Just back from taking my son to have some minor surgery this morning.

He’s resting for the day, but not before asking on the way home in a sleepy voice if he could possibly get a double-scoop of ice cream as a reward for his bravery. The kid knows how to negotiate, and I’m sure he had some help from his Aunt Shel, who text me to ‘buy that boy some ice cream and goodies.’

My husband and I both realized while sitting in the waiting room this morning that it’s an interesting place to people watch. We found ourselves wondering what others were there for, what procedure they may be having done. Another couple, and their young child who was sleeping on Dad’s lap, was already there by the time we arrived at 6:55 am. Tonsils removed? Tubes in his ears? Something more serious? Then there was the couple who waited alone, reading the newspaper and watching Matt Lauer on the Today show deliver the day’s headlines. A nurse approached them, confirming that the woman would be spending the night, and surgery would take 3 1/2 hours. For what, I wondered? Or the man who sat alone in the corner of the sterile waiting room, with his eyes closed and his arms folded across his chest. Was he waiting on his wife? Was he the one being admitted? Would there be anyone there to greet him once he awoke in recovery?

Our 8-year-old surprised me with his composure, despite having said he was a little nervous during the car ride over. His biggest concern, once inside, was telling his father and I to ‘turn around…give a boy some privacy,‘ when it was time to undress and put on that trendy, and drafty, hospital gown. And when it was time to leave, they wheeled Griff to the car, but not before passing another gentleman being transported post-surgery, still asleep and hooked up to many tubes and an IV. And I wondered, will he be ok? Is this just a routine something-or-other, or was it the first stop on his journey of the unknown? Those thoughts were quickly interrupted by a hungry child, who asked as soon as the cardoor shut…

‘Can we get McDonalds?’