As a reasonably fit gentleman of a certain age, I am starting to see equally fit friends and colleagues suddenly getting unexpectedly sick and sometimes dying. Having only recently been surprised by a gangrenous appendix, I had been looking for somewhere that could give me a full-body health check to see what else might be going wrong inside. The somewhat overloaded medical system in Tasmania is really only geared toward curing sick people, rather than to preventative medicine. I can go to my doctor to get a scan for this or that, but only if referred because of a particular ailment.
I knew that the ‘health screening’ clinics for well people are ubiquitous in South East Asia, and that they are often happy to accept foreigners, medical tourists if you will. I researched a number of places in Thailand and Vietnam, before finally settling on Gleneagles Hospital in Kuala Lumpur. It has a good reputation in the ex-pat community, and also has the advantage of being situated in Malaysia, a country that I enjoy visiting very much.
Into Kuala Lumpur
Checking out of my capsule hotel at Kuala Lumpur International Airport, I boarded the Ekspress to Sentral. I’ve taken this train often, and it is always efficient, clean, and pleasant. The first part of the journey is through endless palm plantations rooted in floodplain (the wet ground always makes me wonder how the palms are harvested).
On this occasion, I noticed a lot of cleared land with new row housing going up, and then there was a blur of completed apartment blocks, and we arrived.
I had a great nasi lemak at a cafe at the train station. Everybody in KL seems to be on their phones the whole time, and this cafe was set up for it. You could go in and sit down, and the waiter brought a menu, but all ordering was through a QR code on a paper receipt standing ready at the table.
As I finished my black tea, I could hear a lot of cheering and chanting in the main station hall. I went to find out what was going on, and found a large number of women doing Pound Rockstar, vigorous exercise with sticks and music, with lots of shouting. They were having a great time.
I’d decided to walk across town to the suburb of Ampang, partly because why not, but also because I couldn’t check into my rented apartment there until the afternoon.
I set off, following the river Klang which is perhaps ironically (I hope so) signposted as the ‘River of Life’. It is pretty much a concrete open sewer, hung about with storm-torn fragments of plastic and fabric, with a certain aromatic miasma, graffiti, and under-bridge tent villages.
After amusing myself examining infrastructure (my not-so-secret weakness), I took a detour through the central market (which frankly just seemed to consist of a few stalls selling tourist stuff) and threaded some streets and alleys. I was just randomly exploring.
I was surprised to pass a tiny piece of jungle. Not just a park, actual jungle. Apparently Bukit Nanas used to cover a much larger area, containing monkeys and larger game. Some of it has been turned into an ‘Eco Park’ (although that seems to be semi-permanently closed), but what’s left of the vegetation is on an almost vertical slope, with even that being encroached upon by clearance and scaffolding.
At around lunch time, as the temperature hit 32, I arrived at the iconic Petronas Towers. For some years, they were the tallest in the world, and I rested in their shade and watched the tourists taking selfies (and took one myself).
The map showed that I wasn’t far from a green space called KLCC Central Park, which had been constructed and planted over the old city horse-racing track. There were lots of shady spots designed for people to sit and rest, an enormous children’s playground, and a lovely paddling pool with waterfalls for children to play in. I went for a wade myself, to cool off my feet.
The road to Ampang
Suitably refreshed, I continued along Jalan Ampang, one of the oldest roads in KL, originally a muddy trail leading from the trading post that was the formative heart of the city, to the tin mine at Ampang which was the first commercial enterprise.
The city started to become less shopping and more commercial. I was quite warm and fancied a glass of water and – if feasible – a nice salad. I stopped to look at a cool-looking bar, but once I got closer, I realised that it was not only a sports bar but also contained the biggest video wall that I have ever seen, probably not the relaxing venue that I wanted.
Moving on, I tried a Thai restaurant thinking that I would enjoy a Thai salad, but they only had a handful of noodle dishes and everything else was burgers and pizza. I’d noticed that burgers and pizza were available from every kind of cafe, even speciality Arab or Malay ones.
I arrived at Gleneagles hospital, where my health check was booked the following day, and made sure that I knew how to get to the entrance. Six minutes down the road was the apartment that I’d booked, but unfortunately it was still far too early to check in, so I went back to the Yahala Arabic restaurant that I’d spotted next to the hospital. I threaded my way between a horde of valets cramming limos in and out of a limited car parking space, was greeted by a friendly lady and instantly seated at a small table.
I slowly realised that I was the only non-Arab present, which made me hopeful for the menu, which turned out to be very authentic, as were the delightful staff. I worked my way through an enormous shank of slow-cooked lamb accompanied by – praise be! – a wonderful freshly prepared salad, washed down with a large pot of mint-infused tea.
I strung it out as long as I could, watching the valets play Tetris with very expensive cars, and then a bit longer while I waited out a short downpour, and then I headed back to my hotel.
Well, not really a hotel. It was an apartment complex with a high number of buy-to-let, managed by a team at the concierge desk. Or rather, not managed. They weren’t able to do anything with my name or booking number, they needed to know my room number. I pointed out that surely they were supposed to give me my room number, and then it got very confusing. Apparently the owner was supposed to send me a message by WhatsApp with details of my room, but they had not, so I had to try to call them… they weren’t answering… but eventually I received a document on my phone with all that information on it. Even then it wasn’t easy; the security guy let me into the mail room, where I was supposed to open the mailbox using the code in the document, but the mailbox was at floor level and the numbers were very small and in silver on a silver background. Even lying on the floor with a torch and reading glasses, I wasn’t getting anywhere. A local checking his mail tried to help me out, and couldn’t see very much either, but his eyes were slightly better and eventually we got the thing open.
The apartment was, thankfully, fine. I was going to need to fast for ten hours before my hospital appointment, so I nipped downstairs to a shop and bought an eclectic selection of fruit, fried fish-skins, and tuna for a pre-bed snack.
Health Check
I was up early for a shower and then straight to the hospital, where I found the correct block and floor, and joined a short line of people waiting at the reception desk. The queue was comprised of local people of all ages, but the staff betrayed no surprise to see a lanky foreigner, and briskly registered my passport and issued me with a number, SP008.
From then on, I followed a whirl of overhead screen prompts, spoken announcements, and requests from friendly staff, and found myself whisked from nurse to specialist to doctor and round again. All my abdominal organs were scanned, my chest X-rayed. Blood tests were taken for all common cancers and ailments. I ran on a treadmill with ECGs attached. It was an incredible feat on the part of the hospital, juggling a dozen people simultaneously through as many different offices and machines, and all with a laugh and a smile. Then another dozen customers arrived, now with a smattering of other ex-pats, some Germans and some Russians, and the whirl got faster.
I spoke to a few of the nurses about it, and this was their life, every day, juggling people not only for health checks, but for scans and checks from other areas of the hospital. They were ever so cheerful about it, and the effect was seamless and free from stress. All the furnishings were comfortable, the waiting rooms pleasant, the medical machines shiny and well-kept.
After three hours, ‘Mister Reinhard, SP008’ was through to the end of his health checks. A painless credit card payment – for the record, RM 1500 (about A$600) for the Premium Plus Male package – and then I was free to break my fast, and to return that afternoon for my results.
The hospital provided me with a meal voucher to use at any of the outlets on site, but I nipped out to the Yahala again to try another dish. I was welcomed back and fed til I couldn’t move.
That afternoon, the doctor went through my results point by point. It turns out that I’m not in too bad a shape. I need to drink more water and eat more oily fish, and monitor a couple of things. All good.
I was presented with a thick binder of all the health check test results, and now I have a baseline to compare against in future. I will definitely be making this an annual pilgrimage.
