PA thinks I'm a Pollyana. Maybe he's right.
The PR is now complaining mightily if you even look at her hand. Admittedly her fingers look like little sausages, so I've been gently stroking them (what can be seen peeking out of the splint) whenever I pass by. She's now saying, "I think I regret having surgery."
I now start the off-the-cuff bullshit on how her body is working as it should, swelling is healing; keep the hand over your heart, etc. That poor child believes the worst shit from me. I'll say anything that sounds reasonable or even remotely believable. And you know what? I think I'm a damn good Mom for doing it.