Since I decided to give birth at a public Chinese hospital, I’ve had to resign myself to the realities that this entails. Namely, fighting for a number to see the OB/GYN, the endless back and forth of going to this counter, that counter, running from one building to the next, to the ultrasound tech on the second floor to the doctor back on the first floor, getting more prescriptions, needing to have blood drawn but then finding out that the hospital only takes blood on alternate Thursdays between 8:15 and 10:50am, and endless other small frustrations that make leaving the hospital each time feel like I’m exiting a war zone. However, nothing gets my blood boiling more than the line up to see the doctor, something that should be a simple enough process, but simply … isn’t.

First, we have to back up a bit. I live about 40 minutes by bus from my chosen hospital. I say “chosen” but actually once I decided to use a public hospital, I discovered that in Beijing I was not allowed to give birth in most hospitals, and had to choose a “three star” hospital. I chose the Women’s and Children’s Hospital associated with Beida, a hospital near Beihai, a considerable distance from my place in Haidian. This hospital is quite popular with the Chinese as it has an excellent medical reputation, and I once saw a Russian woman there, so apparently some foreigners do choose it as well. However, my hospital’s excellent reputation means that you have to fight to be seen. While the process of “gua hao” (registration, or “taking a number”) isn’t as bad as the top-flight Peking Union hospital, where people actually sleep in front of the hospital to secure their place in line for the following morning, I have to show up pretty early if I want a chance at a number, let alone a decent number that will allow me to be seen within a few hours.

So we get up at six, leave by seven, and make it to the hospital before eight am. The hospital starts registering people at 7:30, so if we make it before 8 we can usually get a fairly decent number, but there are no guarantees. Two weeks ago I showed up at 7:45 and was given number 49, an awful number which virtually assured that I’d be at the hospital until noon at least. Two days ago I showed up at the same time and got number 4, a great number. I chalked my luck up to being one of the few people willing to brave the hospital on the day after it had snowed. In fact, I had banked on the snow keeping the cold-fearing Chinese people away from the OB/GYN, and my gamble indeed paid off. Or so I thought. More on that later.

The truly infuriating part is yet to come, however. At my hospital if you have a normal number, that is, you have not paid the extra 10RMB for the privilege of seeing an “expert” doctor, then the procedure is this: you pick up your medical history, get weighed in, have your blood pressure taken, have your measurements done, and then you line up according to the number you’ve been assigned and wait to see the doctor. The way you line up is by placing your medical history, with your number, the registration slip you were given, on top and clearly visible, on a table in numerical order. This is where it gets tricky, because there are about 50 medical histories lined up on the table, and people are constantly coming in and sticking theirs in the middle, so you have to be vigilant that yours does not get “misplaced” in the shuffle. There is also a very real danger of others trying to cut in line (shocking, I know), and if you’re not careful, you’ll find yourself at the back of the pack.

Two weeks ago, when I was number 49 and depressed enough about that fact as it was, I got up to go to the bathroom, came back and found that numbers 50 and 53 had somehow migrated to the front of my medical history. Scathing looks were exchanged as I grumpily moved my number back to the front. I’d been waiting for about 4 hours already and I was not about to fall victim to shenanigans. Sometimes the atmosphere around the table gets tense. It is not uncommon to have your medical history, say my number 49, all near the front of the line, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, the numbers 46, 47, and 48, who had been outside having a bowl of noodles knowing they wouldn’t be seen any time soon, magically appear in front of yours. This is not against the rules either, since everything is according to number. If I happened to have gotten number 1, I could have legitimately cut to the front of the line at any time during the morning, no matter how much it angered my fellow patients. Usually there is a group of women who hover about the table and, infuriatingly, go through the histories about every 2 minutes, to see who is at front. This creates even more chaos, as there is not much room near the table, and when the doctor comes out to take the next history and calls the next patient, she is often swarmed by the hoverers, which, of course irritates her and if you’re number 49 she’s not in a very good mood by the time she actually gets to see you.

So what about two days ago, when I got number 4? In fact, I’d been so fed up with the table system after my fiasco with number 49 that I’d decided to dole out the extra 10RMB, splurge and see an “expert.” And indeed, I was in and out of that doctor’s office within about 20 minutes. I never even saw numbers 1, 2, or 3, in fact, I don’t think they’d even shown up by the time I left. However, instead of being out of the hospital and on my way home by 9:00am, I still didn’t leave the place until almost 11:30. How is this possible, you ask, with such a great number as 4? Well, it just so happens that at 37 weeks pregnant I have to do weekly non-stress tests, NSTs, as they’re called. NSTs are done on a, you guessed it, number system. So while I had number 4 for the doctor, I was probably about 5 minutes too late signing up for the NST, and ended up being number 19. So despite my initial luck, I still ended up waiting around the hospital until nearly noon. Good thing I’d planned ahead and brought a book.

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Related Links

You're Having Him Where? Giving Birth in Kunming
Sticker Shock: The Cost of Giving Birth in China
Sick in China – Medical Misadventures in Zhuji

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