Stepdaughter Tammy is going to surgery this morning to repair her broken wrist.
The surgeon will be using a metal plate and screws to stabilize the bone, and splinting her back up.
I asked her if she'll make the airport security alarms go off (she doesn't know that).
Tammy sent me a link for the doctor's information so I could see his educational, specialty and hospital privilege data. The page also had his picture. He had a nice smile.
And a baby face.
Even Tammy said that he looked pretty young (which is exactly what I was thinking when I was looking at him).
Tammy realizes the irony in her statement - she is younger than the doctor. I suppose her anxieties might have been eased by sitting in an exam room with a middle-aged, fatherly-looking physician.
I checked out the doctor's online patient ratings - he gets excellent marks. I told her that he's been trained on the latest methods, and probably is still enthusiastic and caring.
And he won't be in the back room sharpening his Swiss Army Knife before surgery.
My last statement might have freaked her out a bit.
I guess humor has it's place - and this wasn't it.
I've reassured her that things are going to go well, and the surgery will be over before she knows it. Then she can begin an uneventful recovery.
Tammy's not sure whether she will be able to continue breastfeeding baby Russ due to the pain meds she'll be on.
And until she's able to use both arms, husband Frank has been taking care of the family.
If he doesn't win both the Husband and Father of the Year awards, the entire contest is rigged.