It's cold. Still pretty early in the morning, either the final dwindling days of February or very early March. I've kind of lost track. I'm not dressed for it either way. My shirt's off so the doctors can run lines, take temperatures, do whatever it is that doctors do for patients in the back of ambulances tearing through London. There's no heat. Not that it matters. My knees are huddled up to my chest.
I don't know anything about anything. There hasn't been time to research leukemia. Well, I guess there really was plenty of time, but I didn't know what was going on inside my body then. Didn't want to know. So it's mostly the not knowing that's the scariest part of the whole deal. Not knowing if this is what it's going to be like every day, or if it's just a one time thing. We haven't even started treatment yet. So if not treatment feels this absolutely unbelievably shootty, what happens when he really get started?
I'm all turned around. The plan was Lancaster to Heathrow to Seattle. University Hospital to Airport to Airport to University Hospital. Very simple. But now we're somewhere in London, driving someplace that wasn't part of the plan, missing an airplane that was. I can't figure out where we're going. This is troubling. Uncomfortable.
Shit.
Who's going to tell Mom that I'm not on the plane? How will she find me?
When in the hell are we getting to this hospital?
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