There was a small amount of excitement around here last week: Dylan discovered a spot on the bottom of his foot. It was a little tender and he asked me to look at it. I recognized it right away: a plantar wart. I called the doctor because I remembered from my own warty past that plantar warts just get bigger and more painful and they spread. Dylan had been asking me daily about wart removal- what would the doctor use? Would it hurt? How much would it hurt? Was it going to hurt? Mom, will it hurt? You get the general idea. I wasn't too sure what the mode of removal would be and to be honest, I couldn't remember how much it hurt.
So the day arrives and we pile in to the car and drive over to the Doctor. As we are pulling in to a parking spot Caitlin suddenly realizes she is bare footed. "Mom! I don't have any shoes!" Usually this isn't a problem because she has a dozen or so stray shoes floating around the car. But I have been trying to keep the car a little less cluttered. Damn that new resolution! Why couldn't I have put that one off another week? We scour the car, but there are no shoes. Not even a sock. Luckily, it is a warm day so we just look trashy. I'm the neglectful mom, not the endangering mom. The reception area is under construction so I figure if they're not putting their best face forward right now then I don't have to either, right? We get into the exam room with nothing more than some disapproving glances. Dylan is still asking me what's going to happen and how much it will hurt. "I just don't know." I tell him. The doctor comes in and gives us our options: liquid nitrogen or a little acid patch that you wear for weeks as it slowly kills the wart. I go for liquid nitrogen, even though it hurts a little. Only it turns out that it hurts Dylan much more than I remember it hurting me. The doctor has a little thermos of liquid nitrogen, a skewer and a cotton ball. He has wrapped the end of the skewer with the cotton and he is dipping it in liquid nitrogen and placing the tip of the skewer on the wart. He does that three times and each time Dylan whimpers a little bit more. "Oh, poor Dylan!" Caitlin cries. Dr. T. tries to distract Dylan from the pain by letting him dump the extra nitrogen down the drain, turning on the faucet and filling the sink with steam. He promises that the pain will go away soon as he is leaving the room. Caitlin, gutted by her brother's suffering proclaims, "I wish I had the wart instead of Dylan!" Sweet, and also bare footed. As we leave the office Dylan is now also barefoot, but only on one foot. He hobbles out to the car followed closely by Caitlin and then me. Promising to myself to go home and fill my car with shoes!
So the day arrives and we pile in to the car and drive over to the Doctor. As we are pulling in to a parking spot Caitlin suddenly realizes she is bare footed. "Mom! I don't have any shoes!" Usually this isn't a problem because she has a dozen or so stray shoes floating around the car. But I have been trying to keep the car a little less cluttered. Damn that new resolution! Why couldn't I have put that one off another week? We scour the car, but there are no shoes. Not even a sock. Luckily, it is a warm day so we just look trashy. I'm the neglectful mom, not the endangering mom. The reception area is under construction so I figure if they're not putting their best face forward right now then I don't have to either, right? We get into the exam room with nothing more than some disapproving glances. Dylan is still asking me what's going to happen and how much it will hurt. "I just don't know." I tell him. The doctor comes in and gives us our options: liquid nitrogen or a little acid patch that you wear for weeks as it slowly kills the wart. I go for liquid nitrogen, even though it hurts a little. Only it turns out that it hurts Dylan much more than I remember it hurting me. The doctor has a little thermos of liquid nitrogen, a skewer and a cotton ball. He has wrapped the end of the skewer with the cotton and he is dipping it in liquid nitrogen and placing the tip of the skewer on the wart. He does that three times and each time Dylan whimpers a little bit more. "Oh, poor Dylan!" Caitlin cries. Dr. T. tries to distract Dylan from the pain by letting him dump the extra nitrogen down the drain, turning on the faucet and filling the sink with steam. He promises that the pain will go away soon as he is leaving the room. Caitlin, gutted by her brother's suffering proclaims, "I wish I had the wart instead of Dylan!" Sweet, and also bare footed. As we leave the office Dylan is now also barefoot, but only on one foot. He hobbles out to the car followed closely by Caitlin and then me. Promising to myself to go home and fill my car with shoes!
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