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A brave face

In lss than two days, our 7-year-old son will have surgery.

It’s a routine procedure — tonsils, adenoids, and a look at whether nodes have formed on his vocal cords.

We’ve told him there’s nothing to it. PIece of cake. Thousands of kids do it every year. I had it done myself, when I was about his age. Nothing to worry about. Throat will be sore for a few days, then you’re in the clear. Plus, you’ll get tons of ice cream, popsicles and Game Boy for the next few days. A kid’s dream.

So why can’t I stop worrying about it myself?

The logical part of me agrees with my verbal self. But there’s still that niggling, burr-under-the-saddle kind of worry that just won’t completely go away.

He’ll be fine. Of course he will. Better than ever, even. He’ll sleep better, he won’t get sick as often, he’ll breathe easier through the day, he’ll be more comfortable. All good. And he has a great ear, nose and throat surgeon doing the procedure.

No sweat.

Unfortunately, come Thursday morning, I bet I’ll be sweating, just a little.

But I’ll have to do it on the inside. Can’t let ’em SEE you sweat.

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