chengdu adventures

and by "adventure", i just mean mary lives in China. or tries to, at any rate.

[chengduadventures]

UBER COME BACK TO CHINA

You left Didi Chuxing in your wake, and it fucking sucks. It can’t even incorporate traffic it shows on the map into the estimate. 5 minute wait = 20 minute wait = I literally could have walked faster and made it to work earlier if you had just TOLD me it was going to take 20 minutes. 

I’m also angry that an app has made me so angry, because CHINA. 

[chengduadventures]

all things considered, it’s still a fairly average weekend

At first, I didn’t notice anything. I didn’t notice the absence of aftershave in the morning, the unusual quiet.

Then I did. I realized my evenings were no longer filled with my 40-something-year temporary-roommate cooing at my cat and calling her an empress. I didn’t realize that was something I could miss; but I did.

Next came rationalization: perhaps he’s stayed with a friend these past couple of days. Gone on a business trip or something. These were perfectly reasonable assumptions to make.

But later, with a judicious application of alcohol, I began to worry. I mean, really worry. Oh good lord, I thought, with a vague feeling of hysteria clawing its way up my throat and a less vague feeling of panic kicking my chest in like some irate kangaroo, what if he’s dead in there? I wouldn’t even know what to do – I mean, what’s the China-911? Who do I contact? And then, like a lizard down the shirt, I realized with stark clarity: I’m being absolutely ridiculous. Highly irrational, even. 

After that, I calmed myself an low-key anxiety for the rest of the night.

But when I got back home in the week hours, I hovered by his door, that clawing-kicking creeping back. I glanced back at my friends in the living room.

Then I saw it: a calendar adorned with a Hillary For America sign a VOTE REMAIN sign. I suddenly remembered when my permanent-roommate, before she left for the summer, nodded at the calendar and told me, “Going to Rainbow Mountain this weekend. It’s on the calendar.”

So I checked that calendar – and what did I see, but my temporary-roomate’s six-day absence clearly marked out at the end of June, turn the page, then into the beginning of July.

Oh thank god, I thought. I can finally be naked in my own apartment again.

[chengduadventures]

hey, I know you don't live in Chengdu anymore, but is there anywhere in the city that you remember selling (non-pirated) CDs? CDs from Korean artists in particular. I've already looked at quite a few bookstores, like Fangsuo at Chunxi Lu and the bookstore in the Global Center. If you had any suggestions on where to check, I would be super grateful. Thank you so much!!

hmm, I don’t really know. maybe digital plaza next to raffles? the only other thing I can think of is the (definitely-pirated) movies store in Tongzilin that might also have (probably-pirated) CDs. 

[chengduadventures]

What do if you get sick in China, Part B

I should probably start this guide off with a disclaimer: this is no longer strictly Chengdu Adventures, as I’ve relocated my sorry self, but instead China Adventures. But I’m too lazy to change the URL, so please use your imagination, thanks. 

Now--onto the guide! 

What to do if you get sick in China, Part B

A guide by:

Mary Behan

(you can find part A here)

Step 1: Don’t get sick in China.

Step 2: That failing, I hope you brought yourself a bunch of medication from home.

Step 3: Steps 1 and 2 failing, it’s not a bad idea to be in Shanghai.

Step 4: Also have medical insurance. 

Step 5: And do not be a passive patient! 

Of course, there’s a story that goes with this guide, so curl up with your honeyed water and settle down as we delve into the Shanghai side of getting sick. 

I visited the Huashan Hospital International, a mere walking distance from my apartment, which has a separate section for Chinese nationals and foreigners--this is where Step 3 comes in. The foreigners section is usually some sort of VIP area: given the many daily privileges White (and mostly not-black) Foreigners receive in China, it’s exactly what you’d expect. Shorter waits, better service, and doctors and staff who mostly speak English. Because Shanghai is more developed than Chengdu, I think there’s actually a decent proportion of hospitals that have these kinds of VIP/Foreigner/VIP-Foreigners sections. 

Also, I visited Huashan Hospital International... twice. In three days. 

What happened? 

Last Wednesday, I woke up with a mild sore throat and was fairly displeased about it, for obvious reasons. As colds so often go, I expected it would be scratchy and sore and annoying for a couple of days, and then I would descend into runny-nose, snot-filled misery; it was something that the rest of my colleagues at work had recently succumbed to, so it stood to reason that I, the last man standing (sort of), would follow suit.  

So that Wednesday, I paid it no mind. I had dinner with a former colleague and current friend (her delightful description!) and we had margaritas, and the ice and alcohol actually soothed my throat. 

I felt optimistic until I woke up the next morning, with the feeling that there was some sort of dull knife poking into the back of my mouth. This is unusually painful for a cold, I thought, but no matter -- tomorrow it would yield to a sorry, sniffle-filled but utterly benign state. So today, I thought, I would gargle warm saltwater and make myself a hot toddy before bed, and all would be well.

In the back of my mind, I was slightly worried when the saltwater didn’t work its magic like it used to, and the hot toddy didn’t have the same effect as the previous night’s margarita, and that I couldn’t really eat.

So when I woke up on Friday feeling altogether worse, I stared at my throat for white strep spots, saw none, but decided to haul my ass to the hospital anyway.

Having slept fitfully, I was grateful when I eventually navigated my way up to the 8th and VIP/Foreigner floor of the sprawling hospital’s first building (this was a process that involved taking an escalator up to the 6th floor, walking to the 7th only to see that there were many no-entry signs, heading back downstairs and leaving the building, going back into the building, and then realizing there was a separate section to the building with an elevator that went exclusively to floors 8-14.) 

Here’s the reason for Step 4: while at a Chinese hospital you’ll be shunted up and down and sideways as you run between departments getting your consult, pay, then going back up after you’ve paid to get your prescription, then going somewhere else to actually get the prescription, then going back up to give the invoice to the doctor, or some other long and laughably inefficient process that will irritate you to no end. But in the end, you’ll find you won’t have paid much for your trouble: maybe 100-200 RMB if the medicine is costly, which falls somewhere between 15-30 dollars. The consult itself will only be about 10-30 RMB ($1.5 - $4~).

But in a VIP/foreigner section, the consult alone will be 500-600 RMB. Unless your insurance pays for it, which thankfully, my company’s did. 

So on to Step 5: after the shortest wait in the world, I was shuffled in to see a doctor for the most perfunctory check-up I have ever received.

“Sore throat?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Three days.”

“Fever? Cough? Runny nose?”

“No to all.” 

“Probably a cold.”

“Can you check for strep?”

The doctor came over to me and asked me to open my mouth and say Aaaaaa. She didn’t even use one of those wooden sticky thingies to hold my tongue down.

“Probably a cold,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes it’s a cold.” 

“你确定吗?” (Are you sure?, but this time in Chinese and laden with doubt.)

