You walk into a motab (مطب. clinic) in Tehran with a splitting headache and a weird pain in your side. There’s no reception desk, no ticket machine, no numbered queue. Just a waiting room full of people sitting on chairs, leaning against walls, and staring at each other with the intensity of poker players. Someone walks in after you and immediately sits in the chair closest to the doctor’s door. You look around for help. Nobody says anything. Welcome to Iranian clinic culture, where knowing farsi doctor visit phrases is only half the battle. the other half is surviving the queue.
This is Episode 12 of One Scene a Week, and we’re going full chaos: claiming your spot in line, explaining symptoms to a doctor, and deciphering a Persian prescription.
The Scene: Queue Wars at the Motab
Here’s how Iranian clinics typically work. or don’t work, depending on your perspective. Many private clinics, especially the smaller ones, don’t have a formal queue system. You walk in, sit down, and you’re supposed to ask “nobt-e man kei-e?” (نوبت من کیه. when is my turn?) or figure out who was last. The system runs on the honor code, which means it runs on memory and occasional arguments.
The word nobt (نوبت) means “turn” and it’s the single most important word you’ll learn in this episode. You’ll hear it fifty times in any waiting room. “Nobt-e man-e!” (It’s MY turn!) “Nobt-e shomā nist!” (It’s NOT your turn!) “Man ghabl az shomā boodam!” (I was here before you!)
The unwritten rule is: when you arrive, you ask the room “baad az ki hastam?” (بعد از کی هستم. who am I after?). Someone will say “baad az man” (after me), and now you have your anchor. If that person disappears to the bathroom or to grab tea from the hallway vendor, it’s YOUR job to remember your place. Nobody else will vouch for you.
The Full Dialogue. Part 1: The Waiting Room
You walk in and scan the room:
You: سلام. ببخشید، بعد از کی هستم؟
Salām. Bebakhshid, ba’d az ki hastam?
Hi. Excuse me, who am I after?
Old Man: بعد از من هستی. من نفر بعدیم.
Ba’d az man hasti. Man nafar-e ba’di-am.
You’re after me. I’m next.
You: ممنون. چند نفر مونده؟
Mamnun. Chand nafar munde?
Thanks. How many people are left?
Old Man: سه چهار نفر. ولی دکتر خیلی سریع ویزیت میکنه.
Se chāhār nafar. Vali doktor kheyli sari’ vizit mikone.
Three or four people. But the doctor sees patients really fast.
Ten minutes later, a woman walks in and heads straight for the doctor’s door:
Woman: من نوبت داشتم. تلفنی گرفته بودم.
Man nobt dāshtam. Telefoni gerefte budam.
I had an appointment. I made it by phone.
Another Patient: خانم، ما هم نوبت داریم. باید صبر کنی.
Khānom, mā ham nobt dārim. Bāyad sabr koni.
Ma’am, we have appointments too. You need to wait.
Woman: ولی من از ساعت ده نوبت دارم!
Vali man az sā’at-e dah nobt dāram!
But my appointment is from 10 o’clock!
Old Man: (to you, quietly) اینجا همیشه همینه. عادت میکنی.
(to you, quietly) Injā hamishe hamine. Ādat mikoni.
It’s always like this here. You get used to it.
The Full Dialogue. Part 2: Inside the Doctor’s Office
Finally, your turn. You walk in:
Doctor: بفرمایید، بشینید. مشکلتون چیه؟
Befarmāyid, beshinid. Moshkelatun chie?
Please, sit down. What’s your problem?
You: سلام دکتر. سرم خیلی درد میکنه و یه درد هم اینجا دارم، سمت راست شکمم.
Salām doktor. Saram kheyli dard mikone va ye dard ham injā dāram, samt-e rāst-e shekamam.
Hi doctor. My head really hurts and I have a pain here too, on the right side of my stomach.
Doctor: از کی این درد رو دارید؟
Az key in dard ro dārid?
Since when have you had this pain?
You: سردرد از دیروز. ولی درد شکم از سه چهار روز پیش شروع شده.
Sardard az diruz. Vali dard-e shekam az se chāhār ruz-e pish shoru’ shode.
The headache since yesterday. But the stomach pain started three or four days ago.
Doctor: حالت تهوع دارید؟ استفراغ؟
Hālat-e tahavvo’ dārid? Esterāgh?
Do you have nausea? Vomiting?
You: حالت تهوع یه کم. استفراغ نه.
Hālat-e tahavvo’ ye kam. Esterāgh na.
A little nausea. No vomiting.
Doctor: دارو یا آلرژی خاصی دارید؟
Dāru yā ālerži-ye khāssi dārid?
Do you take any medication or have any specific allergies?
