Penang -- Week 9, Part 4 -- The Doctor and The Ranch Dressing

TUESDAY, May 13th
Day 61
There are still workers showing up to fix things all the time. We're back to fixing the water heater for the kitchen sink again. The plumber says it's electrical and that he'll let the super (let's just call him that from now on, eh?) know.

This place is honestly like that movie, "The Money Pit" where Tom Hanks and Shelley Long buy a dream house that turns out to be the most ridiculously dilapidated thing that falls apart after they move in. Several times a week we have workers come to fix things, and as fast as they fix things, we are just adding more and more things to "the list". By the way, I did mention the smell of the cabinets to the "super" and his solution was: air fresheners. I still can't bring myself to really use these cabinets, so they're mostly empty. I don't know what I'm going to do with them, or all the stuff that should be in them.

In the afternoon Regin and I go to see his new pediatrician, who, thankfully, also sees adults. It's so close that it's just silly to call a cab, but it's a death-defying act to cross the street to get there. Death-defying and time-consuming. You have to wait forEVER for the traffic to be just right to do your little Frogger hops across the road (with a stroller). I'm drenched with sweat by the time I get to the clinic.

The doctor is really nice. She's very well put together, and although she's Malaysian, she has a very Western vibe with the way she carries herself and the way she does her hair. I ask her about Regin's ears. He's been swatting at them for months. She says they look fine, and she thinks he's lovely since he smiles at her when she puts the tongue depressor in his mouth. She asks me about the pregnancy and everything. She asks if I breastfed.
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Still do."
"Oh!"

She's as shocked as American doctors are when she hears we haven't immunized him. She (strongly) urges me to consider a huge list of vaccines. No difference there then. She's absolutely amazed at his stability and gasps when we look over and see him standing atop the kiddie's table. (I told you, he's a climber!) She asks some developmental questions. She doesn't say anything, but I get the feeling that she thinks he's behind (except for his ultra-stable walking). She also points out that he's on the low end of the growth charts. Yeah, tell me something I don't know.

It's all very like my experiences with American doctors, and I'm feeling the same: pressured to fear, and no matter how much I don't believe in all those growth charts and developmental guidelines, I can't help starting to worry. It's so hard not to get caught up in that. And why is it that when I am asked, and it matters, I can't remember any of my boy's little accomplishments? What about all his amazing vocab, and the crazy problem-solving I see him do every day. I don't care what she or anyone else says. He's a genius. I'm in constant awe of his mental prowess. I don't know if he'll be able to name all of the countries of the world before he's two, but I'm sure he'll do something equally impressive that will just blow Dr. Goh's socks off. I'll have to write her and let her know what it is, when he does it.

Anyway, now it's my turn. She asks some generic questions about my background, so I decide to fill her in on my hypoglycemia. I say I have it, her face screws up, her head tilts in confusion, she asks, "how often?" Oh geez. She isn't even aware that it's a chronic condition. She asks if I take insulin. Nope. Not a clue on it. See? I'm telling you. A lot of doctors (everywhere) really don't know about it at all.

I hop up on the doctor's table/bed. She pokes and prods my stomach. When she find the current location of my pain, she's concerned. I am too as she's making the pain much worse and she's reminding me an awful lot of my experience on Sunday with the "mashush." She eventually clues me in on her concern: the location of my pain is my appendix. And the way the pain moved from top center to it's current spot is much like what I'd feel if I had appendicitis. But she's confused by the fact that the pain is getting better. With appendicitis, after a week plus, I would be very sick and my stomach would be "gutted" or "guarded" -- anyone know what that means? Anyway, it would be bad, and I'd know it. So she's fairly sure it's not appendicitis, but she wants to see me again tomorrow. She prescribes something as everyone said she would. I ask if it's ok with breastfeeding. She says it is.

We spoke a little more on breastfeeding and I'm not sure, but I think she recommended that I stop soon. Interesting.

I pay for the visit at the window. It's cheap; RM80 for the two of us plus my meds. That's about $25 total, and we're not talking copay here, that's the whole thing! Wow!

After I get home, I look up the meds. According to one website, it's contraindicated for breastfeeding. Hmm... I know a lot of medicines say that even if they are ok, they just want to cover their rears, but if doctors say it's ok, then it's ok. But... do I trust her? Is she overprescribing like people said she would? Do I really need medication for a pain I generally only feel anymore if someone is pushing on the sore spot? I decide not to take it to be safe.

When George comes home in the evening, he calls the sofa people. They say they can't come fix our sofa until next Tuesday! We ask why we have to wait that long. No answer. They're supposed to have a guarantee on this thing, so supposedly they will fix it or replace it. You know what that means? Best case scenario is another two weeks without a sofa. Ugh. George sits down on it, and.... it falls. The broken leg gave way. We decide to prop it up on books. Yep, it's been that way since then.
We've been warned not to buy things made by or for Malaysians. We don't like to listen to such narrow-minded, prejudiced stuff, and who needs ultra-high quality when you're only spending a few months here? We tried to save money, and we've basically gotten what we've paid for, in customer service and quality of product.


WEDNESDAY
More work done on the place. Shanti is here and is becoming a part of the place. It's starting not to feel all that odd to have her around. It's downright natural now to ask her to do tasks or to have her attack our massive pile of dishes we've left without shame. She also interacts with all the workers who come. They speak Malay, so I don't know if she's keeping them in check, or if she's telling them what an idiot I am. Either way, the place is clean, and the kitchen sink has hot water again.

Back to the doctor. The pain is better until she pushes on it again. It's still in the same spot and she's still confused, but she really doesn't think it could be appendicitis. I let her know that it also still hurts in another spot on my abdomen. She tells me that "we aren't concerned about pains in that area, it's just your intestines there." Oh. Silly me.

Maybe I really should start seeing some kind of naturopath. That attitude isn't just Malaysian. She was a bit blunt about it, but that's how it is in the States too. If it's not an emergency thing, we're not worried, and here are some pills to mask the symptoms of the ailment we don't care to find.

Speaking of pills. She asked if mine had helped. I confessed to her that I hadn't taken them, and I hoped she wouldn't be offended by my compulsion to research everything. She whipped out the packaging insert for the medicine to prove that it was ok. I pointed to the line that says it's contraindicated. She was mortified and couldn't apologize enough. I said it was fine. She's human. We all make mistakes, even experts. That's part of why I research everything.

We have dinner with Eric, Cory, and kids at this food hawker market with all sorts of international foods. Translation: there's western food hawkers too! And there are even authentic western people preparing and serving that food! I wish I could go for the local fare, but there is just so little of it I can eat, and I know better what to expect and how to tweak western food. Sigh. I have a tostada.

It is a really nice evening. The place is really pretty cozy with little lights all over, and a sea-view filled with tiny fishing boats.
Cory and the girls are holding and playing with Regin a lot. Cory asks me if I'm ready to go home yet. I tell her that I'm not ready to give up yet. "Good girl," she says. She on the other hand...

I'm not sure if anyone but Reem will understand the full significance of what I'm about to tell you so I will have to give you some back story. Reem and I used to sit and talk about some Americans who couldn't let go of their own cultures enough to truly experience other countries they travel to. The epitome of this for us was someone who was upset when they didn't have ranch dressing at any restaurants! Cory is not one of those types really. She's totally game to eat local fare. But, she tells us, with huge relief written all over her face, that she actually found ranch dressing at Cold Storage (the nicer super market) and she spent $20 (USD) on ONE BOTTLE. We all (including her husband) were a little shocked by the amount. I told her, "you know, you can make it yourself"
"It doesn't taste the same!"