“Yes. I’m going to prescribe you medicine.”

“OK?” 

So she prescribed me to versions of traditional Chinese medicine. One was a pill that worked more or less like a Halls with Menthol, except it tasted worse and also did nothing for the pain in my throat. The second was a powder that had much the same effect as the pill, but was even less palatable. 

I suffered through the weekend, diving into my supply of ibuprofen and tylenol just so I could eat at least once a day and sleep at least a few hours at night (am I being melodramatic? Probably yes, but I’m a huge baby, so yes.) 

At about 3am, after having slept a grand total of an hour and a half, I took more pain meds then started really thinking about the pain in my throat. I didn’t even feel like it could be justifiably called a sore throat. It was more like a sharp pain when I swallowed, on the right side of my throat, and, I realized, the back of my tongue. The right outside of my throat, just under my chin, also felt swollen. WebMD tried to tell me it was thyroid cancer or some other awful thing; even at 3AM, I knew to give WebMD the finger and instead peered into my mouth in the mirror, using my phone as a flashlight.

My right tonsil was ginormous and, compared to the left-tonsil, super gross-looking. Just a fucking cold, amirite? I thought angrily at the doctor from Friday. Do colds come with tonsillitis? I don’t know. Someone please correct me so I can mentally apologize to Friday Doctor. 

I went back to the hospital this morning, more peeved and also more assertive.

“My tonsil is swollen, it’s been five days, I don’t want TCM (traditional Chinese medicine), please help.” 

Monday Doctor made me say Aaaa again, but actually used the wooden stick thingie to hold my tongue down. He used another thing to poke at my tonsil. Then he prescribed me antibiotics (and TCM, which I declined to buy) and sent me on my merry way.

 And thus tonsillitis joins vaginitis, root canals, and face-poison-ivy-due-to-mango-skin-allergy on the list of Problems I’ve Only Ever Had in China. I want to blame China itself, but I’m better than that. 

Just kidding.

Thanks China. 

[chengduadventures]

How to move your cat to Shanghai, in five-ish easy-ish steps

So, you’ve gone and moved yourself to Shanghai. You’ve been lured by the home of mainland China’s first Disneyland and its huge city-ness, and the fact that the expat social bubble is a purported 3 degrees of separation, instead of Chengdu’s 1.5 degrees. 

In this big, new and exciting city, your only friend is your cat.

Except your cat is still in Chengdu. 

Well, shit.

So you ask your friends with native-level Chinese to call the airlines to see how to take a cat on a plane. You also do some online research yourself, and find that airline policies are somewhat unanimous in their requirements for a) a vaccination record, b) a record of health, and c) a regulated cat-carrier. 

I can do that, you think. Next weekend is a holiday. You’ll ask a friend to take the cat to the vet and get the papers, and then you’ll go to Chengdu yourself during the holiday. (You still have good friends in greater China, if just not in Shanghai, the optimistic part of your brain reminds you. You’re still a sad, lonely cat lady, the critical side of you maintains.) 

Then your boss comes in. He asks if you can swap some days -- he anticipates more work next week, during the holiday, and wants to know if you can take some days off this week instead; he doesn’t mind giving you Wednesday through Friday, which you realize is actually an extra day because he’s super understanding and you both know you’ll be making it up in overtime work later. 

Uh.

Yes. 

Yes, you will switch some days around. 

So you hop back to your little pink standing desk and you immediately book a round trip to Chengdu. You have someone call the airline with your flight info, so that you can arrange to bring a cat on the plane.

The airline, in that terribly inefficient Chinese way, tells you, well, we can’t know if we’ll have space until the day before. 

So don’t like this last-minute uncertainty, so you troll the Baidu forums and you find a pet relocation service instead. The price they quote is about as much as you’d expect to pay -- lower, even. 

Okay, you think. I can do this. 

You go home. You get dinner with the friend of a friend, and his friends of a friend, and again you find yourself thinking, I can do this. (And you absolutely can, but also when did your alcohol tolerance drop so low? You decide to walk home in the fresh air instead of cabbing, and when you get home you end up packing a little bit drunk. But you definitely remember to pack underwear, so all is well.) 

The next morning, your flight to Chengdu is delayed. You’re zen. This is OK. 

You get into Chengdu a couple of hours late, and multiple cabs refuse to take you to the apartment because you live too close. It’s OK. You’re still zen. Well, not so much zen as, you get it all out of your system by yelling at cabbies. One of them realizes, after a few rounds of arguing, and in an accusatory tone -- 你不是我们四川人! (you’re not one of us Sichuanese!) -- and you him Yeah, no duh, in English, because that’s where you are right now. And you get out of the cab. 

In a moment of glorious, serendipitous, fuck you, the very next cab finally agrees to take you. 

Vindication. 

Later that night, you get mouth-burning, intestines-destroying hotpot with a friend. It feels great. Then you go to the writing club you’d been a member of for the past almost-two-years. It’s the last of the old guard’s last meeting, back from when the group began years before you even studied abroad in China, and you’re happy to have made it for this special night. You also feel light, stretched, breathing easier because you’ve finally written something that could be called a full story, even if it’s only five hundred words, for the first time in a few weeks. This is what you were made for, you remember.  

But a heavy-eyed fatigue is plucking at your sleeves, because you haven’t had your thyroid medication for over two weeks and that old lethargy is slinking back in.

You don’t let that stop you. You’ve clipped the cat’s nails and glued some Chinese knockoff of SoftPaws onto them, so she can scratch her heart away but not ruin the furniture in your new apartment in Shanghai. After this miraculous feat, nothing can stop you.

So your first full morning in Chengdu, you drag the cat off to the vet clinic to get your papers. 

They tell you, we can only do the vaccine here. Then you have to take the vaccine record to the pet hospital, and they’ll give you a health certificate that you can then take to a health control supervisor to give you another certificate. 

But you should go to the health control supervisor first, to see what you need from the pet hospital. By the way, the clinic’s vet says, we’re going to date today’s vaccine to last month, because, well, you’re supposed to wait a month after the vaccine before getting this inspection.

“Ah. Got it,” you say; it’s funny how unbothered by this you are. 

So you go to the health control supervisor. He says you need to take the cat to the hospital, then go back to him. Once you get the OK from him, the papers expire in 5 days, so plan well. 

You understand. 

You take a break and drop the cat at home, and go to get lunch with your friends. You ask one of them to call the pet relocation service and figure out what you need to do with them. 

We’ll even come pick the cat up, they say after lunch. This seems incredibly convenient, but who are you to look a gift horse in the mouth? 

It’s after lunch, while you’re at the pet hospital, when they ask for your address. You’re trying to talk to the hospital-vet, who’s putting your basic information into the system then asking for your payment. You’re simultaneously trying to give your address to the relocation service and arrange times for them to pick the cat up, and also times for the cat’s separate flight to Shanghai (Pudong airport, or Hongqiao airport?) 