You: نه، دارو نمیخورم. آلرژی هم ندارم.
Na, dāru nemikhoram. Ālerži ham nadāram.
No, I don’t take medication. No allergies either.
Doctor: بذارید معاینهتون کنم… اینجا درد داره؟
Bezārid mo’āyene-tun konam… injā dard dāre?
Let me examine you… Does it hurt here?
You: آی! بله، همونجا.
Āy! Bale, hamonjā.
Ow! Yes, right there.
Doctor: یه آزمایش خون لازمه و یه سونوگرافی هم بنویسم. فکر نکنم چیز خاصی باشه ولی بهتره مطمئن بشیم.
Ye āzmāyesh-e khun lāzeme va ye sonografi ham benevisam. Fekr nakonam chiz-e khāssi bāshe vali behtare motma’en beshim.
You need a blood test and I’ll write a sonography order too. I don’t think it’s anything serious but it’s better to be sure.
You: نسخه میدید؟
Noskhe midid?
Will you give me a prescription?
Doctor: بله، یه مسکن و یه قرص برای معده مینویسم. این نسخه رو ببرید داروخانه.
Bale, ye mosaken va ye ghors barāye me’de minevisam. In noskhe ro bebarid dārukhāne.
Yes, I’ll prescribe a painkiller and a pill for the stomach. Take this prescription to the pharmacy.
Vocabulary Breakdown
نوبت (nobt). Turn, appointment. This word runs Iranian bureaucracy. At the clinic, the bank, the bread shop. everywhere there’s a line, there’s nobt. “Nobt-e man-e” (it’s my turn) and “nobt-e man kei-e” (when is my turn) are survival phrases. The verb gereftan (گرفتن. to take/get) pairs with it: “nobt gereftan” means to make an appointment.
مطب (motab). A doctor’s private clinic/office. Different from bimārestān (بیمارستان. hospital) or darmāngāh (درمانگاه. public clinic). Most Iranians see private doctors at their motab for non-emergency issues. It’s usually a small office, sometimes in an apartment building, with a waiting room and one or two examination rooms.
نسخه (noskhe). Prescription. The doctor writes a noskhe and you take it to the dārukhāne (داروخانه. pharmacy). In Iran, the noskhe system is still heavily paper-based at many clinics, though electronic prescriptions are growing. Pro tip: keep your noskhe. If you need a refill, you bring the old noskhe back.
درد میکنه (dard mikone). It hurts. Dard is pain, and mikone is the third-person present of kardan. “Saram dard mikone” = my head hurts. “Shekamam dard mikone” = my stomach hurts. Just swap in the body part + -am (my) and you can describe any pain. This structure shows up constantly. if you’ve read my Farsi past tense guide, you’ll recognize the kardan compound verb pattern.
معاینه (mo’āyene). Medical examination. “Mo’āyene kardan” means to examine. When the doctor says “bezārid mo’āyene-tun konam,” they’re asking permission to examine you. another layer of Iranian politeness, even in a medical setting.
حالت تهوع (hālat-e tahavvo’). Nausea. Literally “state of nausea.” This is one of those formal medical terms that even everyday Iranians use. There’s no casual slang version. hālat-e tahavvo’ is just what you say.
آزمایش (āzmāyesh). Test/analysis. Āzmāyesh-e khun = blood test. Āzmāyesh-e edrar = urine test. You’ll take these to an āzmāyeshgāh (آزمایشگاه. laboratory), which is usually a separate location from the clinic.
مسکن (mosaken). Painkiller. From the Arabic root s-k-n meaning “to calm/settle.” You’ll hear this at every pharmacy. Common follow-up question: “mosaken-e ghaviتر ندārid?” (don’t you have a stronger painkiller?).
Iranian Clinic Culture. The Unwritten Rules
If you’ve only been to clinics in Europe or North America, Iranian clinics will be a culture shock. Here’s what you need to know:
The “man injā boodam” system. In many waiting rooms, there’s no formal queue. You arrive, you ask who’s last, and you mentally slot yourself in. The phrase “man injā boodam” (من اینجا بودم. I was here) is what you say if you leave briefly and come back. People WILL try to cut. The defense is simple and direct: “bebakhshid, man ghabl az shomā boodam” (excuse me, I was before you). Say it firmly but politely. Nobody will think you’re rude. they’ll think you know the system.
Appointments are suggestions. Having a nobt for 10 AM doesn’t mean you’ll be seen at 10 AM. It means you’re in the 10 AM batch. You might wait 30 minutes, you might wait two hours. Bring your phone charger. The concept of time in Iranian medical settings is. let’s say. flexible. A doctor who’s scheduled from 4 to 8 PM might still be seeing patients at 10 PM.
