Press Hard

by shionline

My head has been through a lot, recently. Earlier this week, I found that I have lice. Now, I’m generally the sort that’s fine about insects, with one exception: Insects crawling all over my skin, which might just be the worst sensation in the history of humankind. So naturally, finding that I now have insects crawling all over my scalp and sucking my blood, I went all-out, with a special shampoo and spray. Those may have gotten rid of the lice, but left my head in very poor shape, and itchy.

Itching has only reminded me of that little bump that grew on my head a few months ago, and made me think immediately of cancer. It also made my family doctor think of cancer, but skin cancer. The dermatologist didn’t really think it was skin cancer, but wanted me to cut it off, either way. I booked an appointment, for a few months later, and there I was, the other day, having surgery in a mall.

The Israeli health services aren’t so bad. They’re not exactly great, but not bad. What I’m really trying to say, is, at least it’s not America. Health insurance is pretty affordable, and as long as you don’t have any chronic diseases (in that case, you are screwed), prescriptions and appointments are mostly covered. My appointment, as said, was in the largest mall in Jerusalem. Why? I’m not sure, but it came in useful, as I was reminded that human society is crumbling before my very eyes, and that I don’t look very well in skinny jeans.

While waiting, someone who got my phone number was trying to induct me into preparation classes for the university’s standard placement tests. My doctor was very nice, but generally in a hurry, and first saw me in what was obviously an ENT office, but I understand budget cuts happen, especially considering how our doctors have been on strike for a few months, and 800 interns will be quitting their jobs next week.

My nice doctor looked at my scalp, and said that he thinks we can do it today. Considering the fact that I had come for the surgery today, this seemed very reasonable. I told him I was free, and indeed, not at all in a hurry. I had to go through from one clinic to the other, and sign several papers. While I did read them, I didn’t understand a word. As far as I was concerned, I could have been going into a circumcision-correction surgery, and paying $20,000 for this treat. This did not happen, but I was just given some sterile clothes by a cool Russian nurse, and sat on what was definitely a dentist’s chair in the operation room.

Now, being just a very minor operation of a mole removal, I had some local anesthetic, and for five or so minutes, the doctor and nurse just talked about how awful it is to be a doctor and a nurse, and how hospitals are basically big mafia families. The doctor then took my hand, and had me press a bandage to the top of my head. Since, like many women, I suffer from a condition called ‘long hair’, he didn’t want to stitch or burn the cut, so we just had to wait until the bleeding stopped. He said five to eight minutes, and left.

The nurse, as far as I was aware, did wait five to ten minutes. I tried to look at the clock across the room, but it took me about two minutes to realize that it was out of order. Looking under my bandage, it seemed that I was still bleeding, and the nurse repeated her mantra for our time together, “Well, press hard. What can you do.” So I pressed hard, for five more minutes, and i still bled, five minutes later. This process repeated itself a few times, until the next patient had to come in. In an attempt to keep things in order, the nurse bandaged me like an old-timey lady with a toothache, around my face and chin. In my sterile smock and booties, I’m sure I looked very sexy.

The bleeding hasn’t actually stopped, when the doctor finally came back and said I can go, so I had a bandage taped onto my head, and had been sent out, just like that. The glue wasn’t very good, considering that it fell one hat later, in the mall’s H&M. I had to set it to the bleeding cut with hair pins. It didn’t hurt at all, and I definitely didn’t look weird doing that in a public toilet. Then again, I look just as weird in a beret. And what have I learned about having a tiny surgery? It still hurts. A lot. And makes for a great excuse to avoid doing chores.