All this Chinese is taxing your tired brain, but what’s worse is the way the cat meows a deep, warbling, defeated noise and shakes in your arms while they stick a cotton swab up her bum and then also take some blood. 

You wrap the cat safely in the carrier and she presses her face against your hand while you wait for the results. 

The hospital vet comes back out. He calls you over.

There’s a problem, he says. Your cat’s antibodies aren’t up to count. (Pause, for a Chinese-English dictionary; antibodies?) You may have to take her in for another vaccine. 

“Well...” you hedge, realizing what the clinic vet had done. “Well,” you whisper furtively. “Well, she technically just got the vaccine today.” 

You feel sheepish. The hospital vet looks resigned and unsurprised. He tells you it doesn’t matter what the other vets wrote, but the cat’s blood shows the vaccine hasn’t started working yet. Come back in twenty days. You’ll have to find another way. It’s clear he’s not going to fudge the records as your “other way”. 

You deflate. You try to think of what you can do. You feel disappointed, too--disappointed in yourself. Here is perhaps China’s only by-the-rules straight-laced vet, and all you can do is think, god, this is annoying. 

So you message the pet relocation people. It can’t happen tomorrow, you tell them, because the doctor won’t approve a health certificate. You try push your anticipation away and accept the fact that you won’t have your cat for another month. It’s OK. You’re zen. 

And then -- 

Oh, the pet relocation people reply. Oh, you don’t need that, they assure you. We take care of that stuff. We’ll give it to you -- and here, they use the ambiguous verb 弄 nong, so you don’t quite know what they’ll be doing in order to get this for you. 

You double check with the vet -- in hindsight, this was not the best thing to do. The vet reads the conversation, and looks at you. That works, he says with a shrug. The company is going to get “papers” for you. 

You feel vaguely ashamed, like you’ve disappointed this hospital vet.

But on the other hand, the cat’s going to Shanghai with you tomorrow.

And really, you’re nothing but wholly happy about that. 

The pet relocation people come an hour early, arriving promptly at 8am. You struggle to put pants on. You aren’t wearing a bra. The cat crawls under your bed, squeaking her fear, and you have to crawl after her and physically drag her out. 

You feel like you’re stuffing her into the cat carrier like someone trying to stuff a sleeping bag back into its thing--you know it fits, that there should be space, but little parts keep poking out. Like the cat’s head, or her paw, or her tail as she tries to make another break for it.

She whines pitifully. You take deep, calming breaths as she’s taken away. 

You spend your day distracting yourself. It’s easy enough to do, as incredibly sunny and warm as it is outside. You get brunch with friends. You get some work done with a friend in Starbucks. 

Then you go home, you finish packing, and you eagerly get to the airport.

... Your flight is delayed. (So is your cat’s. You’re on two separate flights.) 

On the plane, you spend the whole time chatting with the Chinese man next to you because you can’t sleep. He asks a lot of questions about the American economy, and you know none of the answers. At various points, he tries to convince you you should get Chinese boyfriend and live in China. He’s an okay conversationalist. But he isn’t your cat. 

When you get off the plane, you make a break for the baggage inquiry. They don’t know where your cat is. You bounce between baggage inquiries and general information before the phone number you’ve been given finally picks up the call. 

The cat is somewhere else entirely: at the cargo hold for Sichuan Airlines. 

You wait an hour for a cab. 

The cab driver is pissed that you are going literally a five minute drive away--since he’s been waiting five hours to pick someone up--and you argue with each other but he ends up taking you anyway. 

He doesn’t know the address, so he puts it into his GPS. Even then, he struggles to find the place, but he tells you, you’re in my cab and it’s my responsibility to take you to your destination (负责到底.) So he drives in circles and asks everyone around you where 300 Suhang Lu is; even though it’s past midnight, everyone around you is active -- wearing hard hats, loading giant trucks, unloading large pallets of things in the light rain... 

You think, where the fuck am I going to find my cat in the middle of all this industrial shit? 

The cab driver pulls up to a gate. A big transport truck rolls out of the drive, and you’re told your cat is somewhere inside this large cargo hold. The driver says he’ll wait for you, but not for long.

So you sprint inside, splashing through puddles to get to the office in the way back of the yard. To the left, separated by tall chain-link fences, is the airport runway: out of the corner of your eye, you see a plane taxiing to somewhere. 

You shove your passport at someone in the office; you sign papers without knowing what you’re signing, really. 

Then you bring them back out, past a couple of trucks, past a bunch of pallets being unloaded, into a huge gaping space half-filled with cargo. 

CAT! you say desperately. I just need my cat. 

Then you see her. 

She’s curled up in her carrier, which has been wrapped in netting and taped up. She isn’t moving, but she meows piteously when you pick her up. 

Thank god the cab hasn’t left yet. You get in with the cat.

For the thirty minute cab ride, there’s an awful combination of pity and empathy (the cat doesn’t meow anymore, just rubs her head against the finger you squeeze in to pet her with), and also the cabbie’s complete disregard for anything resembling a speed limit -- well, you want to throw up a little.

And then it’s all over.

The cat is home. 

(and you only puked a tiny bit.) 

[chengduadventures]

Tooth Saga: Shenzhen Interlude

today while eating lunch in Shenzhen, I accidentally ate my temporary crown. currently at a dental clinic in Shenzhen. #hellomondaymyoldfriend

[chengduadventures]

the huaxi hospital of stomatology (again)

I cried literal tears of pain in the dentist’s chair again today. It’s not even weird anymore. It’s starting to feel normal--not a good normal, but regular enough that it’s not just that awful one-off experience, it’s a Thing I Hate.

Last week I had to go back to get a crown for the root canal that was (re)done back in February at home. (Shout out to Portsmouth’s Dr. Pinto and his super awesome team. They are honestly root canal gods.) 

Katie came with me for support and company. After waiting in line to pay the consultation fee (30rmb/$4.60), we went upstairs to the crown department (idk what it’s actually called). They took my number and sent me downstairs for an X-ray. We went downstairs to pay for X-ray. We went to the wing of X-rayology or whatever and waited to get the X-Ray taken. I get it taken. We wait 20 minutes for them to develop a batch of X-rays. We go back upstairs. They take the X-ray. They tell us to wait.

“That was a lot of fucking back and forth,” Katie said.

“Is that not normal?” I asked, because this is all I know. 

Well, it’s normal for China.

When I finally get seen, the dentist looks at the X-ray for maybe two seconds, then asks what kind of crown I want. When I don’t immediately know, he leaves to go work on someone else while someone explains to me the different kinds.

I choose one, we wait some more.

When the dentist came back, the assistant told him what crown I wanted. Then he just stuck the drill into my mouth and started drilling. 

