I had written a while ago that I had overcome the lizard skin plague by using corticosteroid ointment and an antihistamine. I was lying. Or rather, I wasn't lying, I was just being overly optimistic. In fact, the plague attacked with renewed vigor until the skin on both arms had turned purple and on the left arm had cracked open in multiple gross looking sores. My skin was itching day and night and I spent several nights sitting out on the porch, smoking and itching and wondering how in the world I was supposed to sleep. I couldn't take it anymore, so I made an appointment with a dermatologist.
All night last night I stewed over what new disease this could possibly be. Would they want to amputate one or both arms? How many lab tests was I going to have to endure? How many skin samples would they need? How many more medications were they going to put me on? And how much money was this whole thing going to cost!
I was therefore surprised this morning when the dermatologist took a look at the reptilian skin and immediately concluded that the problem was a result of the very cold, dry nights we have been having along with the windy, dry days.
"You don't need to cut off my arm?"
"Hah?"
"Well, I mean, these sores, they're infected, right?"
"No. Not yet."
I was strongly doubting the doctor's diagnosis. How could something look so bad and not really be so bad?
So she gave me an antibiotic cream for the one arm, a very expensive moisturizing cream for the rest of the skin, said to discontinue any further use of the corticosteroid ointment, which had been a mistake all along, and a little packet of sleeping pills so that I could sleep rather than itch.
"Don't itch," she said.
No blood tests. No skin samples. No amputations. No need to notify my next of kin.
I do hope that she is right. I cannot believe that I'm getting off this easy. I'm used to referrals, and trials and errors, and multiple meds, and the replacement of those multiple meds with another set of meds, and endless demands on my anemic bank account. Not that this anti-climactic appointment wasn't expensive. It was.
A bit of a strange thing happened while I was discussing the matter with the doctor. I realized halfway into our conference that she was speaking English and I was speaking Indonesian. Weird.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I said. You're speaking English."
"Yes, and you are speaking Indonesian."
When one spends most of his time switching between one language and another, one sometimes doesn't even notice that he is using the foreign language when there is no need to do so. This doctor was speaking English quite fluently, but my mind had interpreted it as fluent Indonesian. I suppose this is partly because most of the doctors here either don't speak English at all or speak just a very little bit of it. So I had assumed that she would be speaking her native language and had automatically adjusted my own. One of those curious little brain failures that are both perplexing and amusing.
All night last night I stewed over what new disease this could possibly be. Would they want to amputate one or both arms? How many lab tests was I going to have to endure? How many skin samples would they need? How many more medications were they going to put me on? And how much money was this whole thing going to cost!
I was therefore surprised this morning when the dermatologist took a look at the reptilian skin and immediately concluded that the problem was a result of the very cold, dry nights we have been having along with the windy, dry days.
"You don't need to cut off my arm?"
"Hah?"
"Well, I mean, these sores, they're infected, right?"
"No. Not yet."
I was strongly doubting the doctor's diagnosis. How could something look so bad and not really be so bad?
So she gave me an antibiotic cream for the one arm, a very expensive moisturizing cream for the rest of the skin, said to discontinue any further use of the corticosteroid ointment, which had been a mistake all along, and a little packet of sleeping pills so that I could sleep rather than itch.
"Don't itch," she said.
No blood tests. No skin samples. No amputations. No need to notify my next of kin.
I do hope that she is right. I cannot believe that I'm getting off this easy. I'm used to referrals, and trials and errors, and multiple meds, and the replacement of those multiple meds with another set of meds, and endless demands on my anemic bank account. Not that this anti-climactic appointment wasn't expensive. It was.
A bit of a strange thing happened while I was discussing the matter with the doctor. I realized halfway into our conference that she was speaking English and I was speaking Indonesian. Weird.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I said. You're speaking English."
"Yes, and you are speaking Indonesian."
When one spends most of his time switching between one language and another, one sometimes doesn't even notice that he is using the foreign language when there is no need to do so. This doctor was speaking English quite fluently, but my mind had interpreted it as fluent Indonesian. I suppose this is partly because most of the doctors here either don't speak English at all or speak just a very little bit of it. So I had assumed that she would be speaking her native language and had automatically adjusted my own. One of those curious little brain failures that are both perplexing and amusing.
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