Confessions of a Nomadic Hypochondriac
Discovering the world, one hospital and one doctor at a time.
Ah, modern medicine. It’s been my constant companion for much of the 12 years since I left New York City to become a full-time expat, living in multiple cities, on five continents.
Welcome to the world of a nomadic anxiety-ridden hypochondriac.
For all of the traveling and self-diagnosing I’ve done (Google is my runner-up bestie, second to modern medicine), medical tourism actually has never been my thing. I have an Australian friend who once flew all the way to Buenos Aires, where I was living at the time, to have liposuction at a deep discount. I’ve secretly side-eyed him every time I’ve seen him since — while sneaking peeks at his midsection to see if the fat removal is holding up. The only two times I’ve gone to any kind of medical professional for fun while living abroad were when I had my teeth whitened in Bangkok.
Still, hospitals constantly end up on my travel to-do lists, though never for sightseeing reasons. Unfortunately, they haven’t been always as easy to find as the local churches/temples/castles/forts. How did hypochondriacs like me survive before Google Maps?
The Thai capital has been a key city in my global doctor tour. I was halfway through my first…
