Believe it or not, this not the first time I have a broken a bone in Korea. Nor is it the second. It is actually the 3rd time. How is this possible? Quite honestly, I don’t have an answer to that. This post is about what to do when you break a bone in Korea.
We’ll start with my first experience, from last year when I feel down in the ice and broke my elbow. When I told my friends that my elbow was broken, they at first didn’t believe but soon came to realize that it was indeed broken. At the time, we had a Korean friend with us who doubted that my elbow was broken. He told me, even if it was broken, if I went to the emergency room at night (which it was then), then all the staff would do would be to put some ice on it, maybe a splint, and sending me home with a $300 bill. I didn’t believe him, but none of my friends would escort me to the hospital, so I had to wait until the morning until one of my friends who could translate could help me at the hospital.
I went to Korea University Hospital, which is one of the best hospitals in Korea (and was conviently right next to my dorm). They didn’t take my insurance card and I had to pay cash up front, about $200 (though my insurance would later reimburse me for this). The doctors took an x-ray, determined that yes, my elbow was indeed broken. I was fortunate because that day for elbow specialist was there, and I received excellent treatment when it came to fixing my elbow.
Fast-forward about 5 months, and I am 2 days from going home. I got knocked over by a man and ran my wrist into the counter, successfully breaking it. I refused to acknowledge to my friends that I had indeed broken my wrist and did not get it treated until I returned back to America.
For the most recent incident, I managed to break my ankle. Being the clumsy person I am, I was leaving a friend’s dormitory when I took a wrong step on some uneven cobblestone and came falling to the ground. I heard a nice, loud snap as I fell and instantly knew what had happened. The problem was that it was about 9 o’clock at night, and I remembered the story my Korean friend once told me. But I was in agony and knew that I needed to get to the hospital.
I was lucky enough to have two friends escort me to the hospital, the nearest being Korea University Hospital, whose support I appreciated greatly as we tried to navigate the way to the emergency room with the help of a Korean friend translating on the phone. When we finally arrived to the emergency room, we quickly realized that we wanted to leave. There was not a single doctor present, only interns who didn’t know what they were doing.
After playing with my ankle in many agonizing ways, I was finally sent to get an x-ray, but not before I shelled out $250 for it (my insurance wasn’t taken there). After my x-ray, an intern came out to greet me saying, “I can’t see a serious break, but I’m pretty sure you have a hairline fracture, but I can’t tell. So I’m going to put you in a splint and you need to come back in 5 days and see a real doctor so he can tell you if it’s broken or not.”
Silence hit the 3 of us as soon as those words left his lips. Alas, I was in agony and decided a splint was better than nothing. Before that though, I had to pay an additional $150 for said splint. After paying, I was escorted into the casting room where the same intern sat nervously looking at my foot.
Now, I’m not someone who’s weak to pain. I have a fairly high pain tolerance and can handle a lot more than most, so when I say it hurts, IT HURTS! I was sobbing and screaming in pain yelling “아파요!” (Apayo!, That hurts!), and “하지마!” (Hajima!, Stop it!), as the intern fumbled with my broken ankle. As I sobbed, I heard my friends cry, and I tried not to imagine the sight that the doctor and I were creating. Once finished, the doctor lopsidedly smiled at me and said, “Come back in 5 days,” before quickly leaving the room.
As the doctor left, I struggled to get up from my lying position. My wonderful friends were kind enough to help me sit up and held me as I, white with pain, began to sob, having endured one of the painful moments of my life.
The doctor came back shortly and handed me a prescription for pain medication. We were then directed to the pharmacy where they handed me my medicine. My friends asked for crutches for me, and the pharmacist looked at me, my right leg in a huge splint up to my knee, and frankly said, I didn’t need it.
As soon as my wonderful friends took me home in a cab and delivered me safely to my room, I realized how much I was really going to need those crutches, because even with the splint on, I could not put any weight onto my foot.
This became more of a challenge when I had to attend school, which I could not afford to miss because I had a midterm that Monday and strict attendance policies in my remaining classes.
On Wednesday, I volunteered at the Fire Department, helping them film a training video. Whilst there, the paramedics noticed my splint and pointed out to me what I already knew—the intern had put the splint on wrong. And with great generosity, the paramedics at the Seongbuk-gu fire station put on a new splint for me—for free.
So, if sick or injured, unless it is life threatening, DO NOT go to an emergency in Korea at night. Wait until morning, where the price will be cheaper, and there will be doctors present.
Tragedy strikes in many ways. From the death of a goldfish when we are five to the death of a grandparent when we are teenagers, death is a tragedy that follows us wherever we go.
I was sitting in the study lounge at Korea University when a group project member walked in for our meeting. Her face was pale, and she was clearly shaken. She looked at me with moist eyes. I asked her what happened, and she only shook her head.
Moments before, she had witnessed a fellow Korea University student be hit and killed by the on-campus shuttle bus.
In one moment, there was a small girl walking to her next class, and the next there was a girl on an ambulance, struggling for her life.
Death teaches is many things. In this case, safety. The roads in South Korea are notoriously dangerous. The drivers don’t yield to you, you yield to them. At all times, you have to be alert, because not even the sidewalks are safe; motorcycle drivers regularly get on the sidewalk and expect you to move out of their way.
This brings up the importance of always being aware of your surroundings. Unlike at Texas Tech, where we are free to walk around with our iPods in and our eyes glued to our smart phones because we THINK the driver will stop for us, here it is just the opposite, we KNOW the driver will not.
The young girl’s death could have been prevented. When the bus hit her, she had been walking a across the street, playing with her phone. Being a small girl, she was already hard to see, and when she walked behind the bus, which was backing up, it was impossible for the driver to see her.
In instant she was with us, and in an instant, she was taken from us. Life is fragile, and can be gone as quickly as we blink. Think of safety wherever you go. Never assume the driver will stop for you or know you’re there. Yes, the driver is supposed to yield to you, but you should always yield to the driver. They may never see you.
