Me on Thursday night...so naive...enjoying a fresh haircut.
Well. I guess I should tell you about my Friday. It all started with a little pain on the bottom of my foot back in the days when I was preggers with Jillian. When I was somewhere around 180 pounds (sadly, I'm not kidding...I was huge...but it's gone, baby, gone), all I could think is that the wart on the ball of my foot would feel better when I was no longer pregnant and dropped a few pounds (50 to be exact). But, the excruciating pain and the limping persisted. I tried everything my google searches had to offer...almost (I stopped short of taping banana peels to the bottom of my foot.). Apple cider vinegar, garlic, duct tape, Dr. Scholl's home freezing and salicylic acid were all attempted. I was so determined to stay away from a doctor that, one night, I soaked my foot in apple cider vinegar and then duct taped a piece of garlic to my foot. The next morning I made a shocking discovery. The area surrounding my wart was KELLY GREEN!! I proceeded to google, "gange green". No, folks. It's "gangrene" and it's not actually green. After that incident, I backed down from all the self-help and waited for natural coloring to return. And through all these "treatments" the pain never let up.
So, finally, I called the doctor and made an appointment for this past Friday.
I dropped the youngins' off with Brent at work. When I arrived at the doctor's office, I thought it appropriate to announce I was thoroughly freaked out (as they smiled and handed me the paperwork.) Speaking of paperwork, I've never understood why someone like a podiatrist has a questionnaire begging your history of diarrhea and cancer and epilepsy. Anyway, I went in, took off my shoes and socks and thought about all the other feet (with fungi and what not) that had been in that very room. So, naturally, I asked the dr. if he thought I would contract anything while in there. No. heh, heh. He looked at my foot, validated that it was surely painful because of its location just under (over?) a nerve AND it that it was particularly...aggressive? I don't remember the word, but this bastard of a wart was seen for the bastard it was. So then, what should we do, doc? "95% of the patients I see aren't bothered by their warts" (then what are they doing going to a doctor????) "You can use a topical, which could take months to work, if it does at all, or I can cut it out right now." WHAAAAAAAAATT?????????????? I had never felt so alone. I told him that actually. I turned and looked at my foot. "Hey ol' buddy," I said audibly. What was I going to do??? I couldn't think straight. The doctor left me to see another patient while I made my decision. Tears welled in my eyes. I needed a kleenex. My hands felt dirty. I needed hand sanitizer. Where were these things??? Why are they not in this room?? I got my shoes on and wandered out to the lobby looking for these things, thinking, I'll just leave and think about it at home. Doc comes out, "You leaving? Heh, heh." No, I went back to the room, after washing my hands in a doctor's office that had no antibacterial foam or gel. (What the heck?) I kept frantically leafing through a magazine and told him, "You know I'm not really reading this. How much will it hurt?" His answer: "It will hurt quite a bit for five seconds...I'll 'fan' out the shot." Yeah, he said that as he gestured with his hand showing me that once the needle was in the bottom of my foot, he'd move it around...what, like 90 degrees or so. Yikes. In this tiny downtown office, which more and more seemed like a grey metal box in a communist country, there was this incredibly busy and cheerful man in scrubs who was maybe 5'3". It was almost surreal (like Brazil, if you know that film). He was so jolly and I enjoyed watching him get stuff out of cabinets, because he had to use a step stool and I think he was smiling all the while. And he looked like an older cabbage patch doll with blue eyes and teeth. Anyway, after hesitating for a very long time, I looked over my magazine at the doc and said, "How about Buster over there? Is he busy? I'll do it if he holds my hand." "You mean Mike? Heh." He thought I was kidding. We went on discussing the options for probably seven minutes. "No, I mean it. Get Mike. If he holds my hand, I can do this." He hollered for Mike and in came that little jolly man. I squeezed his hand, and somebody, I'm thinking the doctor, said, "ready, set, go". Maybe not. But there were some pre-shot words, and then I squeezed the heck out of his hand, looked at him, said, "I guess it doesn't really hurt that much, no it does, one-two-three-four....five....that feels weird." Mike left, we small-talked for a little bit. And then he made a gaping hole in my foot. I came home and had cereal and watched one of the best shows ever made.
All in all, I give having a plantar wart thumbs down. I do not recommend this experience. But, I do recommend Apple Jacks and Arrested Development to aid in the recovery of most any ailment.
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