Warning:

The following post may be considered 'graphic' for squeemish individuals.

I've had a recurring Ganglion Cyst on the top of my right foot for about a year and a half now. The first time it appeared it went away on it's own. The second time I managed to dispel it with a good hard massage. This most recent third time, the massage only made it worse, so after declining Stephan's servant-hearted offer to hit it with a hammer (I trust his intentions, but not his aim or force control), I went to the podiatrist.

After a quick examination and an itemization of my options, I opted to have the 'filling' (hereafter 'jelly') removed with a syringe.

Some brief history before we move on. I was at one time a pre-med student. I wouldn't consider myself squeemish at all. I've babysat enough years to now be grossed out by certain things. I'm also simply fascinated by the things our bodies are capable of - and, to a lesser degree, interested in the 'whys' when something goes wrong. When the cyst was bigger, I had the following exchange with my husband.

"If I need surgery, do you think they'd let me watch?"
"...well, would you really want to watch?"
"I'd want to, but I'm unsure if I could...I'd think it would be a little different when it's your own body."

Back in the exam room, Doc brings in Needle #1. "This is the anesthetic," he explained amiably. He was a very nice guy...and as I was to find out, a very good, very unafraid, shot with a needle.

At this point I'm watching, very interested to see what transpires. Needle #1 is on the approach and Doc sticks it in...then turns it (this is a flexible needle)...and begins redirecting it all around under my skin. I watch as the cyst grows to the size of a silver dollar. Apparently the anesthetic was ballooning just under my skin.

I quickly pulled down the other armrest of the chair, which had been tucked up until this time. I thought I'd made it through, until he withdrew the needle and circled round for another pass. All my blood pooled in my stomach and I sucked in a deep breath. I couldn't watch him drive that bendy-needle around under my skin again. The sight was worse than the sting, which was really only minimal. It certainly isn't the thing I remember.

I smiled feebly, under control and glad that part was over. That was the only portion of the procedure that was supposed to sting. Doc explained that he'd give the drugs a few minutes to take effect, then come back and do the real work. I felt pretty sure I'd be OK to watch that part now that the pain was gone.

I pulled out my copy of When I Don't Desire God by John Piper and read some. When Doc returned, I was collected and ready to see the show.

Needles #2 and 3 accompanied Doc and he explained them to me. "This," he said, holding up and unwrapping Needle #2, "is the syringe that we'll use to suck out the jelly." (Yep, he said jelly. I know, sounds fruity.) I didn't consider the needle big or long until he took aim and drove it home.

I averted my head and clenched my teeth. "So," I said, staring hard at the relaxing piece of art on the wall. "I had a discussion with my husband whether or not, if I needed surgery, I'd want to watch."

"We wouldn't have let you watch," doc said. I glanced down only to see the needle being withdrawn (phew, right?) only to be re-aimed and driven in again. I swear the thing went up to the hilt. I looked away quickly.

"Well, let's just say I know now I wouldn't have wanted to."

I felt the pressure (not pain) of a few more attempts, then heard Doc say "Oh! And here comes the jelly!"

It worked as a kid, and it still works now. Ask my husband. We were running through a FREEZING parking lot with rain pelting down on us one day in college and I was screaming "Hurry! Hurry!" to him as we dashed toward the car. I was stopped in my tracks by a little antenna ornament that had Micky Mouse pants and ears. After staring a moment I cried "Hey! Look at that!" I guess its not bad to delight in little things...or little triumphs, like getting the cursed jelly out of my foot.

When Doc said that, I looked down again, and he was right! The gelatinous stuff that made the cyst a cyst was slowly being drawn into the syringe chamber! It was translucent pink and looked much better out of my foot than in, in my opinion.

When we came to the end of the jelly, I remembered what was going on and looked away again.

Needle #3 was a steroid shot to hopefully encourage the cyst not to return. I let the Doc take the reigns from here and didn't even look once. My tummy was fluttering and he seemed to not need any more direction from me.

Once done, he slapped on a Band-aid and wrapped my foot in a compression wrap. It was important to keep the area compressed initially so the cyst didn't just re-inflate. I nodded obediently, but in my mind the thing would have been perforated with so many needles that there was no chance it could inflate again immediately. However, Doc was Doc and I was going to have a beast of a bruise on the top of my foot, for sure.

I made an appointment to be back in 2 weeks, then went on to work to tell the tale of the dragon slain and the battle won.

(And by God's HUGE mercy, the spot is neither badly bruised or painful. I can go to work today and walk with confidence and a legitimate excuse for wearing my flip flops for days in a row!)