My little girl is having surgery tomorrow morning. She injured her finger about six months ago, and it's been determined that she needs a skin graft to straighten her finger. I'll spare the details because it's just sad and unnecessary, but basically she hurt her finger and then started healing faster than most little kids do. And while that sounds really awesome and Wolverine-like, it's really bad in reality. Because it means that her scar tissue was harder and caused her finger to heal in a bent position. And that means they have to fix it in the operating room.
The hard part is that she really has no idea what's coming. She's two, so the most she can grasp is that a doctor is going to fix her finger tomorrow. We don't want to scare her with details about being sedated, and she really can't understand much about it anyway. So we feel like we're tricking her or something.
And I have to admit, I'm really freaked out by this whole thing. I'm usually pretty level-headed about things like this. But just the thought of her being put out for the procedure is scaring the daylights out of me. I don't like it, and I don't like thinking about it. And if I say that to my wife, I'll just scare her even more (which would be a bad idea). So I'll just confess it here on the blog. And she'll find out a month from now when she's bored with Facebook and decides to catch up on my posts.
So anyway, no funny story today. But at least I have a better excuse than the usual laziness. I know we have nothing to worry about, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm worried. I guess that's just part of the parenting gig.