“What the fuck?!” I heard Katie say. “He just went right in there, what the fuck.” 

He shaved my tooth, but did it so quickly he kept biting into the gum. 

Finally they took a mold of my mouth and wow, I just don’t even want to be talking about my teeth anymore, I seriously hate going to that dental hospital. 

Anyway, today I went in to get the crown, but since the tooth wasn’t shaved well the crown didn’t fit. They had to re-shave tooth, and take molds for a new crown, and I got to wait until they made a temporary crown. Temporary crown goes in, bites into gum that steadily gets more and more painful as I’m on the metro home. Take ibuprofen I have in backpack, go back to hospital, sit in chair, start to cry a little. They remove temporary crown, clean some things or something, put it back in. I take another ibuprofen, slowly pain starts to fade. 

Had a hell of a time getting home--ordered a didi, or the Chinese version of uber, waited 30 minutes for the driver before I said fuck it and caught a cab. 

Then the sky just darkened a lot and the winds picked up--Chengdu storms come quickly and generally go quickly too--and honestly, the wind is whipping at the trees on my balcony right now and it kind of makes me feel better. 

[chengduadventures]

Mary gets an ultrasound! in China!

No, I’m not pregnant. But this new installment of Mary Living in China is not for the faint of heart, which is a kind way of saying “men”. Kidding. Sort of. This installment is mostly going to be about my most recent hospital visit, with some vag humor thrown in there, because any trip to a Chinese hospital is going to be a story, and a women’s hospital will involve vaginas. 

 Also, happy St. Patrick's day!

 (This is where those unprepared for period jokes should get off the train.)

It's the day after St. Paddy's day here, so I woke up in the morning having slept through my cross fit class and feeling like shit. Predictably, it took me longer than normal to shower (oh glorious hot water), dress (this involved curling back up in bed and frowning at my closet), and otherwise prepare myself (I forgot to brush my hair) for my newest adventure: Angel women's hospital. 

Last month, I got an IUD (praise!). Long story short, I now needed an ultrasound to make sure it was still positioned properly, prepared to do all its wonderful IUDing--shorter, lighter periods without a daily pill, fuck yeah! But standing on the curb, drinking sprite in small sips while trying to hail a taxi in the Friday morning traffic and also not vom, I wondered if today was reaaallllly the best day to go get my ultrasound.

 I soldiered on. 

When I got out of the cab and arrived at Angel Women's, I braced myself for the pandemonium--on my last hospital visit, I glowered at old ladies who shouldered past me to cut the line with the speed and precision of ninjas. I had no idea who I might have to fight today. I wasn't ruling out the possibility of actual ninjas.

I stepped through the doors of the hospital. 

And was amazed. 

The hospital lobby was wide, spacious, and built with some coral tiles; it didn't smell like antiseptic things, or worse, urine. (I had a friend get stitches at a Chinese hospital who was then subsequently prescribed antibiotics in case she picked anything up while there. While I don't know if this is standard procedure in hospitals at home, this sounded pretty iffy.) But Angel Women's was a paradise of calm organization and put-together women wearing long, buttoned up black pea coats and colorful silk neckties (is that what they're called? I'll look it up later). There was even running water somewhere. I wondered if it was too late to brush my hair. 

When I went to the desk labeled "Triage" (reception would probably have been more appropriate), I explained to the woman what I needed, with Pleco (a handy mobile Chinese-English dictionary) filling in the gaps of my Chinese knowledge by providing the words for "gynecologist" and "IUD" and "ultrasound". The woman there smiled and led me to another woman who spoke English. She smiled and led me to a desk where she took my basic info, assigned me to a doctor, and directed me to the third floor. On the third floor, yet another smiling woman sent me to the delightful soul I will now call my Handler. 

My Handler spoke pretty good English. While I was privately fretting about how nice this place was, which definitely meant it was going to cost a buttload, my Handler asked me for my insurance card. It should be noted that this is the first time I've ever been asked for that in a Chinese hospital. She then helped me discover that I am insured for gynecological services at Angel Women's, and wouldn't be paying anything out of pocket. 

I just want to pause to praise everything. 

Everything. 

The rest of my visit was sublime. My Handler walked me through everything, helped supplement my lack of medical vocabulary by interpreting, and did everything except literally hold my hand. When I told her I’d forgotten my passport, she said it was OK--I could just WeChat a picture of it to her later. She acquired my patient card for me, and presented it to each technician/doctor we saw. She filled the waiting time with pleasant conversation. She was a goddess sent to be my guardian angel.

But gynecology, man. 

The gynecologist, Dr. Wang, began by asking me a series of short questions about my period and health. 

 "When was your last period?" (My handler had to interpret "period" for me; somehow that vocab word never came up in all my years at Middlebury.) 

 "This week." 

 "Still bleeding?" 

 I shrugged, uncertain. "A little?" 

 "I’ll check. Have you had an abortion before?” (Thank you, Handler.)

 "No." 

 "Smoke?" 

 "No."

 "Drink?" 

 "A little," I said, still hungover and still delicately sipping my Sprite. 

This whole thing was followed by the fastest Pap smear I've ever had, and then my Handler was bundling me off so we could do the rest of the exams on a To Do list she explained to me. 

Our next stop was down the hallway, where someone could take a picture of my cervix.

I love the vagina. I think it is an amazing feat of biology, and an absurdly awesome organ. The human female reproductive system is just insane. It is magical. 

That being said, I never need to see a picture of my cervix again. I especially don’t need to see a technician scroll through nine pictures of my cervix, selecting the best four as assiduously as I might comb through a handful of selfies. I mean, thank you, I definitely thought that sixth cervix pic made me look a little fat, but also, no thank you. Hard pass. 

We took the a print-out of the Final Four with us.

Then we headed over to the main event of the day--the ULTRASOUND! I was actually really excited about this. Everyone I’ve talked to who’s had one has said the jelly is really cold and I thought this would be kinda cool.

Turns out, it was a transvaginal ultrasound. No jelly. Yet another notch on the tally of women who’ve seen my vagina today. 

On the plus side, my IUD was all set and in the right place. However, it caused a slight case of cervicitis, which I think would go away on its own, but instead I get to go to the hospital once per day for the next four days to lay on a cot for 40 minutes while medicine is administered. It’s weird. I have nothing to do here except to write a long blog post cataloguing my strange, wonderful experience. 

I will now treat you to one photo of me as I am, and one photo I will not offer an unsolicited explanation of. 

[chengduadventures]

Chengdu Dentist #3

Third time’s the charm?

Ha. I wish. 

I have now developed something similar to my irrational fear of snakes, except that this new fear is very rational and anxiety/fear-driven: I admit it, world. I am terrified of dentists’ little tooth drills.

