Too much information

I have searched for a soft, sensitive, socially acceptable way of expressing my minor medical issue, but at the moment I seem only able to find slang.

I had a few, erm, warts turn up where the sun don't shine. I went to a doctor and got rid of them the Sudanese way: they were burnt off my family jewels with what appeared to be a primitive version of a soldering iron. My steak curtains look like a pub ashtray and I'm walking like a cowboy. I'm sure there is a politer way of saying that, just can't find it right now.

I had an occurrence of witch spots on my cabbage leaves about 4 years ago when I first got to Scotland. I simply hauled myself down to the GUM clinic. a doctor zapped me with some sort of chemical gave me a prescription for ointment and that was that. done. finished. sorted. over.

Here, well things are a bit different in Sudan. I spent 3 weeks in and out of pharmacies that tried to import podophyclic solution to take to a doctor (you know, I would have attempted burning them off myself) . no luck. then resigned myself to seeing a doctor I spent 2 weeks trying to get paid from the newspaper, they finally paid me 2 weeks wages (they still owe me 2 more). Some days you need the patience of mother Theresa, the tolerance of Martin Luther King Jr, the persistence of Gandhi and the resolve of Hercules... pity I'm none of those.

(don't read the next paragraph if you are squeamish... that means you mum)

Long story short: It was simple operation (I was quite happy). The Dr prepared local anaesthetic (I was slightly concerned). He bought out an electronic contraption circa 70s from a cupboard of dirt, assorted medicine, paper, cutlery, dust, plastic flowers and grime (I was sweating like a chimp in a gimp suit) . The frayed wires attached to a long heated metal skewer. I asked him to mind the piercing (electric equipment here is not earthed). It took 30 minutes. I had 9 small injections of local. Nevertheless it hurt like a hot poker a in an axe wound, Vile smell (a smell I had smelt once before, in my parents garage, after my brother had used a blow torch to remove the hair from a pig he had shot). Crackling sound. And finally, now, burnt flesh on the bog roll. Nuff said.

This could have been a horrific ordeal, but it wasn't. the doctor may have given me permanent physical scars, but he was personable. He was nice. He spoke to me like a human, and not a breathing corpse. And that made all the difference. It's only been 2 days, all's healing well, though I'm not going camel riding any time soon.

I have worked in the world of STIs and believe that they are often spread through silence, denial and embarrassment. Yet for the past couple of months that I have been dealing with this I have remained quiet. It is only now that I sit on the charred blistered remains of my quim that I feel comfortable about it. Despite the fact I'm slightly maimed and in a bit of pain, now that I'm cured it's a story not a problem. Everything is better in retrospect.