Some time ago, while swimming in the murky sea off Bang Saen beach in Chonburi province, I was “attacked” by a jellyfish. To be more exact, it brushed against my upper left arm. I really don’t understand why it was me who ran into the jellyfish. I mean, there were hundreds of half-dressed Thais splashing water in the sea. It is true, I also ventured further away from the beach, into waters deep enough to allow a proper swim. Maybe now I understand that the T-shirts everyone was wearing were not only for protection from the sun, but also for the unseen creatures of the sea. But, I’ve always been proud of my Speedos!
By the time I swam back to the safety of the beach, the pain and the numbness had extended to my shoulder. It was not a sharp pain, but I was still a bit panicked, as I had no clue to what had happened. My brother, who was in Thailand on his honeymoon, found this as the perfect opportunity to test his close-up feature on his camera.
By now I had already guessed that a jellyfish electrocuted me, but it felt like I had brushed against some spiky animal. Luckily, there are no fugu fish in Thailand! After I calmed down, I went to the public showers across the street and cleaned the contact area with a cheap bar of soap I purchased at the entrance. My brother showed up with a bottle of Singha soda (the kind you mix your Mekong whiskey with) and instructed me to pour it on my cleaned wound. I looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.
I left my brother with his betrothal under the beach umbrella and I went to the nearest hospital. A student, who was probably there on practice, cleaned my wound and applied some sort of ointment. This went pretty smooth and, although the hospital looked more like a soi clinic, I felt relieved that I was under some kind of treatment. I paid a mere 220 baht and waited some more for the extra documents I needed to claim back the money from my insurance. Most importantly, I wanted to have a record of what kind of treatment I underwent. With the wound bandaged and a small supply of cream and more bandages, I returned to our beach chaise longues.
My brother and sister-in-law gave me a hero’s welcome and our beach neighbours (an extended Thai family) suggested other ways of taking care of the jellyfish wound. According to them, among the most effective was dousing the wound in whiskey or urine. For better results, both!
By the next day, back in Bangkok, the wound had started to itch once again and the pain returned in full force on Monday morning. I spent all day applying the cream I got from the hospital in Chonburi but to no avail. On Thursday I was worried. My arm started to swell and the rash seemed to get larger and larger. It was time to go to a “real” hospital.
So, after work, I got on my motorbike and rode to a fairly big hospital located on an important road artery in Bangkok. I parked my bike in the parking lot behind the hospital and, as there was a second entrance and reception right across from the hospital’s parking lot, I chose this one. The main entrance was on the other side of the building, at the main road, and quite far away for a man who had had a third degree encounter with a marine monster.
I had been at this hospital not long before, so I thought I knew the ropes. I told the short-skirted receptionist that I wanted to have my bandage changed and a doctor to look at the “damage.” She sized me up and smiled. What a fool I was to just expect her to understand my English. A guy operating the other side of the reception booth intervened and mediated the translation. I had no desire at all to blunder my way through in my awkward Thai, so I just pretended my knowledge of the local language was inexistent. It was 17:15.
Once she had gotten the picture, she asked me to write my name on a small piece of paper. She then checked my name in the hospital’s database. I told her that I was a new patient, that this was my first time here, but I guess she didn’t understand what I was saying. After the computer screen showed no records under my name, she asked for my passport. As I never carry my passport on me, she accepted a crumpled photocopy I always wear in my wallet (but never got to use until that day). Luckily, she accepted it and asked me to take a seat.
With nothing else to do, I picked up an English language newspaper from the newspaper rack and started flicking though it. I got caught up in an article and lost track of time. When I finally raised my eyes from the newspaper, I saw that the reception area was quite crowded and that the reception lady was talking to everyone at the same time. I approached her but I didn’t have to say anything to her. She knew what I wanted and asked me to wait a few more minutes. I nodded and went back to my seat, wondering if she was surprised by my sudden ability to comprehend the Thai language.
Ten more minutes later a young man in a white shirt (could he have been another student in practice?) asked me in broken English to follow him. We went to the lift where two other people were waiting. My escort started pressing several buttons but the lift doors wouldn’t open. I looked up and saw a message displayed right next to the emergency speaker. I told the Neanderthal that the lift had been blocked and that a special card was needed in order to use it. All of a sudden, the young man decided we should take the stairs. In less than thirty seconds we were on the second floor!
