"The Random Issue"
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This events described in this article are not embellished at all. I really did have almost no idea what a biopsy was or what one entailed.
The hospital was Lin Shin.
Sixteen years later, and I still don't have skin cancer. I hope.
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Spot Check
Years ago, before I discovered computers and X-box, I used to do a fair amount of stuff outside. Mostly biking and ultimate Frisbee, with the occasional hike up in Da-keng. Over time, exposure to the sun left me with a big brown freckle-looking thing on my arm. I never worried about it too much- it was there for many years, and while it slowly grew, it was still smaller than a NT$1 coin.
About two years ago, the spot started to itch. It still wasn’t a big deal. I’d scratch it, it would get kind of flaky and weird looking. Then it would stop itching for a while. On a vacation in America, my uncle saw the spot on my arm and insisted that I see a dermatologist about it. “It might be malignant!” he said. “Not as malignant as me.” I retorted. Heh heh. I’m pretty funny, and old people worry too much.
Then about two weeks ago, while I was vigorously scratching my spot, I noticed that the whole area was kind of swollen. Poking around it a bit, I could feel what felt like a tiny lump under the darkened skin. Uh oh. I don’t know much about healthy living or taking care of yourself or anything like that, but I was pretty sure I had read somewhere that lumps under brown spots on your skin is bad. Man, I hate it when my Uncle is right.
It was time to go to the hospital. And I wanted a real hospital -- a big shiny clean place with beeping machines and preferably, some hot nurses to help out with whatever treatment was necessary. None of that moxibustion acupuncture herbal compress stuff. That kind of thing might be fine for a sore back, but nobody cures skin cancer with acupuncture. Luckily, there is a hospital down the street from my favorite bar, just in case… well, you know. Hospitals can make a guy nervous, and I might need to relax afterwards. I went in and registered to see the 皮膚科 pifuke doctor, and after a short wait was sitting in a small office across from a doctor who looked like he had just graduated from med school. I was cool with having a young doctor. My reasoning was that while he may lack experience, being just out of school he’ll be knowledgeable in the latest medical developments, and less likely to prescribe leeches or bloodletting or something. Besides, I looked around and saw that the nurse assisting him was pretty hot, and it wasn’t just because I have a thing for those white uniforms.
I showed him the dark blotch on my forearm, and told him its history. He replied in excellent English: “It would be best if we did a biopsy.” I said fine, and he gave me some papers to sign. The hot nurse then led me over to another room, and told me to sit in a chair and put my arm on a large rubber pad. She then started swabbing my entire forearm with iodine, while another nurse brought in a tray full of gleaming scalpels.
It was right about then that I realized that I didn’t exactly know what the English word ‘biopsy’ meant. I mean, I was pretty sure that it involved taking some kind of tissue sample and testing or analyzing it, but how exactly did they get the sample? And having already agreed to a biopsy, I’d have felt kind of stupid having to ask afterward “By the way, what IS a biopsy?” So instead, as the doctor walked in carrying a hypodermic needle, I asked him “By the way doctor, how do you say ‘biopsy’ in Chinese?”
As he jabbed the needle into the center of my arm, he said “The most common way to say it is 切片 qiepian. You probably won’t want to watch while I do this.”
I thought about it for a few seconds as the doctor examined the tray of scalpels, all of which suddenly looked a lot bigger. To the best of my Chinese understanding, qiepian meant ‘cut a slice’. So I supposed that instead of taking a tiny bit out of the spot for testing, the doctor would slice a thin part off the top. Maybe it would be better if I didn’t watch. Fortunately, I had brought a copy of the March issue of The Taichung Voice, which had what looked like a really excellent article about blogging in Taiwan. I figured I’d just read the magazine while the doctor did his thing. Besides, I could already feel my arm getting numb from whatever had been injected, so there wouldn’t be any pain.
I started to read, and the doctor started to work. I could fell this weird tugging sensation, but that was all. After a few minutes, I decided that I was going to watch the doctor while he finished up. I sure as hell couldn’t finish that Voice article -- it was totally boring. So I turned my head to see how the doctor was doing…
…and I almost threw up. Rivers of blood streamed from a gaping hole in my forearm, and the doctor meticulously dug deeply into my flesh with the knife to take out any tissue that was even remotely near the original spot. He only paused to wipe away the blood when he started having trouble seeing what he was doing. As one hand worked busily with the scalpel, the other held what looked like a pair of pliers and slowly pulled off my arm what I can only describe as a hairy meat pancake.
(Note to self: In the future, when a doctor tells you “You probably won’t want to watch”, don’t watch.)
I managed to watch without puking as the doctor sewed up the hole, and then staggered downstairs to pick up the prescribed medication. Maybe I should have informed the doctor that there is a problem with his language. Instead of saying qiepian for ‘biopsy’, the Chinese should be 挖一大塊肉 wa yi da kuai rou (gouge a big chunk of meat), just for accuracy’s sake.
Two days later I got the results: not cancer. That’s good, but the next time I find some kind of odd spot on my body, I’m trying acupuncture.
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