It didn't both Teddy. And I'm a runner, so my feet are wonderfully calloused to the point that I often don't feel blisters that develop because my callouses protect me from them. So we weren't concerned about it ... until I noticed it bleeding the other week.
That seemed odd and concerning, so we set up an appointment with his doctor. Dave took him to the appointment, and the text update I got was: He's a witch. Burn her! (He was channeling his inner Monty Python.) It turns out that it was now a sizable wart.
Whoops. I'll maintain it started as a blood blister and a callous and then magically became a wart. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
So I've been calling Teddy Pumba (get it?), and we went 2 weeks ago to the podiatrist. Teddy wasn't too keen on them doing anything to him, so they slathered on some cream and told us to keep it bandaged. They even gave us a scalpel to take home to try to scrape away dead skin. Lucky for us, Dave is a doctor. Never mind that he has a PhD rather than an MD ...
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| I'm pretty sure you don't want to see the actual wart. |
So we've worked at it a few times, not because it's fun or because Teddy sits still, but because it'll be much easier for us to do what we can at home rather than in a doctor's office where Teddy is struggling the entire time. (He struggles with anything that feels medical, even if it doesn't hurt, even since NIH and then the last sets of ER visits for seizures.)
The good news is that it looks like last night Dave was successful in getting it all out. We see the witch doctor again Monday (seriously, that's how it's labeled on the calendar) and are hoping for good news.
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