This article was written for Annabel & Grace, which is now part of Rest Less.
My son had a mole on his back which he thought had changed in size and colour. He mentioned this to me whilst we were both in Sri Lanka.
When I checked the photograph of this same mole (a picture that I had taken two years previously) I saw he was absolutely right. It was now much darker and considerably bigger.
I rang our friendly Sri Lankan doctor who told us to go straight to the hospital to see his ‘go to’ dermatologist, whom he would inform of our imminent arrival.
We waited for ages outside the doctor’s door and after witnessing countless brazen queue-barging episodes, we were called in.
The Sri Lankan’s do not really understand our silent English queue system, and when I see how much quicker they are in getting access to the doctor, I completely understand why they wouldn’t.
One man leaned over to look at our numbered entry ticket, number 13. He then showed me his number 15 ticket and smiled warmly. As soon as the door opened and a nurse came out, number 15 shot past at the speed of light and darted into the doctor’s inner circle. When he came out he whispered to me, “I’ve told the doctor a foreigner was outside waiting to see her.”
Thank you so much Mr Queue Barger.
The dermatologist agreed that my son’s mole needed closer investigation but declared that she’d left her special diagnosing ‘dodgy mole’ tool behind. My son and I thought this was turning into a bit of a fiasco until she offered to remove the offending mole and then have it analysed, as opposed to the other way round ie analyse then make an informed decision on removing it or not.
The son and I were of the same mind… cut it out and be done with it!
Marvellous decision we all thought, as we were led out to go and wait upstairs outside another door. There we sat on a bench clutching more paperwork.
A smiley Sri Lankan lady approached us and, with the universal signal to hand over our medical information papers, thoroughly scrutinised the content and what procedures we were waiting for. She informed us we were in the right corridor outside the correct surgical room of the dermatologist we should be seeing. She then sat down beside us and fussed over an old man in a wheelchair.
I looked at my son and then back at the Sri Lankan lady. “Excuse me, are you a nurse or doctor working in this hospital?” “No,” she replied. “I just come and bring my father for his weekly treatment.”
The dermatologist from downstairs had finished with her Outpatients Surgery and was now approaching us. She signalled for us to follow her into the operation room.
Our nosey neighbour on the bench decided she should come and loiter in the room too. Her father was asleep in his chair. Why be bored outside when you can be entertained inside? Exactly… you shouldn’t.
My son proceeded to strip off his shirt and lie down on a chilly stainless steel gurney. After a numbing injection in his back, the whole mole was to be removed and stitched up.
I motioned with my head the presence of our voyeur standing in the doorway, which made my son convulse in giggles. The dermatologist had to stop cutting whilst the patient controlled his heaving shoulder blades.
Fifteen minutes later we delivered the mole in a specimen bottle to pathology in a separate wing of the hospital. A week later the pathology unit emailed to say the mole was benign and no further treatment was necessary.
I can’t remember exact figures but I think the total bill came roughly to about £45:
The consultation with the dermatologist was £3.75
The operation/surgery was £15-£17
The biopsy and lab test results were £22.50
Bish, bash, bosh! That’s the way to do it.
If you are worried about a mole, check out this NHS info
Read more amusing articles by Miranda here