Declared Sane
Minh did a good job explaining the mental health check deal. He said the committee didn’t accept a report from a US private doctor and I needed to be examined at a hospital.
Going there was an interesting experience and I have been having fun explaining this event with my colleagues here in the US. I knew no one at the mental hospital could speak English so I was expecting some mischievous fun. It started with the filling out of a certain form which was, of course, all in Vietnamese. Some of the lines I recognized from filling out the numerous visa applications and entry papers because they are bilingual. I know what a dia chi is, so I put in Thu An’s street address. This caused a minor ruckus. The lady, of course, didn’t buy it and wanted my US address. So I started over with a new form. From her reaction, these forms must be very expensive. On the next form, I didn’t know what a few things were, so Thu An tried to help me, unsuccessfully. They do the same thing we do in Paris. If they think you don’t understand what they are saying they say it louder the second time. I think she and the admitting nurse took over and finished it for me. I then had to sit across from another unhappy looking woman who looked it and me over for an exaggeratedly long time for no obvious reason.
After that, we went to see the doctor. The doctor was in a small room with two other women who were doing something suspicious when we entered. Whatever they were doing they quickly stopped and put it away. The desk top was warm and the room was warm so I think they were ironing clothes. The lady doctor looked the form over. Then she pulled out of the desk, ten ink blot test panels. These are papers on which is a random blob of ink that is then folded over on itself creating a butterfly type pattern. I knew what they were so I knew what she wanted me to do even though I didn’t understand her. Only three of the ten resembled anything I had ever seen or could imagine. I pulled out my well worn dictionary and gave her a few key words. For each and she seemed totally satisfied. She got three responses out of ten. The rest looked like fresh road kill.
Somehow from this remarkable test she determined I was sane. I was much relieved because from the look of some of the residents this was not the place I wanted to spend a weekend.
We went back to the waiting area which was outside between the buildings. It was cold and a fair breeze was blowing through the area. Resident patients kept coming over to us asking for money or cigarettes. I assume if you have enough of either of these you can get out. They would line up in front of us with their hands stretched out until a handler moved them along. Thu An, Phiet and I waited for some time in the cold wind. Finally, Thu An asked for my wallet and plucked out 2,100,000 Dong notes, about 15 bucks. She carefully placed them in an envelope and delivered them to someone back in the reception room. Then, as if by magic, a signed, stamped medical certificate appeared. It is truly amazing. I have been to a number of these places in the US and I must say the patients in all of these places appear the same. Broken humans look and do the same things regardless of culture or race.
We left with a gaggle of patients in trail ever hopeful for some money, that in Vietnam spells RELIEF. I was grateful to be considered sane. We then jumped back on our motorbikes and re-entered Da Nang traffic which is crazier than those poor broken souls we left behind.
Semper Fi