UNSCHEDULED SURGERY
On the way back to the office after going to the bank nearby, I walked pass a clinic and noticed that it provides minor surgery among other services. I had this lump at the back of my shoulder for years. It was not painful nor was it growing bigger, but like any lump on the body it attracted unwarranted attention and concern. So I walked in to enquire and the receptionists confirmed that they do have a doctor who does surgery. There was no patient in the clinic at that time and the doctor had gone out for his teh tarik break. Since there was no queue I decided to wait. Soon the Indian doctor returned.
I took off my shirt and showed him the lump. He said it was some kind of fatty cyst blah, blah, blah, medical jargons which I cannot recall and probably due to too eating much Nasi Lemah. The good news was it can be removed. While talking to him, I noticed that he had long and dirty finger nails. Even school kids with dirty fingers are punished what more about health care providers. Imagine all those bacteria under the finger nails and Indians eat with their fingers too. I hope he put on surgery gloves when he treats his patients.
He looked at me and said the surgery will cost RM150 and that he cannot charge any lower because of the high cost of medicines nowadays. But I did not even say it was expensive or attempted to bargain on the charge he quoted.
So, I said, “O.K. “
“So when would you want to do it,” he asked.
“How about now?”
“Now is fine. I have no other patient waiting anyway.”
“O.K. Lets do it then.”
Both the receptionists were called in to help. I was told to lie face down on the couch.
The doctor started by administrating a few jabs of anesthetic around the lump. I couldn’t see whether he had put on gloves or not as I was lying on my stomach. Also an uncomfortably hot spot light was shinning down on the back of my head, so I took my glasses off. The three crowded around me and cut open the lump. Presently, they showed me the cyst, a whitish soft oval shaped thing the size of an “attap seed” you see in Ais Kacang. I didn’t feel a thing when they cut me up but I could feel the prick of the needle on the skin when they sewed me up. 5-6 stitches they told me. I think one of the receptionists did the stitching. It wasn’t very neatly done, but I have to commend them as there wasn’t the slightest sign of squeamish reaction during the whole the gory process. When I was came back and asked the wife to change the bloodied plaster for me she squirmed and told to get back to clinic to get it done.
5 August 2009
I took off my shirt and showed him the lump. He said it was some kind of fatty cyst blah, blah, blah, medical jargons which I cannot recall and probably due to too eating much Nasi Lemah. The good news was it can be removed. While talking to him, I noticed that he had long and dirty finger nails. Even school kids with dirty fingers are punished what more about health care providers. Imagine all those bacteria under the finger nails and Indians eat with their fingers too. I hope he put on surgery gloves when he treats his patients.
He looked at me and said the surgery will cost RM150 and that he cannot charge any lower because of the high cost of medicines nowadays. But I did not even say it was expensive or attempted to bargain on the charge he quoted.
So, I said, “O.K. “
“So when would you want to do it,” he asked.
“How about now?”
“Now is fine. I have no other patient waiting anyway.”
“O.K. Lets do it then.”
Both the receptionists were called in to help. I was told to lie face down on the couch.
The doctor started by administrating a few jabs of anesthetic around the lump. I couldn’t see whether he had put on gloves or not as I was lying on my stomach. Also an uncomfortably hot spot light was shinning down on the back of my head, so I took my glasses off. The three crowded around me and cut open the lump. Presently, they showed me the cyst, a whitish soft oval shaped thing the size of an “attap seed” you see in Ais Kacang. I didn’t feel a thing when they cut me up but I could feel the prick of the needle on the skin when they sewed me up. 5-6 stitches they told me. I think one of the receptionists did the stitching. It wasn’t very neatly done, but I have to commend them as there wasn’t the slightest sign of squeamish reaction during the whole the gory process. When I was came back and asked the wife to change the bloodied plaster for me she squirmed and told to get back to clinic to get it done.
5 August 2009
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