An American Male Nurse Volunteers at a Community Hospital in Small Town Nepal (Part 3: Travelman meets the Doctor)

I met the doctor after breakfast. His desk was in a split room behind reception, in the far corner. On the other side of the half wall, closer to reception was the junior doctor’s desk and examination table. Dr. Ran, the senior doctor, got windows on two walls compared to the junior doctor’s one window, a small indication of rank.

****—The Emergency room on a slow morning. I made sure to take pictures when a room was empty, even though HIPPA laws and practices are non-existent here—-****

The administrators entered the office with Jahn and I. In Nepalese, I can only assume, they introduced me as a volunteer nurse from America. They turned their gazes at me. The doctor asked if I had an apron.

An apron? Would I be cooking as part of my volunteer work? I didn’t understand. “An apron?” I said, raising my eyebrows and letting my lips part.

“It is how the patients know you are medical personnel. The sisters wear it.” The doctor said.

Did he really think I was going to wear an apron? And beyond that, he expects I brought my own? Maybe the female nurses wore something like that, but I’m a dude. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a jab at me. It’s funny how your brain, in a split second, is turned and must focus in a revealing direction, as though your mind says, “Here! Look here!” I thought about the reality that male nurses probably don’t exist in Nepal. What did they think of me? Am I over or under reacting?

***—-Doctor Ran’s office. He didn’t use the computer much. The chief doctor in an American hospital would demand a better chair. Dr. Ran and Dr. Rog had bigger concerns—Also, this post is writing focused, you only get one more pic in this part—-****

They don’t even call them nurses. It seemed they called them sisters, which left little room for dudes. I felt my masculinity might be in the ring, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. I smiled and shook my head, “No. We don’t wear those.”

The doctor shrugged with his eyes. The admistrators and doctor immediately said a few more things to one another. The administrators left. I can’t remember the transition into the next few moments, but Dr. Ran (pronounced Rahn) welcomed me, said I would observe and work and help to the extent that we both felt comfortable.

I didn’t feel comfortable. I got the impression they expected a lot of me, expected me to jump in, save a baby or something. I haven’t thought about nursing, the work of it, in six months. I haven’t worked in a hospital in more than two years. I was letting my thoughts run around like panicked passengers on a sinking boat. I told myself to chill, it’ll all work out, it always does... eventually.

The doctor rang his bell. “Sister.” He called out. A nurse entered moments later. She was wearing a white blazer over her quilted North Face Jacket. Like everywhere in Nepal, the doors and windows were open as if we were in the tropics. I put my hands to my mouth and blew into them for warmth.

Dr. Ran said something to her in Nepalese. She nodded and exited. He looked at me and gestured toward the exiting sister. Then gestured as though gripping his lapels, “That is the apron, you see?” He smiled.

“Ohhh. Yeah, no. I don’t have that. We don’t wear those.” I said. I felt a bit sheepish. But still, I’m not bringing a lab coat to Nepal.

He rang a bell on his desk and called out a name he’d read from a little yellow booklet the sister had left with him. A patient entered. He examined the guy. The doctor questioned him in Nepalese, felt his head, looked at his eyes, had him open his mouth, then he listened to his chest with his stethoscope. He said a few more things, wrote in the little yellow book, handed the book to the man, they said goodbye and thank you of sorts, and the man was on his way.

It quickly became apparent that the examinations were quick and dirty, highly focused.

The doctor turned to Jahn who sat in the chair closest to his desk. “He has congestion, cough...” He named some other symptoms, absence of signs and symptoms, and said he gave the guy a prescription for antibiotics. You don’t need a prescription here for many of the antibiotics. They give them out willy-nilly at the pharmacy.

The doctor didn’t look at me. He hit the bell, called a name, and the next patient entered.

After the second patient, the subject of taking temperatures arose. Dr. Ran asked me if we use Fahrenheit or Celsius in the U.S.

“Celsius.” I said, confidently. I knew that one.

Anytime he asked me a question it was sharp and blunt, as though I was a medical student and he was the tough Doctor educator pop quizzing a med student. The words toward the end of the questions were crisp and rose in volume, like he was questioning that I dare question him. It didn’t matter if he was asking me about my jacket, that’s the way it sounded. “Is that a North Face Jacket? !!”

I look at my jacket, “Uhhm, yes. ?”

“Is it for rain? Do you wear it in the rain? !!!”

“Uh. Um, I try not to go out in the rain? But yes, it’s for rain, a rain jacket. That’s what we call them.” Then I’d feel stupid for appearing as though I was Ameri-splaining a rain jacket. That’s how our interactions went down the first two days. Then I realized it was the way he spoke. He could talk like that while smiling at you. So I felt silly for thinking otherwise. I couldn’t get a handle on his impression of me the entire time I was there, until we said goodbye.

“You use Celsius? Why do you not use Fahrenheit?” he asked. He had a hint of a smile in his words.

I felt I was being tested. Everyone uses Celsius, right? -Except for the U.S. in matters outside of a chemistry or physics class. It was such an obvious question that I’d never thought about it. Was he digging to find out the level of my knowledge? What did I know and not know? Was I an idiot or could he trust me with medical knowledge and patients?

I answered him thoughtfully, slowly, and clumsily. “I don’t know, I guess, it’s because it’s what we use in science classes. The U.S. just uses the old, outdated Fahrenheit system, it really doesn’t make sense. It’s kind of dumb- But in hospitals and science classes we use Celsius. It makes more sense. It’s more scientific.”

He looked at me. He raised his chin slightly in a nod. “Ahh. ...In Nepal we use Fahrenheit.”

Shit. I felt like I just insulted the medical profession in his country. If I had a drink in my hand I woud’ve taken a long slow gulp and looked around the room for someone else to go engage in conversation.

****—The lobby and reception desk. The doctor’s office is behind the blue curtain on the left—****

So that was the foot we got off on. After I removed it from my mouth, we went on with the rest of the day. He addressed Jahn when explaining a patient. I sat, wondering if it was because of my paranoid perceptions of his perceptions of our morning interaction and my profession as a sister, or was he simply more comfortable with Jahn, knowing that Jahn was young and wanted to be a doctor as well and that I was older and educated in my profession.

The rest of the day was spent observing his assessments of walk-in patients, check-ups on the Emergency patients who arrived overnight, and the admitted patients upstairs. It was boring and draining, with pockets of something fascinating, like noticing their O2 tanks, and lack of strict infection control procedures and equipment.

Dr. Ran turned out to be a great guy and a great and knowledgeable doctor who ran his hospital well and treated his patients with warmth, respect, and his wisdom, but he was hard to figure out. ...Or at least my self doubts made him that way.

Travelman log, day 186. Enjoying writing all day and planning for the next month as I stare at the mountains from cafe balconnies. !steemitworldmap 26.6127 lat 85.2637 long Volunteering Part 3, Travelman meet the Doctor-Pharping,Nepal, d3scr 316 Followers and counting, 921.4 steem earned. Rep 59. Travelman out.