I’ve been meaning to share this account with you from my trip to China. Some of you may remember this trip because of my earlier blog about my adventure into Shanghais’ hip-hop scene.

To bring everyone up to speed, here’s the short version: Mom and I went to China right before the Olympics, my mom lived in Hong Kong for a number of years before coming to America so she speaks fluent Cantonese, she left me alone in Shanghai when she went to visit her friends in Beijing. Little Tracy all alone in Shanghai!

Now that everyone’s on the same page, the story begins…

I’m fearless when traveling. I’ve done it all my life. My grasp of most languages has given me a sense of comfort so going to new places alone never frightens me; I'm bound to have someone to talk to. When possible, I eat and shop local; there’s no better way to get the full experience of a culture then going local.

Well, I came down with a nasty case of food poisoning. Imagine the worse case of food poisoning you’ve had and times it by a hundred. Yep, that’s where I was. After two days of violent shaking and vomiting, the concierge called a taxi to take me to the hospital. It was about 11 o’clock at night when the driver dropped me off at the hospital. Again, I’m alone. The hospital was state of the art and beautiful…but absolutely empty. Not even a security guard greeted me.

Close to death, I walk around the place looking for anyone to help me or at least call my mom to let her know I’ve died. I heard voices so I followed them until I came upon a doctor sitting on a small office. Horrified, he looked up then invited me to sit. I told him what was wrong but vacant expression on his face said his grasp of English was the same as my Mandarin. Zero.

I asked for a French or English speaks doctor. There was none. A hour went by; I threw up right there in front of him several times. Finally, he had me drop my pants and he gave me a shot of something. Whatever it was worked within minutes!

I’m admitted into the hospital. Two days go by, my mom is trying to talk to the doctors but they can’t understand each other, and she couldn’t leave Beijing because of the government travel restrictions in place for the Olympics. To make matters worse the drugs were beginning to make me sick. I cried to leave. Then I heard English coming from the hallway. I screamed for help.

A really handsome Chinese doctor with the same horrified look poked his head in my room. I told him everything that happened while he looked over my records. He immediately took the IV out of my arm—the enzymes in them were the root cause of my continuous nausea. He explained that he was a Jehovah’s Witness who recently returned to Shanghai after completing med school in Europe.

He called my mom and gave her the 411 then called an ambulance from the international hospital to pick me up; he transferred me over there because they spoke English. He stayed and we talked about random crap; his travels, my travels, hs family, my family, and so on until the ambulance arrived. I BEGGED him to come with me but he couldn’t—he was at work. Damn it!!! But he promised he'd come see me…and he did. He even called Greg and told him what happened.

We never talked about religion nor did he try to convert me. He was just a really nice man. When I was preparing for discharged, he made sure all of my insurance paperwork was properly done, checked that all of my medical records were in order and he even translated them for my PCP.

He put me in a taxi and told the driver where to go. I never saw him again. I wonder about him sometimes. How is he adjusting to being back in China after so many years in Europe? How are his parents? Did he ever try hairy tofu? Did he ever go to the Italian restaurant I told him about? Does he still laugh at his own jokes? I hope so.

He was so a kind soul. I hope he’s well.

Next time on Tales from Shanghai: Tracy & The Tea Room aka "I'm not putting that in my mouth!"


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