店经理带着两位副手来到客房对我表示关切,详细询问了我的病情:

“您已经……多少次了?”

“您昨天吃过什么东西?”

“香肠和鸡蛋?吃了几个鸡蛋啊?”等等。

他们的询问很贴心,也是出于好意,但却让我感觉回答错了人,因为我要看的是大夫,而不是饭店的经理和副经理。

我想,他们是想要确认一下我会不会给他们造成一起严重的“涉外事件”。在确信我不会之后,他们火速将我送往了第一人民医院。

当时是冬天,中国上海和长江以南地区的建筑物里都没有集中供暖。如果温度计水银柱是在华氏50度以下,那么室内温度甚至可能要低于室外。

第一人民医院的大门敞开着,门上挂着像被子一样的加厚门帘,从中间分成两片,既能起到隔热作用,又能让人从中进出。

一楼的窗户都开着,里面很冷。昏暗的走廊里,一些人坐在木头长椅上候诊,嘴里叼着烟,根本无视“禁止吸烟”的标志。有个人使劲地擤了一下鼻涕,然后笑着给自己点上了一支“红双喜”。

我被送到医院六层的外宾门诊部。那时医院会专门设立一个部门接待外国病人,这对我来说一点儿也不稀奇。因为当时在中国,有专门给外国人花的货币(外汇券),有专门给外国人开的商店(友谊商店),还有形形色色专门给外国人用的东西。

事后来看,大多数医院的科室都是按照疾病的种类划分和命名的,例如内科、外科、耳鼻喉科、妇产科之类。但在当时的中国,像我这样的外国患者可以获得包括上述所有科室在内的全套诊治。这实在是很特殊的待遇。

我走进外宾门诊部一个宽敞、开放、没有隔断的房间,看见一群身披白大褂、头戴白帽的医生护士。和医院其他地方不同,这里的环境特别整洁明亮。

我坐下来候诊。诊室的墙上没有当时依然盛行的中苏领袖的巨幅画像,取而代之的是一块大牌子,上面写着“请付外汇券”。

一位护士走过来,问了我一些问题,然后递给我一张双语表格,让我填写身体情况、症状等等,包括说明自己是否得过AVERGIES(原文如此)(正确称呼应为“allergies”,过敏——译注)。

终于轮到我了,我被传唤到房间正中央的长椅上。在墙边,候诊区的椅子都排成一溜,让人感觉房子中央有什么“举动”都在候诊患者的注目之下。跟一般的医院和牙科诊所不同,这里的候诊区既没有报刊架,也没有可供人消遣的八卦杂志,大家的目光似乎都集中在房间中央。

负责我这个病人的护士作风硬朗,雷厉风行,就像一位军训教官。她看了看我的表格,一边命令我松开裤子,一边对我进一步问话,同时开始探查我的小腹。随后,她招了招手把我叫到一张桌子前,给我开了一些药,让我带回去吃。

顷刻之间,我如释重负,以为可以走了。实际上,我没有这么幸运。

“打针!”护士用英语对我说。

有很多次我都发现,如果一个上海人既会说中文也会说英文,那么不管你这个外国人的中文水平有多好,他也一定会跟你讲英文。现在就是如此,而且我也不想跟这位护士大人贫嘴,于是就用英文回答:

“胳膊?”我满心期盼。

“不是!把裤子脱了。”

我努力克制住羞怯,服从了她的命令,让屁股在众目睽睽下挨了一针。

我用外汇券交完费,返回和平饭店。几个小时之后,我就感觉好多了。从那时起,我再也没有重回过第一人民医院。

Number One People’s Hospital

In the mid-80s I was on a business trip to Shanghai, staying in the venerable Peace Hotel on the bund, when I contracted a fairly bad case of food poisoning. I postponed meetings, and remained in bed for a day or so, but finally decided I’d better see a doctor.

My colleague, fortunately, had a relative who was a retired official. A call was placed and full assistance — perhaps a bit more than I had bargained for — was promptly forthcoming.

