Medical Visit

Elisabeth (age 11) has had a plantar's wart on the bottom of her foot for a long time, but it has recently spread into dozens of warts on her feet.  Last week, Nick enlisted the help of a Korean-American friend (Susan) to help me take Elisabeth to the hospital (where doctors have their clinics).

Getting there, parking, and getting to the front desk are no problem - I am grateful that Susan can read the signs and has been here before.  We take a number and wait a few minutes in the plastic chairs in the very institutional lobby until our number comes up on a digital display above the "tellers."  Susan explains that Elisabeth has warts, the nurse/teller finds Elisabeth in the system (Nick had brought her in several weeks ago for a virus) and decides to send us to a dermatologist.  Sounds great - no need to go through a primary care physician first! We pay the nurse/teller 7800 won (about $7 - sort of like a co-pay??) and are directed to the 2nd floor.

Susan easily finds the dermatology office (I am trailing behind, with big eyes at all the signs in Korean that I can't read), we wait just a couple of minutes, and the doctor calls us into his tiny office.  Dr. S. Lee is about 30-35 years old, wears a white lab coat with his embroidered name, and listens carefully to Susan's explanation of Elisabeth's condition.  I add some details and he nods, apparently understanding me, then examines her feet.  He can freeze off the warts today (today!); she may choose to have pain-killing shots first or not.

Several dramatic minutes pass as Elisabeth begs to come back another day, fearing the shots (flashback to getting stitches in her chin when she was 5 - the local anesthetic didn't have time to work as the doctor wanted to rush to a meeting).  We talk her into it and proceed across the hall to the procedure room.

The room is very crowded with equipment and shelves; I am just able to squeeze into the space by Elisabeth's head, jammed between the sink and some mysterious equipment.  The low bed/table does not have a paper or towel on it, and is still damp (from cleaning?  from the previous patient?  we don't know).  Elisabeth is squeamish about laying on it, but we persuade her.  She is not asked to put on
a gown, and the doctor does not wash his hands or put on gloves (I must write another blog about gloves - they are EVERYWHERE in this country, except, apparently, in the medical office).  Elisabeth is pretty strong through all the shots (probably 20+) then the subsequent slicing of the dead wart skin, the freezing process, and the iodine treatment.

The doctor washes his hands (AFTER the procedure - it's for his sake, apparently), gives us a prescription, and we're done.  We are directed to a desk down the hall, where we take a number, and then pay 57000 won for the procedure (translation: about $55 dollars).  Susan goes to the adjacent pharmacy while we wait in the lobby, as Elisabeth's feet are quite sore. She brings back a bottle of... rubbing alcohol. And cotton wipes.  And the largest tweezers I've ever seen.  All for 2000 won (about $2).  So, Elisabeth saw a specialist, had shots and minor surgery and got her prescription filled for a grand total of $66.  No insurance approval, no paperwork, no bills.  Amazing.

P.S. We wait outside while Susan gets the car.  Several feet away, several male patients are out on the small lawn, sitting on benches and talking.  They are in full hospital pajamas, tops and bottoms, and some have their IV poles with them.  One young man notices us, and begins singing "Gangnam Style," complete with pelvic thrusts. We try to ignore him; Susan pulls up, and in the time it takes to get in the van, the man approaches and knocks on Susan's window, shouting "crazy Korean!  I'm a crazy Korean!"

What's not to like about this?  : )