I meet with a vascular surgeon Wednesday. She's supposed to be quite good.
I meet with a neurosurgeon, subspecialty vascular Friday. He's supposed to be the best.
I want to meet neither.
I want to curl up in a little ball, pull the covers over my head, and wake up five years old again in my pale blue room with the gingham curtains, safe and secure in the knowledge that my Mommy and Daddy are right downstairs and will come up immediately if I call out.