We do!

Tyson mentioned a bump on his finger a while ago, but I didn't really worry too much about it.  Boy, do I wish I would have worried about that bump before now.  It's now a massive wart on the middle finger of his dominant hand.  While on the way to Alma weekend, while Randy was flying back from out-of-town and I was hours away, I got a call from Tyson, "Mom, do we have any acid?"  You can't make this stuff up!  It was bothering him so much, we couldn't ignore it anymore.

Randy went Saturday morning for a freeze/acid kit and got started right away.  7 days of freezing and then twice a day burning until it's gone.  When telling him what needed to happen with the burning, he asked that I be with him while Randy cut.  When Randy said he wanted to get prepped while I took Brennon to school, he told Randy he wouldn't do anything until I was there.  I knew my Tyson was pretty scared.

Sitting up to the table, one that could rival any operating room set up, Tyson jumped up on my lap and slid his hand across the space to Randy.  Fingers gripped in his tiny hand, I could feel the sweating begin, along with a slight nervous tremble.  Randy noticed Tyson's intent stare as he sterilized the x-acto knife scalpel and told Tyson he probably shouldn't watch.  As soon as Randy said he was ready to start, Tyson did as I instructed and inhaled sharply, tensing every muscle, and held as still as possible.  After a few small cuts around the base of the crusted dome the acid creates, Tyson exhaled and asked for a pause.  During the pause, Randy doused and dabbed with hydrogen peroxide to keep it clean.  "Does the blood mean we're done?"  "No."  "It feels like dad is digging around with tweezers.  It hurts so much."

After a few more cuts and another exhale, Tyson asked for another break.  This time it was bleeding much more.  The tone Tyson used would be funny in another less-sad scenario, because it was so animated and confused (duh!- type), but I can't laugh knowing what he was going through.  "Ugh! Why do I keep looking?!"

Randy told Tyson that we could stop.  "We don't have to do this right now."  With all the courage he could force into his emotional voice, "Yes.  We do!  This needs to be done."  And Randy finished cutting the top off.

When Randy was done and Tyson was clutching a hydrogen peroxide cotton ball in his fist, I guided him to the floor.  "My head feels really weird and I feel like my stomach is sick."  Each inhale lasted about 10 seconds, and it was about a minute and a half after the last cut, so I knew this lightheadedness was due to shock.  Tyson had just sat there as Randy performed a small surgery on his finger.  It was slightly numb after using the topical cream they gave Caden, but he felt those tiny slits around the entire wart.  And he didn't move a muscle.

He's now had "surgery" three times.  Each time has been the same: Surgeon Randy with sterilized craft tools, Tyson on my lap, clutching my fingers in his sweaty hand, me holding on to my son for dear life.  "Mom, if I had one wish from the Geenie, it would be that I never have another wart for the rest of my life.  My second wish would be that I could be a billionaire."  Warts suck.