So, I had my medical exam today after a night of fasting (which may not seem like much to most people but do you have any idea how much I eat?). I arrived bright and early with the rest of the Epik cattle in the lobby. We had our medical forms and paid 50000 won (roughly $44) for the medical test. First I went in a room for a hearing check. I suppose I expected to hear some type of loud beep, but after about 3 seconds of buzzing and the Korean doctor asking if I heard anything, I gathered that it might be the buzz I was looking for.
Next we trekked through the rain to main Epik building for our urine sample. Now, this is maybe the funniest thing I have ever seen and a great indication/cultural experience on why Koreans are so much more open about bodily functions than many Western cultures. We were given a paper cup and a small vial with our name on it. We lined up outside the bathrooms (of course the girls line was longer) and one by one applicants nervously came out pee samples in hand (the more modest folks attempting to cover their samples so no one could see the color). This is just as well as I was certainly staring to see how many people were properly hydrated! Haha! The samples were then placed in little grated boxes in front of the most lovely, posh Korean women I've ever seen. She would simply smile and refuse to extend her hand as nervous applicants fumbled with their vials or attempted to hand them to her.
We moved on to the "height and weight room of doom." I stepped on the scale and the woman seemed confused, she asked me to get off the scale and on again. She was convinced the machine was off. She was in disbelief about my weight and she said I didn't seem "dense" enough to weigh so much. She turned red, smiled and sent me on to the eye test and medical "your fat" consultation. I was really glad to see that I wasn't the only one struggling with the eye exam and I am convinced Koreans must have far superior eye sight to mine as the numbers on the screen appeared to be the size of a crumb. I spent most of the time rubbing my eyes and apologetically bowing for all of my "umms" and "I have no idea what that says."
In the "your fat" room, I was pleasantly surprised to have proper banter with a very nice doctor. I had been warned prior to the room, that because of the language barrier and the general differences in BMI, many foreigners were told they were obese or needed to diet. I shuffled back and fourth a bit as I was called forward "Anyong-haseyo" I managed to awkwardly stammer out before sitting down. The doctor clapped his hands, bowed his head and large smile spread across his face "you are very polite" he said. We then went through the standards: Do you have a history of this disease? Do you smoke? Do you drink? Do you exercise? "I see you play rugby" he says, very good sport, very very good he says patting his stomach and laughing. I could see a few of the applicants trying to hear what we were on about. He asked about medications, smiled and sent me on to blood pressure.
Blood pressure was the area I was nervous about, especially in front of doctors. My blood pressure just seems to spike up when I have any sort of important exam. The nurse fitted the cuff and began pumping, "excellent" she said and I felt myself breathe for the first time since I had sat down with her. She wrote down "100/80." I scooted over to the blood booth and was handed two vials. I sat down and made a fist as the nurse tapped around my vein like she was digging for gold. I could tell the second she put the needle in that nothing was going to come out. Instead of taking the needle out and reinserting, she decided to slide the needle around in a circular fashion, reminiscent to the way little kids stir cookie dough for their parents. "Would you like the other arm?" I asked. I immediately regretted the question. She cleaned my arm, shoved a piece of cotton in the crevice and began in on my left arm, this time the blood came quickly and she patted my arm, pleased with it's ability to cooperate on the second go. I walked across the lobby like "I dream of genie" arms crossed with two cotton balls shoved into the crevices, to my final test "TB."
The TB test was taken outside in a van that resembled an old midwestern ice cream truck. As I headed for the door I was stopped by coordinators "Are you wearing underwear?" "Do you have metal in your bra," "Are you wearing a bra?" flustered I yelled "I have a sports bra that I wear for rugby, it's pink" this seemed a sufficient answer and they sent me out to the van. Apparently metal interferes with the TB chest scans. Inside the truck was a row of girls, some T-shirt clad, but many in hospital gowns stuffing their faces with muffins and capri sun, so happy to finally eat after the fasting. When it was my turn I entered the tiny room and stood in between two white plates, shortly after I heard the technician sigh, enter the room and press my body against the first plate, pulling my hands behind my back in a police fashion. He counted to 3 and the coordinator said "hold your breath." They were so consumed with the photo they forgot to tell me to breathe again. I appeared to the only person whose photo was fussed over. I panicked, could I have TB? How would I not know? Isn't that a disease for Victorian era children who own special gardens and wheel each about in make shift chairs? I later realized it was because I had left a piece of jewelry on. With the exam over I grabbed 3 capri sun, two muffins and hopped out of the van for some major nappage.
Here's fingers crossed to a normal medical exam!
