The Overthinker’s Scorecard: needing medical care in rural Indonesia
I’d worried about all sorts of things before travelling to Indonesia. Missing flights. Losing luggage. Wobbly suspension bridges. Orangutans. Volcanoes. Tsunamis. Mosquitoes.
Needing medical care in Indonesia wasn’t particularly high on the list. Perhaps it should have been.
The evening before we were due to climb Mount Sibayak for sunrise, I went from feeling absolutely fine to feeling as though I’d been hit by a truck. First came the shivering. The sort where you’re wearing a jumper over your clothes, hiding under the blankets, in tropical Sumatra… and you’re still freezing.
Then came the fever. Then the throat pain. Not the sort where swallowing is a bit uncomfortable. The sort where every sip of water makes you decide never to eat or drink anything again. I spent the entire evening asleep instead of preparing for the trek.
The following morning, while Marc set off to climb Sibayak, I managed to sit upright for long enough to eat half a slice of toast and drink some tea before collapsing back into bed. The volcano would have to do without me. Marc later came back and told me it had been tough and “I would have made it when fit but absolutely not now.” Well at least I didn’t collapse halfway up a mountain.
Later that day we travelled from Berastagi to Samosir Island. As if a raging sore throat and fever weren’t enough, my digestive system decided it wanted some attention too. By the time we arrived in Tuktuk, I felt utterly miserable.
Now, I am fully capable of convincing myself that almost anything can be safely ignored and will go away on its own. But this time even I admitted it might be sensible to seek some medical advice.
Our guide didn’t hesitate. “We’ll go to the clinic.”
The clinic certainly wasn’t what my Western brain associates with modern healthcare. There were chickens wandering around outside. The building looked as though it had been there for decades. If I’m honest, I probably judged it before I’d even walked through the door.
Inside, however, every assumption I had quietly disappeared. The nurse was calm, friendly and completely professional. She checked my blood pressure, which turned out to be much lower than normal. She took my temperature, which turned out to be much higher than normal. She listened to my heart and lungs. They were fine. She examined my abdomen. It was not fine. She looked at my throat. Then she asked how long I’d been in Asia.
At first I wasn’t sure why that mattered, until I realised exactly what she was doing. She was working methodically through the possibilities, including whether I could have picked up one of the more serious tropical illnesses that become more likely after a longer stay.
Only after she’d completed her examination did she phone the doctor, who was making her rounds. She arrived, confirmed the diagnosis and prescribed antibiotics, oral rehydration salts and enough painkillers to sedate a medium-sized elephant. I also received an injection to settle the intestinal problems.
The grand total? Around €25. Cash. That included the consultation, the medication and the injection.
The next day I already felt noticeably better. In fact, I convinced myself I felt well enough to join the 17-kilometre cycling tour around Samosir Island. Whether that was a wise decision is open to debate.
The next day I felt better still. Given how quickly the antibiotics worked, I’m very glad I didn’t decide to simply “wait another day.”
The whole experience also reminded me how easy it is to judge healthcare by appearances. I’d looked at the outside of that clinic and quietly wondered what sort of care I’d receive. The reality? Exactly the sort of thorough assessment I’d expect from a nurse back home. Professional. Systematic. Calm.
The chickens, it turns out, had absolutely no influence whatsoever on the quality of medical care.
Overthinker’s Scorecard
How worried I was before walking into the clinic: ★★★★★
How reassuring the building looked: ★☆☆☆☆
How thorough the medical assessment actually was: ★★★★★
How quickly I started feeling better: ★★★★☆
Likelihood I’ll judge a rural clinic by its appearance again: ★☆☆☆☆
Would I do it again?
I’d much rather skip the bacterial infection. But if I became ill while travelling through rural Indonesia again, I wouldn’t hesitate to seek medical help.
One of the biggest fears many travellers have is, “What if I get sick somewhere remote?”
I discovered that “remote” doesn’t automatically mean “poor.” Sometimes excellent care comes in a modest building with chickens wandering around outside. And sometimes the scariest part of the whole experience exists only in an overthinker’s imagination. Although I could have done without that painful injection.
More Overthinker’s Scorecards
Crossing the wobbly suspension bridges of Bukit Lawang, Sumatra
Riding a camel in the Moroccan Sahara
Travel with an overthinker
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