The emit a squeaky, shrieking noise sometimes--and if you know me, you know all about my delicate ears--that immediately makes me tense. If you need a root canal, the drills get more fearsome: at least an inch long, if not longer, thinner, slower, and with a grinding noise that also induces fear. 

This morning, I went to the dentist. I went to see a friend’s father, and upon arriving to the office, I realized this is perhaps one of the most expensive dentists in Chengdu.

“Great,” I thought. No pain and hassle free. At this point, I’m willing to pay more money for less pain and fear. I learned that lesson last year.

It was more expensive, so I dithered over the type of crown I needed. The dentist, of course, recommended one of the better-looking and more expensive crowns because the tooth in question is often visible. If I smile wide, try to bite someone’s head off, or do other normal, daily mouth-actions, a bad-looking crown might cause me to become self-conscious.

I appreciated his consideration. 

The cheapest porcelain crown wasn’t too bad, and I remembered from my obsessive root-canal research that they are fairly normal choices for a crown in America.

But to make sure I was really convinced, the dentist had his assistant take a picture of a previous crown that I’d had put in. The image of my hidden tooth, with a porcelain-metal crown that had chipped to reveal the silver, sold me. 

I didn’t want to look at that picture again.

They kept it up on the screen for my entire visit. 

Luckily, the dentist found after his initial drilling that he didn’t need to insert the “post”, a support thing that helps crowns because Dr. Pinto, who did my third root canal, had used some kind of material that was good enough to serve double-duty as this post-thing.

Unluckily, the dentist continued to file away my tooth with the tiny little drill.

It was an hour filled with tenseness, lots of eye-closing, and fear. I almost cried on multiple occasions out of fear of pain--not that the drilling hurt (the root canal removed the nerves in my tooth), but because I was so afraid it was going to hurt. 

The third time that I felt that odd pressure in the bridge of my nose that spells imminent tears that I realized: I am genuinely afraid of the drill. 

At this point, the dentist had been drilling off and on for at least thirty minutes, with little explanation of his actions. I didn’t know what he had done, what he was doing, or how much longer it would take. The irrational fear that this might go on forever--the awkward open jaw, the dry-mouth result of the suction tool, the screech of the drill, and the pressure that I knew from experience could bring pain at any second in a “living” tooth. It didn’t matter that my tooth was “dead”. I still felt like I couldn’t breathe. I had to ask the dentist to stop several times so that I could take gasping breaths and drink water. 

While he continued to drill, I stared at the picture of my tooth in front of me. My glasses had been swapped out of darkened sunglasses, and in my blurred vision, my tooth took on the appearance of a strange alien: porcelain white, with a silver gleam of an eye poking through an awkward, blocky body. 

Is this what an alien abduction feels like? I wondered. By the time the dentist finished drilling and took an impression of my teeth--pressing down on the mold while his assistant supported my chin against that pressure--I stared up at the faces of the dentist and his assistant and then again to the alien the picture of my tooth had become. They took a mold of my upper teeth, and the side of the tool cut into my gum. 

It’s probably worse than an alien abduction, I concluded. 

The aliens probably would have used general anesthesia; “Your gum is just dented,” the dentist offered. “Do you want a numbing injection?” 

Time passed by. At one point, the dentist needed to circle my tooth with a cord that he pushed under the gum. “This may become uncomfortable,” his assistant cautioned, but I was already uncomfortable. I knew what she meant was this is going to hurt. It did. 

Eventually, the ordeal was over. 

I sat up in the chair, staring at my little alien tooth while water swirled around the tiny mouth-washing sink without stopping. The sound went on for a while until my Middlebury education flared; I wasn’t using the sink. Why was it still on? Didn’t he know that was wasting water? Couldn’t he take down the picture of the alien? 

“Do I still need to use the sink?” I asked instead. 

The water was shut off. Soon after that, I was allowed to leave. 

When I stood up, I realized I had been sweating in what was actually a frigidly air conditioned room. 

-----

(In conclusion, the dentist and his assistant were very nice and accommodating, but I am officially, 100% afraid of all dentists and dental procedures.) 

[chengduadventures]

What to do if you get sick in China

A guide by:

Mary Behan 

Step 1: Don’t get sick in China.

Step 2: That failing, I hope you brought yourself a bunch of medication from home.

Step 3: Or if it’s something you just didn’t anticipate--like an ear infection--you will probably have to end up going to a hospital. 

So what is it actually like in a Chinese hospital? 

Let me tell you: it is poorly lit, it is chaotic, it smells faintly (or strongly) of urine depending on where you are standing, and if you are sick it is exactly the last place that you want to be. But alas, some ear-infected folks had little choice and dragged themselves to the 3rd Renmin Hospital in Chengdu. 

First, there’s a lot of wandering. In the interest of being fair, I have never really been to a hospital in the US either, so I’ve really haven’t got a lot to compare my experience to. But I wandered through the grounds of the hospital before some irate nurse pointed me in the direction of the main building (but not the emergency building.) 

When I got there, more wandering and questions happened: Where do I get a patient card? 

In Chinese hospitals, you need a patient card that you carry around with you and all of your records get swiped onto the card. It’s useful, but you have to buy one and pay for your visit--my consultation & the cost of the patient card together was 10rmb (a little less than 2 dollars). 

The card was more difficult to acquire than you’d think. There wasn’t a line, but when I stood in front of the cashier/clerk person guy, an old woman promptly jumped in front of me and elbowed me out of the way. I was too dazed (only being able to hear properly out of one ear is very disorienting) to do anything except wonder why her elbow was so weirdly smooth.  

When she paid, I got real close to the counter again and asked the cashier what I needed to do. He asked for my national ID card, but because I’m not a Chinese citizen, I asked if a photocopy of my passport was acceptable. While we were talking, another pushy old lady sidled up unnecessarily close to me and shoved her patient card, a receipt, and money at the cashier guy. But I was not to be foiled a second time! I swiftly threw my copy of my passport at him, ignored the dagger-glare that the second old lady gave me, paid my 10rmb and found the elevator. 

I had to go up to the 6th floor, but the elevator stopped at every floor between 2-6. It was delightful. 

When I got to the 6th floor, I had no clue how where I was supposed to go because there were signs for dermatology, family doctors, and cosmetic surgery. A cosmetic surgery nurse got very frustrated with me when I asked her where I was supposed to go and didn’t understand her answer; in my headachey, ear-weird daze I finally whined in English, “I’m sorry I just don’t know what you are saying.”

Turns out she spoke English pretty ok. Just enough to direct me towards a doctor’s room where I finally realized that my receipt had 1) the name of the doctor I was supposed to go see and 2) my number. 

It was actually a pretty short wait after that.

When I went into the doctor’s room, he told me, “Wait but there’s a foreigner’s name on my computer. Aren’t you supposed to be a foreigner?”

Cue the confusion.

