Mayim Rabim

If you've ever had warts, you know how they come and go without warning, usually in groups. A while back, I had a crop of warts on my hands. I visited a dermatologist, who sprayed them with liquid nitrogen. Blisters formed, some clear, some black. A few of the black ones burst at various points, leaving my hands covered with blood.

Needless to say, the blisters elicited more comments than the warts. "Are you okay?" "Did you hurt your hands?" For a cosmetic treatment, it wasn't very pretty.

When the mikvah lady asked about them, I apologized and told her that I'd washed them as well as I could.

"That wasn't what I meant," she said. "Do they hurt? Are you seeing a doctor?"

I was relieved, but also annoyed, though not at her. I didn't feel like explaining that a doctor had given me the beauties.

Eventually, the blisters dried into scabs and then went away. No sooner had they healed, however, than a new crop of warts appeared in their place. I had my hands sprayed with liquid nitrogen a second time, and then a third. Finally, I switched to an over-the-counter salycilic acid treatment. This had the advantage of not causing blisters, but it didn't get rid of the warts, either. When the treatment ran out, I decided to simply leave them alone.

Some time later (it might have been weeks or months, I'm not sure), I noticed that the warts were shrinking. And then they were gone.

Time went on, and I got used to having wart-free hands. Then, one morning, I noticed a Thing on my right hand where one of the warts had been. It was roughly the size and shape of the wart, but it was black and didn't rise above the skin. I showed it to my husband, who shrugged. Not eager to see the dermatologist again, I decided to wait a while and see whether it went away on its own.

By the time I had to visit the mikvah, I had gotten so used to the little, unobtrusive thing that I almost forgot that it was there. After my shower, a young, friendly attendant escorted me to the mikvah and introduced herself.

"I'm new," she said. We made a little bit of small talk, and I showed her my hands.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Um, I don't know. I just woke up one morning and it was there."

She smiled nervously. "Isn't it funny how your body just does these weird things?"

I smiled back, not sure what to say.

"Did you try to get it off?"

It had only been there for two or three weeks, but I was already so accustomed to its presence that I felt like I was being asked whether I'd made a good faith effort to remove my nose.

"Um, I washed it," I said lamely.

"Hmm, well," she said, "let me ask [the head attendant]." She smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. I just wouldn't want your tevilah not to be kosher."

She was so kind, and so apologetic, that as she left the room I thought to myself that it would be nice if she were my attendant next time. At the same time, I was annoyed and a little bit nervous. I couldn't imagine that the Thing would be declared a chatstista, as it was obviously under the skin. But then, if I was so sure, why wasn't she?

The young attendant returned with her supervisor, who took my hand and examined the Thing.

"Did you rub it?" she asked.

"Yes," I responded, not sure whether or not I was answering her question.

"Could you rub it again. With the robe." It was more of a command than a question. I took the corner of my robe and rubbed the hapless Thing.

"If it doesn't come off, it's under the skin," she declared. "No problem." And that was that.

This was months ago, and I'm still not sure what I think of the whole affair. Intellectually, I realize that it's not worth getting hung up on. The mikvah attendants did their job, I did mine, and we all lived happlily ever after. Still, the incident has left me with a vague sense of irritation at the System, a System that turns every bodily blemish into an issue. There is a positive side to this, of course; the more attention we pay to our bodies, the more likely we are to become aware of any medical condition before it becomes serious. And yet. . .

I haven't seen the young mikvah attendant since that night. I'm sure that this has nothing to do with me, but I sometimes wonder why she didn't stay (or, if she did, where she's been hiding). As for the Thing, it went away as suddenly as it appeared.