Wednesday, January 28, 2004

Wart Removal -- Method 1: Burn, Method 2: Freeze

I had my first wart removal treatment at the National Skin Centre today. They froze my toe with liquid nitrogen that came from a metal cylinder similar to that of the Baygon can, but with a nozzle that looks like that of a welder.

A wart is a viral skin infection that usually comes from the generous courtesy of common swimming pools, which have a high concentration and rainforest-like variety of unfriendly bacteria and viruses, albeit being heavily chlorinated at hair-bleaching levels. Warts (and boils) are also what young children are told witches have all over their faces.

The last time I had a viral wart removed was 8 years ago, according to the records held by the National Skin Centre. I was in primary school then and hence allowed to scream when the doctor injected anaesthesia into my big toe several times. The doctor then told me that I could scream as loud as I wanted to because the room was soundproof. She must have regretted giving me such a friendly and light-hearted assurance. Unfortunately for her, and my Mum, who could accompany me because of that "tender age", I took her comment very seriously. 10-year-old Weiling then could scream just as piercingly as she can now if she was tickled.
When the anaesthesia took effect, the laser woman began welding the bottom of my big toe. As she aimed and shot a narrow and precise jet of blue flame or something along that line of imagination, a “piak” sound (similar to the sound accompanying a spark from an electrical socket) would follow.
It was more traumatising for my Mum than for me then. Apparently, unknown to my Mum, I was aware she was nearer to fainting at the smell of barbequed flesh then I was to letting out another scream. I asked, “Hmm, what’s that smell ah? Smells chao tah (burnt).”
That was probably a cruel comment on my part in view of the fact that I knew my Mum was feeling so quesy. As if to console me, she nervously laughed and said, “Oh yar ah, what’s that smell? Barbeque perhaps.”

Anyway, back to the more recent incident, I was the noisiest patient the nurse ever had today, in addition to owning the title of the having the highest-pitched voice (which gets even closer to ultra-sonic when I’m nervous or excited). I didn’t scream this time. No, no. I behaved better. I just whimpered and whined. I clenched the cushion so tightly through the 5-minute affair and leaving my finger pressure marks behind, the next patient would have no problem knowing where to place his hands.

My Mum was one bad experience wiser this time around. She didn’t stay in the room with me. When I asked her whether it was because she was scared, she didn’t respond. Then I asked her, “You shy ah?” Her reply, which came in a series of positive facial distortions, signalled a “yes”. She added, “Char si lang!” (translated: so noisy until dead man wakes, noisy to the point of murderous, or something along the expression of “You’re embarrassingly noisy.”)

Tears began gathering in my eyes about 10 minutes after the whole episode. Post-traumatic stress I think.

Ly laughed at me when I told him over the phone about what had happened. Stupid boy… I hope it was a laugh of endearment and not contempt.

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