Here I was told, once again, to sit down and wait. A minute later, a pleasant-looking lady in a white gown (she was not wearing the nurse’s cap!) checked my blood pressure and my weight. It was just another reason for the hospital to charge me an extra couple of hundreds of baht. She asked me to follow her and we went down to the first floor where I was informed by a nurse that the doctor was not in this part of the building. So, we went on trotting the entire length of the hospital, going up and down passages and corridors. Through a glass wall I saw black clouds gathering in the sky. I told the nurse that it was going to rain soon, so we’d better hurry. She just smiled and continued at her own pace.
We reached a waiting area full of patients. “This doesn’t look good,” I thought. She asked me to sit down and went inside a room labelled “Dermatology.” At least I was finally in the right place. Some time later, I was invited in. The room was tiny. Behind a desk, an equally tiny woman asked me whether I would like her to speak English or Thai. I had enough Thai for the day, so I said: “English, please.”
Although the bandage covering my wound was under my shirt, I was expecting her to know why I was there. She just looked at me and, after an awkward moment of silence, she said: “Would you like me to ask the nurse to wait outside?” Dumbstruck, I looked at her and asked “Why?” “I understand that you have a rash and maybe…” Then I got it. “It’s not what you think of,” I said and got up, unbuttoned my shirt and pointed at the bandage on my arm. “Oh, right,” she said, opening the folder the nurse had brought with her. “I see.” I just wondered why didn’t she just check the admission form before she decided I had contacted some sort of venereal disease.
She touched the affected skin with her un-gloved hands and then, to my horror, she picked a pen from her desk and started poking the wound with its end. But hey, maybe the pen had been previously sterilized! After she inspected my wound, she assured me that it was nothing unusual and that it might take one month, or even more, to heal completely.
She prescribed some medicine (steroids ointment and pills for the itching sensation) and then we agreed on a date for my next visit. While she was writing down all these details in my file, I asked her why I had to come all the way from the other side of the hospital to see her. She looked at the nurse and spoke to her in Thai. Apparently, the doctor on duty on the floor where I had my blood pressure checked called in sick! Obviously, the receptionist who sent me there had no idea. Actually, she didn’t seem to know much of what was going on around her. Probably she got hired for her looks. I guess it doesn’t matter what kind of business you’re in, image still matters.
As I was leaving the dermatologist’s office I was shocked to see the dark sky. “I’m gonna get all wet!” I thought. I knew the drill from my previous visit. I would have to collect the drugs from the hospital’s pharmacy and then pay at the cashier booth nearby. I was on my way to do exactly that when I hear the clinking of high heals on the hospital’s tiled floors. “Mista’, mista’,” the nurse shouted while running after me. I turned around and forgot all about the Thai ways and said quite rudely: “Now what?” A combination of hand signs, Thai blabbering and some English words made me understand that the doctor wanted me back in her office.
“Can I take a picture of your wound?” asked the doctor. “I want to show it to my students. It is a perfect example of what a jellyfish can do.” She was a lecturer at a local university, teaching at the Institute of Tropical Diseases. I told her that if she hurried, I didn’t mind. So, there I was, unbuttoning my shirt once again, waiting for the doctor to remove the bandage and take her shots, doing my part in the education of future Thai doctors. I just hoped that the next generation would be a bit more on their toes!
My medicine was bagged into a fancy bag with the hospital’s logo on it and, after the insurance papers were completed, I gave the cashier 848 baht. Less than half was for the drugs! Nurse handling and doctor’s consultation accounted for the rest. I left through the back door of the hospital at exactly 18:15. It took them one hour to put me in a room where, for five minutes, the doctor found me a cure. The rest of the time was spent chilling out in the lounge and sightseeing the hospital’s corridors. And, let’s not forget, the photo shoot and the opportunity I was given to get an update on what was in the news.
By the time I started my motorbike, it was already pouring. There was no way I was going to get home with a dry bandage. Half an hour later, including the time I spent in the guard’s booth, with a toothless guy from Isaan who just loved his whistle, I grabbed a taxi. A few hours later, when both the weather and myself calmed down, I returned to the hospital to pick up my motorbike. My toothless buddy was gone. The night shift guard lifted the barrier for me. Boy, was I glad to be out of there!
