Never Cross This Surgeon
Language: en
I was at the TSA checkpoint, the smell of recycled air and stale coffee heavy in my lungs, when the officer asked the standard question: "Any prohibited items in your luggage?" I was about to shake my head, my mind already halfway to the O.R. in Nashville, but my assistant, Tiffany, beat me to it. She raised her hand with a look of wide-eyed, terrifying innocence. "Do surgical knives count? Because she has dozens of them in that suitcase!" The world stopped. The rhythmic shuffling of the line went dead silent. The officer’s hand flew to his radio, and within seconds, a perimeter of blue…