After nearly eight weeks of the exhaustive cough by post-nasal drip, my mother has had it and brought us to see the Chinese medical practitioner (or sinseh, in local parlance) in PJ Old Town this morning. I couldn't disagree with her and went along; the sibling, kicking and screaming like a little boy since he's already made "plans" (which was to stay home and work on the computer - not exactly plans you can't put off a little while).
When we got there, it turns out that his hours are from 2 - 5 p.m. on Saturdays and that we should call ahead to see if he's in. Not willing to go home and back again, we went on a walking tour of the place and had lunch at a nearby coffee shop before trying our luck again.
When we got there, it turns out that his hours are from 2 - 5 p.m. on Saturdays and that we should call ahead to see if he's in. Not willing to go home and back again, we went on a walking tour of the place and had lunch at a nearby coffee shop before trying our luck again.
As the only one who could speak any decent Mandarin or Cantonese, I went first with my mum. He asked personal details, did the pulse thing, asked about my temper, symptoms, wrote a whole bunch of illegible stuff on his pad (now I know the "doctor's handwriting" also happens in Eastern medicine as well), and went about putting the medicine together (lucky it's nothing one has to BOIL). Reminds me of the Potions part of Harry Potter. He told me what I can and can't eat.. After that it was the sibling's turn and I had to be there to interpret.
The bottle of Chinese medicine cost RM42, but my mum swears by how good the guy is [Her friend brought her there, who also helped translate]: she was cured by the time she finished HER bottle.
Oh well. Here's hoping.
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