First, a hotel manager and two of his deputies came to my room to express their concern, and question me in some detail about my condition:

“How many times have you…? ”

“What did you eat yesterday? “

“Sausage and eggs? How many eggs?” and so on.

This was kind and well-intentioned but struck me as information going to a committee of the wrong people, since I wanted a doctor, not a hotel manager and his deputies.

I think they wanted to clarify whether or not I was on the edge of creating a serious “foreigner incident” for them. Convinced that I was not, they expedited the process of getting me to the Number One Peoples’ Hospital.

It was winter time, and in Shanghai, and other parts of China south of the Yangzi River, buildings do not have central heating, so when the mercury drops down below 50 degrees Fahrenheit, it can be colder indoors than outdoors.

The main entrance of the Number One Peoples’ Hospital featured an open door with a heavily fortified quilt-like door covering, split down the middle, to provide some insulation while allowing people to slip through the middle on the way in or out.

Ground floor windows were open. It was chilly. Corridors were dark and some of the people waiting there on wooden benches smoked despite the NO SMOKING signs. One fellow blew his nose heartily, and then smiled as he lit up another Double Happiness smoke.

I was escorted up to the foreigners’ department on the 6th floor. It didn’t occur to me at the time that there was anything unusual about having a department in a hospital specifically for foreigners, since at the time in China there was a special currency for foreigners (Foreign Exchange Certificates), special stores for foreigners (Friendship Stores), and a lot of other special things for foreigners.

In hindsight, most hospital departments are divided and named according to categories of illness: internal medicine; external medicine; ear/nose/throat; obstetrics and gynecology, and so on. At the time in China, sick foreigners like me merited a whole category of illness which transcended all of the above sub-categories. This was very special treatment indeed.

As I entered the large, open, partition-less room which housed the department for sick foreigners, I saw a host of doctors and nurses in white gowns and white caps. Especially compared to the rest of the hospital, the room was clean and brightly lit.

I sat down and waited. The walls were missing the large posters of Chinese and Soviet leaders’ portraits which were still popular in those days. Instead there was a large sign saying “Please pay in Foreign Exchange Certificates.”

A nurse came over, asked me some questions, and gave me a bi-lingual form. to fill out regarding my medical condition, symptoms etc. including a declaration of whether or not I suffered from any AVERGIES (sic).

Finally my turn came, and I was summoned to a chair and bench in the middle of the room. The waiting area consisted of chairs along the walls, creating the sensation that all the patients waiting there were watching “the action” in the center of the room, where I was now seated. There were no magazine racks offering the kind of gossip or inspirational magazines you sometimes find in medical and dental clinic waiting rooms. All eyes, it seemed, were focused on the middle of the room.

The nurse in charge of my case had the brusque, efficient manner of a drill sergeant. She looked at my form, and ordered me to loosen my pants as she asked further questions and began probing around the lower zone of my stomach. She then waived me over to a desk, where I was given some medication to take back with me.

Momentarily, I had a great sense of relief and figured I was ready to go. No such luck.

“Shot!” came the advice from the nurse, in English.

On many occasions I have found that in Shanghai, English trumps Chinese among those locals who speak both, no matter how good the foreigner’s Chinese is. This was one of those moments, and I was not about to quibble with Big Nurse. So I responded in English.

“Arm?” I said hopefully.

“No! Drop your pants.”

I stifled my shyness, complied with the order, and got my highly public shot in the butt.

I paid with Foreign Exchange Certificates, and returned to the Peace Hotel. I felt much better in a matter of hours, and haven’t been back to the Peoples’ Number One since.


阅读数 74,056 / 74,056 views



发表评论

电子邮件地址不会被公开。 必填项已用*标注

:wink: :-| :-x :twisted: :) 8-O :( :roll: :-P :oops: :-o :mrgreen: :lol: :idea: :-D :evil: :cry: 8) :arrow: :-? :?: :!: