Who needs med school?

Well, so once again while we were on our beach vacation, it came to pass that a member of my sister's family needed to have stitches removed.  It has become our family tradition!  So once again, Uncle Doctor soaked his medical instruments in vodka (you cannot be too careful, people), and prepared to remove the seven sutures that the cavalier cousin had acquired in some sort of college capers and/or shenanigans.

 

OK, so the other thing that is true is that the girl in charge is taking an EMT course this summer.  She hopes to be a doctor some day, but in the meantime, she is totally thrilled to own her own stethoscope and blood pressure cuff.

I know, right?!

 

So it made total sense to all of us that Uncle Doctor should give a lesson or two, and then the girl in charge should remove the sutures.  Because obviously.

Weird . . . no one asked the cavalier cousin how he felt about this plan . . . .

Well, so before the action started, Uncle Doctor whined a little bit about how the light wasn't very good, and quick as a cricket, multiple relatives pulled out multiple iPhones with multiple flashlight apps.

 

Uncle Doctor was much happier.  Then he showed the girl in charge how it's done.  She was riveted.

 

She wasn't the only one.

And then -- Uncle Doctor handed the scissors and the tweezers (from a cousin's glamour bag) over to the girl in charge, and she took out the rest of the stitches.

It was really cool!

Her hair was bugging her (and was making the cavalier cousin question the whole proceeding), so a cousin got drafted to hold her hair back -- STAT!  I'm sure there's medical terminology for this.  What is it?

Uncle Doctor was fabulous.  After collecting the cavalier cousin's insurance information and making him sign a liability waiver, he was totally chillaxed and calm, and was a great coach for the girl in charge, who was nervous and excited and nervous.  Her one terse comment:  "This is really fun."  Uncle Doctor grinned, and said, "It is, isn't it?"

Medicine in Margaritaville

So remember how my sister fell the day before her tall boy graduated from high school?

And how she had to have surgery on her wrist and was completely freaked out because she thought she might have to miss her firstborn's graduation?

And how she was totally stoned on Percocet for the entire commencement experience, and then had surgery first thing the following morning and then hosted a swingin' graduation party that night but doesn't remember a thing about it?

Ah, yes -- good times! As you can see from the look on her face the whole thing has been highly amusing for her -- where amusing = a painful and annoying hindrance to getting anything productive done as well as a complete cramping of her beach-loving style. Tra-la-la!

Well, while we were at the beach the time came for her to have her stitches removed. And here's the beauty part about my family: my step-brother is a doctor. So a text reminding him to bring a suture removal kit to the beach was all I needed to hear about and I was so ready to record the proceedings! Because really -- what's a beach get-away without a minor surgical procedure? And let me just emphasize that the look on my sister's face is so hilarious -- because she has a long history with various doctors for various reasons -- and is perfectly capable of telling Uncle Doctor that he has screwed up. Not that he did. This time. Just kidding, Uncle Doctor!

The process was pretty straight-forward, but what you don't see is the five-year-old counting the sutures as they came out -- because hey! We're a family of educators and we will never pass up a learning moment!

There were actually several cousins leaning over Uncle Doctor because the scene was cool yet gross yet cool -- and we're all about creating memories for our kids in my family. If this hasn't already shown up on some cousin's Facebook I will eat my flip-flips.

The best part was when Uncle Doctor, who is all about the sterile environment (in his swim suit, because that's how we roll) said, "OK, now that the stitches are out we need some hydrogen peroxide to clean this up."

We all stared at him blankly.

"Purell? Oxy-Clean? Anything?"

Then he had an epiphany: "Vodka?"

Aaah! Vodka! Now he was talking our language! (And can I just report that the Bloody Mary's and the Eggs Benedict were fabulous.)

A few steri-strips later . . .

. . . . and some Derma-Bond ( a.k.a. Super-Glue -- who are we kidding?) for good measure . . .

. . . and my sister was good to go. Thank you, Uncle Doctor!