Intro to Medical Care

September 20, 2007 at 6:05 pm Leave a comment

I had entered the Syrian medical system with a bit of trepidation. I had telephoned the brother of our Idlib friends, who arranged for me to see a friend of his in Aleppo, an orthopedic surgeon. I took a cab, not realizing that a name and a neighborhood were inadequate to find someone. After all, no one in Aleppo uses street addresses. Directions specify only this or that monument, fountain, gate, statue. As we approached, I called the surgeon and handed the phone to the driver for directions. He sent me into a pedestrian street, where I found the sign and went up two badly lit flights of stairs to a sparsely-furnished room with some bilingual drug-company calendars on the walls, a desk, a chair, a table, and a couch. After making conversation with a woman who seemed to be a receptionist and a friend of hers, the doctor came in and ushered me into his office, the only other room in the suite. He examined my foot, told me to take lots of ibuprofen for a week, and if it wasn’t better, to get an xray, some lab work, and return. An office visit in Aleppo: $10.  (Foot pain has prohibited lots of walking, good for writing but not for blogging.)

I had never realized how daunting such instructions could be. How does one find a lab? Where do Syrians get xrays? I went online, of course, searching for radiologists, podiatrists, sports medicine clinics. I was reminded that Syrian businesses are seldom online. And I have seen only two telephone directories in the country so far.

Three weeks later, my foot still hurting, we got the name of a sports medicine doctor from a German friend here, along with directions. Sulaymaniya neighborhood, go to the roundabout, take the road to the right, walk 100-200 meters, it’ll be on the right. After many meters, we asked a local shopkeeper. He had never heard the name. We crossed the street, walked a ways, asked a man in an office. He exports bearings to Russia, and actually had one of the two phone books I’ve seen in Syria. He had never heard of the doctor, and he wasn’t in the phone book.

I contacted our friends in Idlib and arranged to see Nabeg’s brother, a radiologist. His clinic was quite different than the orthopedic surgeon’s office in Aleppo. He has one of two radiology clinics in Idlib, a city of 400,000. His includes not only standard xray equipment, but also MRI and CT scanners, flouroscopy and sonogram machines. He is awaiting delivery of new equipment for mammograms and bone density scans. The hospitals in town don’t have radiology equipment, so everyone comes to one of the two clinics. One other doctor works in his clinic, and a number of technicians. The setup was quite informal, with each patient’s family coming into the office to look at the films and discuss the results. A woman sat next to the doctor typing onto a computer form as the doctor dictated reports.

He set up the xrays, then had one of his staff people walk me around the corner to his friend, an orthopedic surgeon, another two-room office. Plantar fasciitis/heel spur, no standing or walking for six weeks, anti-inflammatory drugs (he prescribed Feldene, reassuring me that it’s made by Pfizer, along with something to counteract the effects on the stomach–I think I’ll go with something a little more basic.) All these drugs, like antibiotics, are available without prescription. No charge, nice to meet you, best of luck, thanks so much!

One of the staff people from the radiology clinic drove us out to our friends’ house, where we stayed for iftaar. Ramadan has been very difficult for people in northern Syria this first week. Temperatures have been climbing steadily into the high 90s. No food or water from 4:30 in the morning until about 6:30 in the evening, through school and work. We arrived around 4, with two and a half hours to go till sunset.

It is great to see our friends, whom we have come to love very much. Nabeg and Rima are clearly bi-cultural, functioning as easily in their native Idlib as in North Carolina. All four children are similarly bilingual and bicultural, and three of them are old enough to be fasting. All kids I know seem to come home from school ravenous–we used to call the time between 4 and dinner the arsenic hour. These kids were quite easy-going, considering how hot and tired and thirsty and hungry they must have been. The waiting got overwhelming, so we played basketball. (It’s a North Carolina thing.)

Dinner was terrific, a wonderful dish that is called “upside down” because the lamb and eggplant that start off at the bottom of the pan end up on top of the rice when the cook turns it into the serving dish. Had a fascinating conversation about networks, about relying on family and the people you know in the absence of easily available information about businesses and addresses.

And then it was time to leave, the one-hour bus ride back to Aleppo. The taxi driver, like all the others, wanted to guess where we were from. After a half-dozen misses, we told him we are American, and he grinned. Welcome, welcome! Americans are wonderful! Bush, NO! Americans are wonderful! Bush, NO!! Over and over. He refused to take money from us for the ride.

We hear it over and over and over. Americans, welcome. Americans are great. Bush, NO!

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Entry filed under: Food, Medicine, Middle East, Syria, Uncategorized, US Government.

To Damascus Diversity, Division, Peace?

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