“Please turn this way. I will look into your ear. Did your family move to America?” 

“No.  I was adopted by Americans.”

“Ok, let me check your other ear; wait where did you grow up?”

“America. I’m just American, I grew up in America, I was born there, yup.” (I lied. Sometimes it’s just easier.) 

“Oh. Ok. Have you been on a plane recently? Or climbed a mountain? Where did you learn to speak Chinese?” 

“No, no, in college.

“OK.” 

Annnnnd eventually, I got out of there, got my prescription, and went back to work.

[chengduadventures]

The E-Bike

Katie and I owned an ebike (also known to regular people as a moped.) 

Katie and I drove the moped into a desk. 

Then we abandoned it in our parking garage for 5 months to collect dust and slowly lose power.

Then we sold it.

[this post brought to you in loving memory of that moped we desperately tried to forget we owned.]

[chengduadventures]

it’s been a while

I always knew I’d eventually fall off of the blogging bandwagon, but that won’t stop me from occasionally trying to make a post! What’s been going on in my life since the last time I wrote something about Chengdu? 

Here are the mid-March through June highlights: 

I went to the Philippines with Alena (this actually happened waaaay back in February) 

I witnessed a girl break her ankle/leg and another her ankle/shin in two different rugby matches (both against the Chongqing team, actually) 

ate a lot of hot pot. I mean, a lot 

there was a company meeting in Hangzhou, where I realized aside from that really, really, really good Xinjiang restaurant, Hangzhou food has nothing on Chengdu food 

while in Hangzhou, I visited Leifeng Pagoda on West Lake (a famous site that I never visited while studying abroad) 

when I say this Xinjiang restaurant is the most incredible, I mean it: there were lamb kabobs and this lamb-pizza thing, which has pieces of bread similar to naan that is stuffed with lamb and seasoned really deliciously, and shaped/cut like a pizza, except more awesome.

friends/co-workers from Shenzhen came and visited, and we hiked the beautiful Emei Mountain, ate a lot more hotpot, and generally had a good time

a friend/co-worker from Nanjing visited and cooked a very, very scrumptious dinner for Katie and myself (the kind of meat-broiling-all-day and drinks that take longer than ten minutes to make kind of scrumptious)

in April, I wrote a poem every day for National Poetry Month. some were good, some were terrible, some were meh. 

Katie and I bought a moped. 

Katie and I promptly decided mopeds are far too dangerous and decided to re-sell said moped 

in May I went home!!!!! where I ran around like a crazy person, and didn’t get to see everyone I wanted to see but managed to see everyone I needed to see.

fyi, I learned that getting a root canal done in the States is infinitely preferable to getting one done in China 

I also learned that parrots are actually very intelligent, and can sound like children sniffling if they want to 

and that birds pee and poop out of the same hole

I got a membership at an archery club. I’m terrible at archery, but I’m hoping that by the end of the busy season this year (which runs from about September to January) I’ll be good enough to hit the target more times than I miss it. meanwhile, I will study the forms of badass Chinese women hitting the bull’s eye in flip-flops and dresses. 

I resisted the urge to get another cat while Katie was on her own trip home

Katie and I discovered a personal hot pot restaurant, so now we can go eat hot pot solo (usually it’s at least a three-person meal, but now we are no longer tied down) 

I tagged along on part of Emma and Zoe’s Haney fellowship and spent a few days in a really cool Tibetan area of Qinghai

I still haven’t learned how to cook 

Here’s what I’m looking forward to (the highlights):

going to Beijing and seeing my cousins/aunt again at the end of next week

Peking duck (北京烤鸭) when I get there 

and other touristy things 

getting to know the new US teacher we have here in the Chengdu office 

my imminent visit to Shenzhen/Hong Kong for my next visa run in mid-July

choosing some close non-Hong Kong destinations I can visit for a quick weekend every 60 days (visa hijinks); Taiwan again? Macau? Other suggestions?

[chengduadventures]

An Open Letter to Chinese People, from a Chinese Adoptee

Dear Chinese people (or at least the mob of Chinese people who yelled at me last night), 

I think at this point in my life I can say I like living in China: I love the Chinese language, I love speaking Chinese, I love Chengdu, and I love Chinese food (Sichuanese food in particular.)

But I cannot say I love living in China because I cannot love Chinese people. How can I, when Chinese people who don’t recognize the core of who I am? 

Allow me to explain (and feel free to gloss over the next bit, because it’s not really central to what I have to say.)

[Recently (and by recently, I mean last night), Katie and I were at the center of mob-like chaos. We were going to take our cat to the vet, and when the cabbie stopped and put down the meter, he didn’t pull up to the curb. I opened the door to the cab, and a moped/scooter driver clipped the edge of the door and fell over. 

He was fine; he and the cabbie started yelling at each other in Sichuanese, and Katie and I didn’t know what to do, so we assumed they would deal with each other and headed off towards the vet (bad decision. In China, stay, even if your cat shit blood the night before and won’t stop meowing. Consider being the first to call the police, if you can.)

The cabbie started yelling at me in Sichuanese after that, which I told him I didn’t understand. A crowd started gathering and jumped on that, telling me that I was Chinese and I should speak Chinese (never mind that Sichuanese =/= the Mandarin Chinese I know) and not English, which of course infuriated me. From that point on, I refused to speak any Chinese at all. 

There was a lot of yelling and arguing and the mob tried to be “helpful” and help us pay off the moped driver by taking money directly from our wallets (failed attempt, there was literally no money in our wallets.) Eventually another man explained that we needed to go to an ATM, and they let one of us go withdraw money to pay the cab driver. The police showed up and took my driver’s license in complete bafflement: “You Mary? Where you from?”. In the background, people were yelling that it must be a fake ID (which is clearly another egregious cultural misunderstanding because I’m legally 22 and don’t need a fake ID to hit up bars in America anymore.) Finally, we paid the moped driver. The moped driver actually blamed the cab driver and didn’t really want money from us, but the mob-crowd insisted. 

After that, the police needed us to write down a version of accounts, and write that since we’d paid, the situation was settled and there was no trouble anymore between any of the involved parties, etc., etc. While we were waiting for our boss to show up and help us write the 协议 (xieyi, or the agreement that everything was settled), the mob of about 40-60 people refused to go away. The police crossed the street, we crossed with him, and the mob followed. Eventually, I fake cried to the police officer, Katie told him I had stress-induced asthma and might die, our friend Cat (not the cat) translated, and he found us a place to sit indoors where the woman in charge was very, very kind to us. Three cheers for that woman.] 

Here’s what I really want to talk about: I could have probably made things a lot easier and helped resolve things in about twenty minutes if I had just spoken Chinese. 

So why didn’t I? 

