the flu in Beijing.

the People's Hospital of Peking University.

It's difficult to know if you're really sick, or if the pollution has simply gotten the better of you.  I have run fever several times while living here.  However, my body fights it off, and it disappears after a day or so.  I always attribute it to the pollution and high level of germs/bodily fluids in the city.  However, after teaching my morning classes on Monday, something felt a bit off, and I knew this feeling was different.  I was feverish, achy, nauseous, and diarrhetic. After the school nurse stuck a thermometer under my armpit for seven minutes, I was instructed to go to the hospital. 

Don't worry.  Going to the hospital in China doesn't mean the same thing as in the states.  Chinese doctors hold their practices in hospitals rather than in private offices.  

And so, I was accompanied by our school's assistant, Amy Song, to the ever-famous People's Hospital of Peking University.  It is a huge hospital that boasts being the best in Beijing.  

We took a number and waited about 15 minutes before being taken back into the doctor's office.  He had on a mask, so I could only make out his eyes.  My symptoms were translated to him, and I was instructed to go pay the cashier for blood work to be conducted.  After my blood was drawn, I sat alone for over an hour (Amy left me to go run some errands.), dozing off as my head felt like it was going to explode out of my forehead.  I was awakened by a Chinese nurse yelling, "Wirriam!"  

I called Amy, who returned five minutes later, and after listening to another long stretch of Chinese communication between her and the doctor, Amy told me that my white blood count was high, and I was to be administered Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) and intravenous antibiotics.  Amy went to pick up the TCM (which totaled about 350 RMB...about $58), and I was hooked up to an IV while sitting in a hard plastic chair.  I was joined by about eight other sick people, all receiving intravenous antibiotics with masks over their faces.  When Amy returned, she carried about ten boxes of medicine tucked under her chin.  Each box had different daily instructions, all written in Chinese.  My jaw dropped.  Amy wrote out the English translations, taking her about 15 minutes, and then left me for the evening, wishing me good health.

After about three-and-a-half hours, I scraped myself off my seat and stumbled back to the subway to go home.  My head was pounding, and my fever raged (They don't believe in Tylenol here.).  But 24 hours later, the TCM kicked in, and I miraculously made it through my first bout of the flu in Beijing.