Having driven many hundreds of kilometres, we arrived in Ubon Ratchathani. En route, Khamma learned that one of her many cousins had been admitted to the general hospital for a serious operation on his stomach. We decided to call in to wish him well and hopefully raise his spirits.
This was my first visit to a Thai general public hospital, the equivalent of the UK National Health Service. I have heard many stories about being a patient in a Thai general hospital and how families can stay for the duration to look after them and tend to their needs. In the UK this is usually the job of the medical staff and members of the family are confined to certain hours in which to visit.
Thailand has a private medical service, which is excellent and apparently cheaper than the UK. In fact in Bangkok there is a thriving 'medical tourist' industry for all sorts of operations from nose jobs to surgical operations and procedures.
A few months ago, a Farang friend from the next village was knocked off his motorbike and very close to being killed. He ended up in Ubon's general hospital. Late in the evening his friend arrived, took one look at his injuries, discharged him and took him to the private hospital. In the end my friend's leg was rebuilt and he made a good recovery. It was expensive but because the private hospital had more resources, he had a much better outcome than the one he would have had in the general hospital.
When we arrived at Ubon general hospital we entered reception, which was a large hall with many rows of chairs fixed together and to the floor. There was a notional waiting system, but, once called ("eventually" according to Khamma) patients are transferred to the next hall to wait for attention. In this hall some people were already on beds; some with drips, some in pain, some sleeping, some just staring into space, all of them sick.
At the end of the hall was a corridor leading to the wards. Medical staff milled about; some looking intent on their work, some eating lunch, some just sitting.
The corridors were busy with the hussle and bussle of medical staff and members of the public. Everyone was scurrying off somewhere but I looked around and took it all in.
One patient (I could not tell if it was male, female, young or old or even alive or dead!) was being man handled into the back of a pick up truck. The family piled in as well and off it went.
There was building construction site in the middle of the hospital and in a small space next to the rubble and cement mixers was a family eating lunch! The canteen was only 20 metres away, but, to be honest it did not look very inviting especially as I was standing in a corridor that passed the open windows of the kitchen where the cooking smells mingled with those of the hospital.
By now I was feeling like a rabbit in the headlights (probably looking like one as well!). We entered the lift, and my senses were brought back to temporary normality. Arriving at the ward we saw patients lying in their beds next to the lift door. As we passed by I felt sorrowful eyes fix on me as a foreigner and a distraction to their discomfort. We walked along the corridor to the ward entrance. There were no outside windows, just an open space to let the outside air circulate through, although it was as earring 35degrees plus. The view from here was the building site and canteen.
Inside the ward were at least twenty beds with all manner of sick people. I thought if I were in here, it would be difficult to get better.
We found Khamma's cousin by the lift. We had missed him first time around. He seemed OK. His wife was there to look after him and his sister was asleep on a chair. They keep him company between his sleeps and give him drinks, which is vital in the heat. The nursing staff are busy elsewhere. The space between each bed was about 18 inches, and not enough to create some privacy. The visitor to the patient in the next bed was almost sitting on Khammas cousin's bed.
This was certainly an interesting experience into a Thai hospital.
On my return to England there was great debate about the state of several failing NHS hospitals including one in Greater Manchester, not far from where I live. It did make me think that if I was ever taken ill, I would prefer to be in England, whichever hospital was the nearest.
Little did I know that experience was nearer than I thought!
This was my first visit to a Thai general public hospital, the equivalent of the UK National Health Service. I have heard many stories about being a patient in a Thai general hospital and how families can stay for the duration to look after them and tend to their needs. In the UK this is usually the job of the medical staff and members of the family are confined to certain hours in which to visit.
Thailand has a private medical service, which is excellent and apparently cheaper than the UK. In fact in Bangkok there is a thriving 'medical tourist' industry for all sorts of operations from nose jobs to surgical operations and procedures.
A few months ago, a Farang friend from the next village was knocked off his motorbike and very close to being killed. He ended up in Ubon's general hospital. Late in the evening his friend arrived, took one look at his injuries, discharged him and took him to the private hospital. In the end my friend's leg was rebuilt and he made a good recovery. It was expensive but because the private hospital had more resources, he had a much better outcome than the one he would have had in the general hospital.
When we arrived at Ubon general hospital we entered reception, which was a large hall with many rows of chairs fixed together and to the floor. There was a notional waiting system, but, once called ("eventually" according to Khamma) patients are transferred to the next hall to wait for attention. In this hall some people were already on beds; some with drips, some in pain, some sleeping, some just staring into space, all of them sick.
At the end of the hall was a corridor leading to the wards. Medical staff milled about; some looking intent on their work, some eating lunch, some just sitting.
The corridors were busy with the hussle and bussle of medical staff and members of the public. Everyone was scurrying off somewhere but I looked around and took it all in.
One patient (I could not tell if it was male, female, young or old or even alive or dead!) was being man handled into the back of a pick up truck. The family piled in as well and off it went.
There was building construction site in the middle of the hospital and in a small space next to the rubble and cement mixers was a family eating lunch! The canteen was only 20 metres away, but, to be honest it did not look very inviting especially as I was standing in a corridor that passed the open windows of the kitchen where the cooking smells mingled with those of the hospital.
By now I was feeling like a rabbit in the headlights (probably looking like one as well!). We entered the lift, and my senses were brought back to temporary normality. Arriving at the ward we saw patients lying in their beds next to the lift door. As we passed by I felt sorrowful eyes fix on me as a foreigner and a distraction to their discomfort. We walked along the corridor to the ward entrance. There were no outside windows, just an open space to let the outside air circulate through, although it was as earring 35degrees plus. The view from here was the building site and canteen.
Inside the ward were at least twenty beds with all manner of sick people. I thought if I were in here, it would be difficult to get better.
We found Khamma's cousin by the lift. We had missed him first time around. He seemed OK. His wife was there to look after him and his sister was asleep on a chair. They keep him company between his sleeps and give him drinks, which is vital in the heat. The nursing staff are busy elsewhere. The space between each bed was about 18 inches, and not enough to create some privacy. The visitor to the patient in the next bed was almost sitting on Khammas cousin's bed.
This was certainly an interesting experience into a Thai hospital.
On my return to England there was great debate about the state of several failing NHS hospitals including one in Greater Manchester, not far from where I live. It did make me think that if I was ever taken ill, I would prefer to be in England, whichever hospital was the nearest.
Little did I know that experience was nearer than I thought!
