The Town Clinic

As my sister is fond of saying, I live in "the middle of nowheresville.” The closest town is 10 miles away and consists of oh, I don’t know, maybe about 200 inhabitants. Although at any given time only about 5 can be seen wandering aimlessly around town. And in reality those are probably either tourists or local cyclists. So “town” may be too big a word. Maybe it’s more like a village or perhaps a large extended household. Guess that should have been the first indicator.

Believe it or not, there does happen to be a clinic in town, right next to the local tavern…ummm, ok, second indicator. Well, I figured I’d check it out on something of a minor nature. You know, see how they do, compared to the big town further away. The Dr, after all, had privileges at the main hospital in the next town and it would be handy to not have to travel 50 miles for medical attention. So I called and made an appointment to have a mole removed. I have this crazy mole on my lower eye lid that I had when I was a kid. I was so self conscious about it growing up, assuming everyone was staring at it as they talked to me. It’s size is less than half a grain of rice, but it may as well have been neon and blinked. I had it removed when I was about 19 or so and for some random reason 20 some years later it decided to grow back.

So I call and set up an appointment to have it removed. Mind you it’s the size of a pin head, but still, I haven’t outgrown the self-conscious nature of it, so ya, its going bye bye. The receptionist asks in great detail its location, size, how far in on my eye, which eye, etc. I felt we had covered more than enough aspects in regards to this thing. Oh, by the way, I tell her, I have another one on the top of my head, may as well take both off at once.

Well, I arrive at my appointment to find out the Dr. is on vacation. A nurse practitioner will do the dirty work. I guess the Dr. didn’t tell the staff he would be out? Indicator three. So I’m in the procedure room waiting and looking around. Ok, this room is quite disorganized and is doing triple duty; it’s a linen room, equipment storage room, procedure room, maybe even the lunch room….indicator four.

The nurse walks in to take my blood pressure, “So you have a wart were removing?” Uh, no not exactly, it a mole…guess that would be indicator five. “Oh where?” I show her my eye. She continues to take my vitals. “Ok, the nurse practitioner will be right in.” So after several more minutes of thumb twiddling and fighting off the temptation to play around with the equipment in the room, in comes the nurse, peanut butter sandwich in hand…na, not really. She was nice, but articulated the same question, “So you have a wart we’re removing?” Ok, so I figure I have two options, run or run fast. I answer again “Um no, actually it a mole and there are two of them” “Oh, where?” “Here on my eye-” at which she quickly responds, “Oh, we don’t do eyes here,” Gee I guess someone didn’t notify the receptionist of that before she scheduled me. I’ve lost count of indicators here. “But I can take care of the one on your head.” She proudly continues.

I’m feeling the guinea pig type today, so I agree. She takes a few squirts with the freezing thing and is done in about oh, two seconds. “Now, if I didn’t get it all, I have the name of a great plastic surgeon in the city that can make sure it’s gone.” Ok maybe you can give me my 20 dollars back then? I fantasize asking. Because you didn’t use enough freezing stuff to make an ice cube for a flea.

Well, I learned a lesson that is worth the $20 I threw away. Don’t go to the clinic in town with anything worse than a mild hangnail. Good thing they are located so close to the tavern, I needed a stiff drink after that. Ok, well, I don’t drink. I gave it fleeting consideration, but had to leave the clinic straight for the dentist’s office. He was equally skilled.