I should be relieved.
No, wait - that isn't right. I am relieved, very. Grateful to God, Nordstrom, and all other higher powers, etc. etc. It's just . . . well . . .
Grand Master P had his follow-up appointment today for his recent surgery, at which the doctor quickly gave him the once over, waived that scope thingy with the light in his general direction, and gruffly declared, "He's doing well & should be fine," before scurrying out the door to his next appointment.
|Post appointment play, admittedly with boogers edited out for your viewing pleasure.|
Should be relieved, should be fine . . . should should should.
Here's what I wanted to hear, with kindly doctor gazing empathetically into my cold, unfeeling eyes: "Mrs. Pretty, I understand what a difficult decision it was to have this procedure done. Parenting is just a mess of difficult decisions, isn't it? No parent likes to see their child put under, even if for a relatively routine surgery like this. I'm happy to tell you that your wee precious darling is clearly both gifted & talented and, most importantly, healing just as he ought. If you see any troubling signs please don't hesitate to call me."
And, ya know, he could have thrown in a unicorn blithely frolicking in the middle distance as he spoke. Because this is all about me, obvs.
Yes, fine - go ahead & make fun of my wishing for some bedside manner in this post-apocalyptic health (we don't) care age. I admit it, today I could have used some emotional hand-holding.
However, I'll take the good news - hurrah! - and, with the help of the higher power of Pinot, whose manner has never once failed me, I'm going to endeavor to believe it.