That’s something I have asked myself a lot. Whenever it is assumed I speak Chinese, or when my nationality is questioned, I immediately become defensive and/or incredibly angry. Anyone who’s spent at least ten minutes with me knows this much, and some of you are probably sick of hearing about it. I’m kind of sick of talking about it, and I’m absolutely sick of feeling it, too. 

Last night, I could not bring myself to speak Chinese, regardless of how much time and trouble that it would have saved me. In the face of a mob of people demanding that I stop lying to them and start speaking Chinese, I was furious. 

But furious is only half the story. I was also on the verge of tears. 

I have spent the past five years of my life becoming very comfortable in my skin. Like all people, I’ve had my ups and downs, but in the end I like to consider myself to be confident woman. I love stupid TV shows like Teen Wolf, I talk about shit probably too much, and I sometimes forget that you can actually stop yourself from burping in public. I cry more than I wish I do, I overshare details other people might consider TMI, and I keep the few secrets that I have very close. Sometimes I’m funny but sometimes I try too hard, and like your statistically average 22-year-old, I drink and smoke pot (sorry Mom and Dad). These are just parts of who I am, but I am comfortable with myself. 

However, the whole of myself is anchored by the fact that I decide who I am. I am wise enough (or have been told enough times) that who I am will change; I am confident I can acknowledge changes that will occur and fold those changes into the parts of me I already know and love them just as much.

Usually people I meet accept that I am a little loud, a little awkward, and an American transracial transnational adoptee. In China however, I am confronted by a nation of people who deny me the identity I have created for myself, and this makes me incredibly insecure. 

If I were the protagonist of Greek tragedy, this would be my fatal flaw.  

When Chinese people tell me I am lying about being American, and that I must be able to speak Chinese, I feel that they are refusing to acknowledge the last four years that I have spent intensively studying Chinese. They are refusing to acknowledge my history, the love I have for my family and my large extended family, and they are refusing to acknowledge all of the experiences and people and interactions that have made me who I have decided I am. This denial of my identity makes my heart race, it makes me want to scream at everyone until they understand, and at the same time it makes me want to cry and give up and leave China forever. 

Don’t get me wrong: there are plenty of individuals who really seek to understand my situation. Take for instance the older man I spoke to while buying train tickets the other day: he wanted to know all about my family, about my foster family, about whether or not I knew anything about my biological parents, speculated about who they might be and where they might be now, and then wanted to know if I had been allowed to vote for Obama. Last night, the police officer who spoke a little English wanted to know what “dopt” was, and while my boss was writing the xieyi agreement, he gave me his phone with his dictionary pulled up and told me to, “Write dopt. Search dopt. What is dopt?” Katie, Cat and I were really confused until I realized he meant “adopted”, and even after that, we/my boss still had to spend five minutes explaining to him the full implications of “adopted”.

But on the whole, the average Chinese person greets me with incredulity and disbelief; they accuse me of dishonesty and always try to assign a Korean, Japanese, or Hong Kongese identity to me. 

I understand where this lack of understanding and anger comes from. Most Chinese people have never been confronted by someone like me; they might be hurt by the fact that I won’t speak Chinese with them. They might think that I am arrogant and that I am dishonoring the collective Chinese identity, and they might be just as furious with me for that as I am with them. 

I understand this, but I am also capable of sympathizing and understanding and hating something all at once. 

Until at least probably half of the Chinese people I encounter on the street are as amicably inquisitive as the man I met at the train station, or until I learn to re-center the basis of my identity on something else, I don’t think I can totally love China. 

But from now on, I realize that the best way forward is patience and repeated explanations of myself in Chinese. I have always known that to be true, but sometimes my anger and everything else get the better of me, and I clamp down on the years of Chinese knowledge that I’ve worked so hard to accumulate. Last night crystallized for me how important it is for me to not do that, and how dangerous not doing so can be. 

So, dear Chinese people: 

I am not perfect. I cannot say I will not grow angry with you or that I will not shout, but I will not deny myself the benefits of my own hard work and refuse to speak with you anymore, either. I will speak Chinese, and I will talk at you until I think you might begin to understand--either through my words or my terrible American accent--that I do not consider myself to be Chinese or huayi in the way you think I am, that I am definitely not Korean or Japanese, that I am a transracial transnational adoptee and that I am not alone in this. 

Happy St. Patrick’s day!

Sincerely, 

Mary Katherine Behan 

[chengduadventures]

文殊院 (Wenshu Monastery)

Today, former co-workers Alex and Randy and I did a touristy thing in Chengdu. 

Originally, we'd intended to go to Dujiangyan, which is an amazing and historic dam in Sichuan province, and one of the UNESCO world heritage sites. Unfortunately, Randy and I both forgot our passports and we ended up going to Wenshu Monastery instead. 

Randy and Alex broke out their mad photographers' skills, Randy impressed us all with his ability to read calligraphy/bad handwriting, and his ability to actually understand what he was reading (in Chinese, the ability to read and pronounce and know the meaning of each individual character does not necessarily guarantee one's ability to understand the actual meaning of the piece of writing itself). We wandered around the monastery, made friends with a giant stone turtle, and settled down at a nearby teahouse for a nice relaxing chat and cups of tea. 

The teahouse was recommended by a teahouse enthusiast student of mine, and her recommendation was spot on! We sat outside for a good long while (which was a little chilly) with tea leaves that were 10 kuai each (but are good for multiple brews). A waiter with a bronze-gold teapot that had a curved, two-foot long or so spout periodically poured hot water into our tea leaves. 

Randy and Alex taught me the discreet tea ketou （磕头）, where you tap the table twice with two fingers as a thank you (if an emperor in disguise is pouring you tea, you tap the table three times. Unfortunately, we did not encounter any emperors in disguise pouring tea... we think.) 

After we had our fill of tea and chatter and relaxation, we took the metro back to my neighborhood and ate dapanji (大盘鸡), which was honestly the perfect hot, thick-sauced chicken-y and potato-y and noodle-y meal that we all wanted. Alex and Randy were then kind enough to accompany me on a shopping errand.

All in all, today was an extraordinarily relaxing day: we were content, we drank tea, we discussed our former lives and our potential futures, and it was really just lovely. 

To Alex and Randy, who will be well-missed! 

[chengduadventures]

no candy involved

Today I went to the Huaxi Dental Hospital in Chengdu to have my root canal finished, and it was terrifying.

The dentist who completed my first root canal was unable to complete the treatment because my mouth was too small and she didn't have the tools that the dental hospital has. 

She was able to refer me to a dentist in the Huaxi Hospital (it's called 华西口腔医院, which translates into the Huaxi Hospital of Stomatology, which is apparently word that has to do with teeth and mouth diseases and stuff, who knew?) so that I didn't have to get a number and wait in line, kind of like how you wait for your deli meats at the counter.

However, even with this small 关系 (guanxi) I still had to wait about an hour, and then spent about an hour+ in the dentist's chair. 

