Once you stay in a place long enough, what outsiders
see as unusual, risky, or odd you chalk up as part of the daily routine. I was not surprised when the health department
closed down the cafeteria that I ate at every day, and they probably should
have done it sooner, but I ate there anyways.
When I asked my friend, Warvin, about a place to get some moles on my
neck removed I was not surprised when she said, “Don’t be scared if he doesn’t
look like a doctor…” By this point I know
what she means. I have seen patients
smoking cigarettes in doctor’s waiting rooms, heard doctors telling me that how
much sugar and salt you eat really doesn’t matter, etc. etc. Despite being a little skittish, I wanted the
moles removed at the lowest price possible.
They weren’t a major nuisance, nor were the reasons cosmetic, but they
were large enough to warrant a removal to be on the safe side. And so the journey began.
Warvin
and I met up in the bazaar to go to this “famed mole removal guy.” Evidently he has made quite a name for
himself in the community as someone who does a good job for a low price. It sounded promising, but I was definitely
unsure of why were heading into the bazaar.
I thought he may just have an office in there or something, but
nope. After winding through the bazaar’s
many small roads, passing the shoe section, vegetables, and gold, we come to a
tiny room that can’t be more than 6x6.
There is no door, only a red curtain.
Inside there are two men wearing sandals, both around 60, and one of
them is sleeping. Welcome to the doctor’s
office.
I
had absolutely no idea that this would be the place I was going to, but here I was. If I had seen it in advance I may or may not
have come, but here I was so there was no turning back. Once the second guy is woken up from his midday
slumber he inspects the back of my neck and tells Warvin, in Kurdish of course,
that it isn’t a problem and he can remove it.
I sit down and he injects the area of the first mole with an
anesthetic. He then revs up this machine
that sounds like a saw and goes to work.
I feel a burning sensation that is dull and bearable, but then at one
point it hurt. Warvin said he burned my
neck, but the mole was gone. She is
talking to him in Kurdish as I am helplessly sitting there. She tells him only to remove one, but he
insists and does the second anyways.
Except this time he doesn’t use any anesthetic or the burning
machine. He simply grabbed a knife and
lopped it off.
I
had intentions of possibly removing an additional two moles, but this was
enough for one day. I had no idea how
these two would turn out, and it is still difficult to tell as my neck is still
burned and caked with dry blood and scabs.
To top off the experience, he hands me a tube and tells me to apply it
to my neck. After looking at the
medicine he gives me, it clearly states on the box: Eye Ointment. He dismisses my gestures towards my eyes and
reiterates to put it on my neck.
Fine. I ask how much this whole
ordeal costs. He tells me it is free
because I am American. Just another day
in Kurdistan.
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