We're home and all is well.
The "surgical center" ran like a well-oiled machine. They called us early in the morning to say the doctor was running ahead of schedule (!) and asked that we get there early if possible. We arrived and Z was all set to go into surgery in less than a half hour. Zander was a trooper -- beyond belief.
This picture was taken in the first of four waiting rooms:
This one after "intake," but before the final waiting room:
Post-surgery, he woke up a little disoriented, asked for his beloved Taggie (mentioned here), and fell back asleep.
He slept on and off a bit, until he woke up for good and asked for "Murdoch," the train acquired from his most recent poop. (If this sounds strange to you, read this post and this post to see what I'm talking about. It will likely still sound strange.) Anyway, we left about a 1/2 hour later.
That being said, no parent ever wants to have to sign a "consent to resuscitate" form and then see their child in a hospital gown on a gurney.