Everyone has an opinion. The person sitting next to you will absolutely tell you what’s wrong with you, what medicine to take, and which doctor is better. This isn’t considered intrusive. it’s being helpful. “Man ham hamin dard ro dāshtam” (I had the same pain) is a phrase you’ll hear from at least one waiting room stranger. Take the advice with a grain of salt, but appreciate the warmth behind it.
The vizit fee. Vizit (ویزیت) means the consultation fee. You pay this to the doctor’s secretary or assistant before or after your appointment, depending on the clinic. For a specialist, this can range from 500,000 to 2,000,000 tomans or more. Cash is still common, though card payments are increasingly accepted.
Doctors are addressed as “doktor” regardless. Whether they’re a GP or a brain surgeon, you call them “doktor.” Adding “āghā-ye doktor” (آقای دکتر. Mr. Doctor) or “khānom-e doktor” (خانم دکتر. Ms. Doctor) is common and respectful.
Spoken vs. Formal: Medical Farsi
Medical conversations in Farsi have an interesting mix. doctors tend to use slightly more formal language (they’re educated professionals addressing patients), while patients use spoken Farsi. Here’s how the registers differ:
Spoken: از کی این درد رو داری؟ (az key in dard ro dāri?)
Formal: از کی این درد رو دارید؟ (az key in dard ro dārid?)
The doctor uses dārid (formal you) because they’re being professional. If you’re talking to a friend about their symptoms, you’d use dāri (informal). Notice the doctor in our dialogue uses the formal form. this is standard.
Spoken: سرم درد میکنه (saram dard mikone)
Formal: سرم درد میکند (saram dard mikonad)
Mikone vs. mikonad. In actual clinic conversations, even patients use mikone. You’d only see mikonad in written medical forms or very formal speech.
Spoken: چند نفر مونده؟ (chand nafar munde?)
Formal: چند نفر مانده است؟ (chand nafar mānde ast?)
Munde is the spoken contraction of mānde ast. In the waiting room, everyone uses munde. Nobody would say mānde ast unless they were narrating a documentary.
Spoken: نسخه بده (noskhe bede). Give me a prescription
Formal: نسخه بدید / نسخه مرحمت کنید (noskhe bedid / noskhe marhamat konid)
Bede is casual imperative (give). Bedid is polite. Marhamat konid is ultra-polite and old-fashioned. you’d hear this from an older patient being very respectful. With your doctor, bedid is the right level.
Essential Body Parts for the Doctor’s Office
When something hurts, you need to point at it AND name it. Here’s the quick reference:
سر (sar). head
گلو (galu). throat
سینه (sine). chest
شکم (shekam). stomach/abdomen
کمر (kamar). lower back/waist
زانو (zānu). knee
مچ (moch). wrist/ankle
دست (dast). hand/arm
پا (pā). foot/leg
The formula is dead simple: [body part]-am dard mikone = my [body part] hurts. Goluyam dard mikone. Kamaram dard mikone. Zānuyam dard mikone. Once you’ve got this pattern, you can describe 90% of what a doctor needs to hear.
Quick Practice: Your Clinic Script
Imagine you have a sore throat and a fever. Build your script:
1. Enter the waiting room: سلام، ببخشید، بعد از کی هستم؟
Salām, bebakhshid, ba’d az ki hastam?
2. Describe your symptoms: دکتر، گلوم خیلی درد میکنه و تب دارم.
Doktor, goluyam kheyli dard mikone va tab dāram.
3. Answer “since when”: از دو روز پیش.
Az do ruz-e pish.
4. Ask about your prescription: این نسخه رو کجا ببرم؟
In noskhe ro kojā bebaram?
Where should I take this prescription?
That’s four sentences and you’ve handled the entire clinic visit. The waiting room drama is the hard part. the actual medical conversation is surprisingly formulaic once you know the vocabulary.
How do you say “it hurts” in Farsi at the doctor?
What does “nobt” mean in a Farsi medical context?
How do Iranian clinic queues work without a number system?
What is “noskhe” and how does the prescription system work in Iran?
What Farsi phrases should I know for describing symptoms to a doctor?
That’s your clinic survival guide. You’ve got the waiting room phrases, the symptom vocabulary, and the cultural context to handle the whole experience without panicking.
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Want to drill this scene’s vocab with flashcards? Try ZabanYar. it’s free and works offline.
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If you want to drill these medical phrases until they feel automatic, I do one-on-one Tehrani Persian lessons where we practice exactly these kinds of real-world scenarios. grab a trial lesson and we’ll run the whole clinic scene together →
Part of the Functional Farsi cluster.