The highlights, because telling the whole story might just be too painful:

the tiny sink you spit into still had blood in it from someone else. was cleaned halfway through my procedure 

conversation we had: "Do you have a medical background?" "Nope." "Sometimes we write medical papers but our English is not good, so our director told us to find native speaker. Maybe I will send a paper to you." "I don't have a medical background." "Our English is not so good." 

conversation two: *shout of pain* "...Relax. Relax." 

conversation three: "Your root canal is very curved and long for Chinese person. It is hard for dentist." (this statement was followed by a number of heartfelt sighs; it really inspired confidence in me.) 

"Relax." 

(honestly he was a very nice guy who wanted to practice English with me, but it was a little hard since he had half his hand in my mouth in an attempt to jab tiny file and then a tiny drill up into the root canals of my back-most top molar) 

To top off my experience, when I was waiting in line to get the card I will use to pay next visit (I have to go back next weekend), this woman was hovering over my shoulder while I messaged my mom. Then I WeChat voice-messaged Katie, saying something along the lines of, "I am cold and I hurt."

The hovering woman proceeded to ask me "Are you Asian?" which was, quite frankly, a first. I've never had my entire Asianess doubted before--it was honestly kind of refreshing.

The End. Until next weekend.

[chengduadventures]

Now you get to guess what happened when. 

[chengduadventures]

October, November and early December--the Cliff Notes!

So, it's been a long, long while, but maybe you will forgive me when I give you the cliffnotes version of the past couple of months, to be followed by (maybe) longer post.

October 1st-7th: the Chinese National Holiday. Katie and I went to Kangding, in Western Sichuan province in the Ganze district, and we climbed a mountain with meadows and horses a the top. Possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen up there, but the altitude made the 3 hour hike very difficult. We met a nice Belgian couple! 

October 9thish: I finally got my root canal done.

October 14th: My birthday! The Belgians came to visit from Kangding and we went to dinner and had tangguo  (tangguo 湯鍋...I think) 

October 15th: some kids had deadlines, and it was pretty stressful. 

October 17th-19th: The Belgians came back after a brief visit to Jiuzhaigou and stayed with us; we went and had dinner, drinks, and a general good time! 

October 31st: Halloween! We dressed up as Mario Kart, but ultimately did nothing but work! We also decorated the office thanks to my mom's package, and some things we convinced our office manager to buy. 

Late October/Early November: Cat got fleas. Cat got fat. Not necessarily in that order, but a de-tapeworming and flea-bombing and wash-the-cat session ensued. No one was happy. 

November 1st: Early Action deadlines for all national universities... Katie and I logged in a lot of hours at the office. Our boss bought is a bottle of gin. 

November 8th-ish: I visited Alena in Shenzhen, and did my visa run in Hong Kong during the Pride Parade. Pictures included below. Maybe.

Sometime between the 8th and the 16th: I saw Interstellar for the first time and was absolutely mind-blown. It was only in Faux-MAX (IMAX, but not real IMAX because China) but it was still ginormous and amazing and HOLY CRAP. GO SEE IT IF YOU HAVEN'T. AND DO IT IN TRUE IMAX, FOR ME. 

November 16th: Our boss got married! It was weird, kind of like a talk show that got super awkward, but there were very sweet moments (like when Ruirui's "maid of honor" teared up!) 

November 19th, 4:30 AM: Katie left for Mongolia, and thus began our 5-day separation. I played loud country music and got a lot of work done in her absence.

November 19th (continued, 4:30 AM- 6:00 AM): I woke up in excruciating pain that had been building all night, took about 800 mg of ibuprofen to no avail, but then realized I'd just taken ibuprofen on an empty stomach and ate some stale chips. Then I made some pasta and slapped ice onto my face.

When I got to the office, I kind of cried a little from pain/tiredness and a coworker took me to the dentist, where they numbed my mouth and informed me I needed Root Canal #2 that they thought I maybe didn't need last time. 

November 21st weekend: Since Katie was gone, I jetted off to Nanjing for a Thanksgiving gathering with some coworkers. It was truly lovely--lots of movies and hanging out, and Mr. Michael Holper did a whole lotta cooking. I did dishes (my contribution). Saw Interstellar for a second time. Met up with Skylar, a classmate from Middlebury, and had coffee and a really nice chat.

November 24th--December 1st: Did a LOT of work. All students had the University of California deadline, and if I thought November 1st was stressful, Katie and I managed to pull some 9:30-12AM/2AMs shifts all week long. Our record for actual office time was 9:30-2AM, but we were working til 1-2AM at night basically all week.

Hell Week Interlude:

November 24th: I saw Interstellar for a... Third time. :D Still amazing. 

November 27th: Went to a Thanksgiving dinner at a friend's, with a smoked turkey. I made the chocolate flourless fudge-cake that Ligia taught me the recipe for, and Katie and I whipped whipped cream by hand. Katie made pork-stuffed baked tomatoes with melted cheese. 

November 28th: I did the Skype with the family for the Thanksgiving, and missed everyone a helluva lot and cried a little bit. I blame Mom. She cried (openly) first. 

December 2nd: we had a goodbye dinner for our intrepid Abbey, who is leaving our office for Australia and saved me and Katie with her native Chengduer skills many a time.

December 5th: Took a day off with all my overtime hours and went in for Root Canal #2. Dentist told me she couldn't do the treatment because she didn't have the tools, and told me to go to the dental hospital instead.  I also went to Ikea and bought myself a mattress that is super comfortable (but my bed previously was a wooden slab with an inch-and-a-half thick mattress that was probably also filled with a wooden slab, so literally anything would've been an improvement.) 

December 6th: Saw Interstellar for the 4th time in Faux-Max with my boss, her new husband, and Katie (this would be Katie's third time, her second being in Mongolia). Had a lovely dinner at Thai restaurant after. 

December 7th: we went to get the cat spayed with a friend who also got his cat spayed and his dog neutered. I did a lot of translating (and a lot of "wait I don't understand can you say that again, wait what's that 80 kuai charge for, wait can you say that again???). 

After we had the cat's ovaries shoved in our faces (the big ones are the big cat's and the smaller ones are the little cat's) we brought the cat home (she was really angry and escaped her carrier and bit me) and hid her in her carrier under a pile of pillows to hopefully calm her down... 

Then Katie and I went to a gym and negotiated like bosses, bringing the yearly price of 2400 RMB down to 2000 (that's about $27 USD a month, folks, so we are committed to Being Healthy now). 

December 7th-8th: We worried about the cat's patheticness and lethargy, and her mopey-ness over wearing the head-cone. However her surgery/angst/pain/sadness has officially made her a lap cat... she goes for me or Katie, whichever of us is free and ready to pet her, and if we sit on the couch she'll climb into our laps.