international student voice

Healthcare’s complicated. International student healthcare, even more so. But then again, IKEA manuals are complicated to me. Operating a coffee machine would take me four academic years and $160 K, which is why I use instant. I’m not the brightest banana of the bunch, as much as I like to pretend I am, and I don’t know the first thing about health insurance, or taxes, or adulting in general.

I’m not ashamed to admit that – well, maybe a little. Yes, I’ll learn it all firsthand eventually, but that’s a problem for future me, the future not-20-anymore me who’s finally moved out the house and escaped the clutches of her over-protective parents.

It surprises people when I say I’ve been living with my parents here in Adelaide for 9+ years, but I’m not a citizen yet. My obsession with saving money has translated to a complete and utter envy of the virtually free healthcare and HECS-HELP that Aussies get here. Was starting an Adelaide STEM degree as a non-permanent resident a regret of mine? No comment. Still, I acknowledge the undeniable truth that I am more fortunate than most other international (read: full fee-paying) students, in that I don’t really have to worry about managing private insurance quite yet (thanks, mum and dad!). And so, if you are the me from mid-February 2021, almost losing my left ovary was not that big of a deal. And here we start our runof-the-mill tale with a beginning, middle, and end. Content warning for TMI and medical BS.

Sunday 9:45 AM: our protagonist is rushing to the loo with a dull constant pain in her left abdomen. Nothing’s coming out, but the urge is there, so she gives up and gets up. She makes it three steps out before needing to heave her non-existent breakfast. She gets up again, she vomits again. Sensing a pattern, she crawls to the carpeted corridor and calls for help. “It sounds like a kidney stone,” says Dad. So, they wait it out. Writhing in pain on the floor is a great look for her.

Sunday 2:30 PM: the pharmacy closes at 5. Mum’s back from church and she calls the home doctor service. It takes 45 minutes to get a hold of one, and it’s 45 goddamn dollars to just talk to one, because health insurance. “From what I’m hearing, it probably is a kidney stone,” says Dr. Phone Doctor. All our protagonist is hoping for is a painkiller prescription; ibuprofen and paracetamol haven’t been cutting it. All she gets is the promise of one. “I’ll send the prescription over to [insert pharmacy here] at [insert suburb] here.” It never comes. The pharmacy doesn’t get the prescription, and the protagonist doesn’t get her pills. 45 goddamn dollars down the drain.

It’s pretty dark out now. Time is an illusion. Our protagonist’s parents call a health hotline. They agree that she should probably go to the emergency room. Surprise, it’s an ovarian cyst!

The story’s climax is a blur, thanks to the anaesthesia. At least the operation’s a complete success, judging by the big grin on Dr. Surgeon’s face. “Massive, like a tennis ball,” mimics Mum, disturbed but mostly amused by Dr. Surgeon and her titillating fascination with dermoid cysts (don’t search that up if you have a weak stomach).

The post-surgery Monday is not all puppies and butterflies for our protagonist, but at least she’s out by Tuesday. “It’s odd walking out of a hospital without having to pay anything,” says Dad. A pleasant surprise to the ears, indeed. End poorly-told story.

If it wasn’t for that misstep by Dr. Phone Doctor, I’d have one less organ. I’m still pissed about that $45 we wasted, but life is full of regrets and at least I’m healthy now. I regret buying so many crop tops that I can’t wear until my scars heal. I regret starting uni so early. And I regret not ever seeing a GP.

Mum says the women in her side of the family have high pain tolerance, which is probably not true to the degree she envisions. I still have mixed feelings about how my family and I handled that fated Sunday, relying on good old-fashioned cure-alls like Tiger Balm and toxically-romanticised Filipino resilience. And I know a lot of other international students might have this sort of attitude. So yes, having surgery and telling people to take their health seriously has pretty much been my sole personality trait for the past few weeks. Sue me. Domestic and internationals students alike need to find their safety net. Not everyone has the luxury of living with family or close friends who can take care of them if an emergency ever arises, so let’s encourage each other to take health seriously and not treat it as a taboo, TMI subject. Go to a GP at least once every three years. If you are sexually active, go to a gynaecologist or urologist. Just listen to your body.

Thank you to Imogen, Taylor, Amber, and Tracy from Modbury, paramedics Tom & Mel, and Cody, Hannah, Beth, Stuart, Dr. Waterfall, Stephanie, Sandy, Ernie, Laurinda, Mayya, and Cat from Lyell McEwin. I have definitely missed and misspelled a few name in this list, but they know who they are and they know they’ve made a difference.