An Exam?

This afternoon Patrick and I went to a nearby clinic to seek out a physical exam by a doctor there in order to complete some required paperwork for our adoption dossier. We didn't do much research in finding a doctor, and our lack of effort landed us in a bizarre encounter.

The physician we saw moved at the pace of molasses. She seemed befuttled why we were there, staring at the form that needed filling out. After taking some time to explain to her that I felt good, had no physical complaints, but just needed a “clean bill of health” to give to the adoption agents, she seemed satisfied enough to commence. She reviewed the required labs we were to get for the adoption paperwork slowly. In the "history taking" of the exam, she practiced her bare-bones medical English despite the fact I was talking to her exclusively in Creole: "You have asthma?" No, I don't have asthma. But that apparently was all she knew, because she didnt' ask me any more questions about my health history. She asked me to remove my shirt and commenced with a brief and bizarre exam. She investigated my eyes and external ear with a magnifying glass, she patted my back, my chest and my stomach with her stethescope, not leaving it on my skin long enough to hear anything, but dancing it around up and down my body as if she had a stamper and was tattooing my body with colorful ink. She measured my height with a tape measure, and that was it.

Patrick reported only getting the magnifying glass exam. She had been much more interested that he was a pastor, and asked him detailed questions on why we were adopting, why he was working in Haiti, and when he first met Jesus.

Unconventional is one word for our bizarre experience. I know for a fact that there are a lot of capable, smart, well-trained doctors in Haiti. And maybe she was one, but it just didn't translate well. Regardless, we are healthy. And the paper is signed.