Three pretty young nurses in pink uniforms fluttered around me, cooing softly as they hooked up yet another IV transfusion into my left arm. For the last three days, I had faithfully shown up with my pre-paid glass bottles of antibiotic solution and either sat in a chair or laid in a bed next to a dozen other people. Many eyed me curiously. Chinese public medical treatment at first unnerved me but soon I lost my reserve and found myself cheerfully chatting with other sufferers. Privacy in Chinese hospitals is unknown; illness and bodily functions are simply accepted. My repeated visits to the local hospital not only removed some nasty tummy parasites but also exposed me to vast cultural differences between China and the West regarding medical care.

Foreigners often feel uneasy about Chinese medical practices. In Western-style hospitals here they prefer to give IV transfusions over injections, shots, pills and powders. And before treatment patients purchase both medication and paraphernalia: needles, tubes and tape. Medicine is extremely cheap by Western standards. Many Western prescription-only pharmaceutical drugs can be cheaply bought over the counter. (Many Western pharmaceutical firms manufacture their drugs here.) Medical care is even cheaper-my local hospital in Inner Mongolia charges only 5 yuan to consult a doctor. Patients choose doctors by looking at a wall in the entranceway where physicians’ pictures and bios are displayed in color next to a schedule board listing their hours.

Medical patients keep their own medical records in the form of a booklet issued by the hospital after you register to see a doctor. Sitting in a crowded, grimy waiting room with many other people, I waited and watched as my chosen physician examined others and prescribed treatment. Thirty-five minutes later a hefty nurse gestured to me so I scrambled past the crowd and sat in a wooden chair, knee to knee across from the doctor.

“Problem?” he queried.

“Terrible stomach pains and the constant runs,” I replied.

“Bad smell?” he asked, not looking at me.

Shamefaced, I nodded. Instantly he knew that I had contracted giardia; no sample was needed. I handed him my book; he wrote his analysis, signed it and handed it back, along with a prescription.

“Next,” he sighed.

It was my responsibility to buy all the necessary drugs, either from the in-house pharmacy or outside, and bring them back every day of treatment.

Chinese patients pay up front before receiving services, which include consultation, drugs, and overnight stays. Credit cards and deferred time payments are rare. Each service and/or product is itemized and patients are free to choose or reject options and prices. Personally, I felt that the antibiotic treatment offered to me was far too intensive. I opted to receive treatment for five days rather than seven. It was entirely my decision.

In China patients simply show up at the hospital or clinic. No preset appointment is necessary, except for surgical procedures. Furthermore, nurses and even doctors often do multitask and seem much more flexible than Western medical personnel.

In the West I waited for weeks, even months to privately consult my doctor in a luxurious private room. Soft music piped through the walls. My doctor’s hands were manicured, and his nurse diligently guarded my medical records like state secrets. But everyone in a Chinese medical office-patients, family members, and even passersby-is free to watch your examination and/or procedure and comment.

Chinese doctors and dentists rarely look sleek or glamorous; they appear serious and tired, albeit highly respected. The sex ratio is 50 percent men to women. Moreover, preventative medicine is an integral part of Chinese culture-exercise, high-fiber diets, and until recently, less stressful lifestyles. Hence, hospitals are crowded but patients’ complaints are relatively minor.

No Chinese ever goes to a doctor alone. Family members loyally accompany their stricken relative. I was the only unaccompanied patient getting medical treatment. My shocked Chinese colleagues assigned students after the second day to escort me and sit beside me as I received my IV drugs because, without a companion, I would lose face.

The author is an American working in Inner Mongolia