The one where DIY minor surgery and motherhood don't mix

I'm a DIY'er. Not for the important stuff I already know I can't do. Like, purchase stuff online. Ron does that. If I need my hair braided through the back of my baseball cap, Caymen is the girl. Need a sign made? I call Barbara. Need a shirt designed? Aubrey. Need a video downloaded to YouTube? Call Zac or Kearstin. Or is it uploaded? I don't even know. What I'm trying to say is, I know my limits.    

But when it comes to anything involving the medical field, DIY remedies is my go-to. And if you're familiar with this blog at all, you know that 99% of the time, that goes terribly wrong.

Despite regularly seeing a primary care physician, a chiropractor and a gynecologist, when symptoms arise, the professionals never come to mind before my own ideas do. 

Dislocated rib? Ron probably did it, so he can probably put it back.

Ear pain? Sticking keys, bobby pins, and the shower head down there might jog somethin' loose.

Yeast infection? Google says yogurt.

I inevitably end up sitting (or laying splayed in stirrups) and getting lectured on the importance of not inserting foreign objects...or sugar based dairy products...into parts of my body where it doesn't belong. Ok, first of all, google told me to insert the yogurt and I only inserted half the container. Google also never once said not to use peaches 'n' cream flavor, so let's throw a little of this shade in their direction. But I digress.

For the most part, I limit my DIY experiments to my own care and I'm happy to report that 3 of our 4 children have successfully escaped  moved out of our home as healthy responsible human beings because that's what pediatricians are for. 

But a few months ago, our 4th child started to complain about a painful bump on the bottom of her heel so I asked Ron to make her a doctor's appt. What I meant by that, was to call her pediatrician. But what he did, was call a foot doctor.

Pause here for a second. I used to work for a foot doctor so no offense to the whole foot doctoring industry, but I know what they push...$500 shoe orthotics fix everything, in case you've never been to a foot doctor. 

Against my better judgement, I took her to the appointment where a cocky nurse took one look and predicted she knew the doctor would say it's a clogged sweat gland and that Caymen needed...*drum roll please*...orthotics. Wow. Orthotics. I didn't see that coming. 

Then she did x-rays, which seemed like an unnecessary step if you can already tell it's a clogged sweat gland, but I think we've established that I'm not a real doctor. When the actual doctor came in, she took one look at her foot and diagnosed her with a clogged sweat gland and strongly advised orthotics. It's almost like I've seen this scam before or something.

Then she shaved off the top layer of the bump, put some medicine and a bandaid on it, and told me to call and set up a time to get her casted for those orthotics.

I didn't call. I'm never gonna call. You're shocked. I know. 

Anyway, the bump was gone. But then it came back.

Having tried the whole "doctor" route, maybe I could give this a go. 

I asked Ron to get me the headlight he straps to his head that he keeps in the garage. 

I bet if he'd noticed my pile of tweezers, toenail clippers, a splinter picker, and my Dollar Shave Club razor in the living room, he would've asked more questions. Dude might wanna pay closer attention. 

Every evening for 2 weeks, I sat on the couch wearing a light on my head with Caymen's foot on a pillow in my lap and I did surgical procedures on the heel of her foot and then I started applying wart remover because maybe it's a wart and then towards the end, athlete's foot cream, because that angry looking red ring beginning to form around the area looks suspiciously like

ringworm to me. 

We ended up at the pediatrician's office yesterday morning, through no fault of my own.

She looked at Caymen's foot and, low key accusingly, asked if I'd been doing anything to it. I wan't gonna lie to her doctor so I casually described how I might've done a little scraping and some wart remover sometimes.

Then she said, "You were on the right track. It is a plantar wart." 

I snapped my fingers triumphantly and said, "I knew it."

She offered to freeze it off with liquid nitrogen and said that would hopefully take care of it. Then she looked at me and said, "If she notices it beginning to return, you can try using a clean fingernail file over the area and then put some wart remover and a bandaid on it."

I was so surprised by such a simple and genius idea, I looked at Caymen and said, "A fingernail file!"

The doctor looked at me questioningly and asked, "What were you using?"

...long silence while she waited me out...

"Razors. And other stuff."

Anyway. The bump is gone, Caymen is fine, and I've been instructed not to touch it.

Next she'll be telling me I can't purchase liquid nitrogen online. As if.

Next week we'll get back to Ron stories as originally planned before this minor bump debacle arose, which had very little to do with me anyway. 

Granted, I may or may not be reported to CPS, but Ron hits pedestrians with his car. He's obviously the bigger problem here.