Let me set the stage quick:
When I was in Vietnam, I had been experiencing some pain for around two and a half to three weeks. I thought maybe it was a lack of hydration and changing countries from Indonesia so I didn’t do anything right away. It’s the World Race. But a little over a week into my time in Vietnam it got worse in my abdomen and I set to go to the local hospital for testing.
It’s probably helpful to know that during my time in Vietnam, we taught English at a school with Vietnamese teachers who’d studied English for years. Despite that, we often had to whip out our best acting to communicate our conversations. So going to the hospital with one of my squad leaders and no translator, the communication would be a bit of a toss up.
After arriving, my hospital was not one that I knew how to navigate. I had hoped and believed I could figure it out once I was there, but that was wrong. No one spoke any English, and I had no clue in this busy place where I went to sign in vs. where I went for insurance and payment. Taylor and I stood and looked around for maybe 3 minutes with no real direction to start at.
Then out of nowhere, a woman in her late twenties with casual clothes on approached us and asked if we needed help, in English! I tried to explain that I needed testing and she asked for the run down on my symptoms. I actually thought I had a UTI, and the woman got slightly excited saying “me too! I’m here for that too” and immediately led me to the first counter to sign my name and show insurance. Once she helped, I asked if she worked there to be sure, but she said no. She had seen us and thought she could help with English.
For the rest of my time following in the hospital, this lady escorted me from check in desk to check in desk. From the first payment to the blood test, from there to the urine sample, from there to the ultrasound, from there to the doctors reading charts, to further payment, to x rays, from there to medication pickup and payment.
To say I never would have known how to go around without her help would be an understatement. The whole hospital was a confusing jumble, and she patiently and very sweetly led me through the mess translating the whole time while also being tested for her own illness. She made sure I was seen immediately following her at each station by grabbing my arm and bringing me with her. She encouraged me while I cringed at having blood drawn internationally. She sat to talk to me in waiting rooms. She translated and sat by my bed when I got an ultrasound.
While the ultrasound started happening, and my concern over the not changed out sheets or cleaned equipment faded, I had one of those moments where I could see the ultrasound technician becoming confused as he went over what he saw. When I asked what was the cause for his look and for the extra run over my right side, my new translator asked and sat on my bed. All they could figure to translate was “there’s some sort of fluid in your kidney.”
I went on for another thirty minutes in the doctors room trying to understand through spotty google translate and my new friend what the problem was exactly for my pain. They’d ruled out UTI. My translator friend did her best, and after a long while, I found a way to call my host to more clearly translate for me. They decided to do more testing to look for a cause. The woman who’d already gotten all of her treatment and diagnosis stuck with me to lead me around for another 25 minutes. They didn’t come to a solid conclusion, but at the end as she was saying goodbye and wishing well, she shared something that I will always be grateful to her for. She said that the only reason they did an ultrasound in the first place was because she needed one, so they simply did the same for me. We hugged and I thanked her, and headed out.
Through a lot more confusion, two days of panic, and a lot of consultation to the states, I went to a bigger hospital a few hours away (thankfully that spoke English) and found that I had a kidney stone which caused my kidney to build up fluid. Introduce: my stoner. It was definitely a first for me. And definitely one of the most painful things I’ve experienced. But sometimes, I look back and I can’t believe that when I was so lost that day in the hospital, a random patient came over and led me through my care with the attention of a personal doctor. I can’t believe that they found my stoner because of testing that she needed and not me. I can’t believe she was the only one in the busy hospital that spoke English. And I can’t believe how calm and kind she was to me as I tried to take in the lack of medical results and became concerned. I can’t believe how well she took care of me.
But at the same time, I can believe it. I believe that God gave me that friend to personally escort me through something that otherwise would have been terrifying to try alone. Because that’s just like him. I don’t know my translators name, and I can hardly remember her face now, but if I’ve ever seen an angel in real life it wouldn’t surprise me if she was it.
