[Diary of an Expat Bride] An open book

I still chuckle as I remember that dinner almost 10 years ago. Bahar was supposed to be showing me around İstanbul, but she had inadvertently introduced me to an interesting part of Turkish culture. As Americans, we are careful about talking or asking about anything pertaining to medical issues or physical ailments. Talking about having something as unexciting as gas to even a friend or close relative is also pretty unheard of in American culture. Even after that revelation from Bahar, I was still shocked when I came to live in Turkey and saw how open everything health related was in Turkish culture. Simple trips to the pharmacy (eczane) were mortifying for me, as I had horrible eczema and rashes from the water my first year here. Each time I went for a refill of my various creams, it would inevitably be a conversation starter with whoever happened to be in the pharmacy at the time. “Oh, you have a rash, too? Where is yours located? Do you get big red bumps?” I would cringe and give monosyllabic answers, wondering if the woman was going to then tell the whole street that the foreigner living amongst them was diseased.

When I had my first check-up in İstanbul, the doctor needed a urine sample. I was at the clinic of a fancy private hospital, but was shown to a bathroom located in the crowded waiting room. I did my business, but there was no tray to set my sample on. Horrified, I was afraid to open the door and face the people carrying a cup of my bodily fluids. In the end I had no choice, and walked across the room with my full cup to give to the nurse at the desk. To my surprise, no one even glanced at me. I was at a hospital; everyone expected to see these kinds of things, I guess!

At work I am asked detailed questions about my illnesses when I take a sick day. At first I was suspicious and gave brusque answers, until I realized my coworkers were genuinely concerned for my well-being and didn’t think I had skipped out on work. Since my pregnancy and its ensuing complications, I was angry at how easily my husband and in-laws freely discussed with friends and relatives my medical problems and history, which I viewed as a very private matter. I threatened to ban my husband from coming to the doctor with me if he was going to report on what was said to everyone. He didn’t understand what he had done wrong or why I was so sensitive about it.

While I was on bed rest the first trimester, I stayed with my in-laws for a week to rest and let my mother-in-law take care of me. I was in better shape mentally and hoped that my mother-in-law would not stress me out. I had enough to worry about since I had started bleeding two weeks before. The first few days passed nicely, we watched Turkish soaps together and my father-in-law cooked fish for us. On the third night, I woke early in the morning and discovered I was bleeding heavily once again. I didn’t want to wake my in-laws and quietly tried to clean the sheets and bed as I attempted to calm myself down. I tried to reach my doctor, but there was no response. I hated calling him at that hour, but had no choice. For the next four hours, I suffered alone, kneeling on the floor as I prayed harder than I ever had in my life. At 7:30 a.m., my doctor finally called me back and gave me a vague answer about my bleeding starting again. He told me that since it had seemed to stop and wasn’t continuous, to just wait and see. I was frustrated and upset but just thanked him and hung up the phone.

Not suffering alone

My in-laws woke up, and my mother-in-law’s face went pale when she came into my room and saw the bed stripped, understanding immediately what had happened. She was also angry that I hadn’t woken her up. She said I shouldn’t have had to go through that alone. I told her what my doctor said, and we both decided I needed to get a second opinion, as we were not happy with my current doctor’s lengthy time in getting back to me, nor his vague answers to my questions. We both began calling friends and family, of course, explaining my situation in detail and trying to find a good recommendation for a doctor. Suddenly, keeping mum about my health problem didn’t seem so important anymore. Several of our friends told us about a doctor at a small private hospital near my in-laws. I checked his name with a couple of my American and British friends who had also gone to him and who had very nice things to say. We called him and immediately spoke with him, something that was almost impossible with my other doctor. He reassured me over the phone and made an appointment to see me that day.

I realized that I shouldn’t have to suffer alone, that I should have called my husband or even a friend no matter what the hour when I first started bleeding. Suffering in the dark wasn’t healthy for me or my baby. I had also underestimated my mother-in-law. I didn’t want to tell her for fear she would stress out, but instead she tried her best to help me.