I paid a visit to the plastic surgeon. Out of necessity.
College Boy burned his calf. He was in 8th grade at the time. Two days before his birthday, he decided to ride a motor bike . . . and conveniently forgot to ask how to make it stop going forward. He improvised by using a fence. Thus to Minor Care. Thus thus (after a referral) to the plastic surgeon. The whole time the doc was explaining care and possible worst-case-scenarios of the wound, I couldn't stop wondering if he was evaluating my potential to be his next patient. It's a rather creepy feeling. Plus he looked like an older, shorter Tony Romo, and then I couldn't stop wondering if he'd had plastic surgery done.
Good news: College Boy did not have to have a skin graft.
Bad news: He hadn't been cleaning the burn well enough each time he replaced the bandages, so I had to check the wound. Blech. If I'd wanted to be a nurse, I'd have gone to nursing school.
Sometimes we have to deal with unpleasantness.
Good news: Kids grow up.
Bad news: Every year somewhere in the United States a tornado destroys homes and kills people, and causes all sorts of unpleasantness. And if it's not a tornado, it's flood. Or a hurricane. Or a fire. Or a man-caused disaster. Or Black Friday. No matter the unpleasantness . . .
God is still God.
God is still good.
We're just living in light of eternity.