Poppy’s CT scan is in twelve hours. 

From there I meet with the neurosurgeon to schedule the exact day for her first cranial surgery.

I want to casually cancel. I want to call and say “We aren’t able to come in today because we are going to the zoo, or mars, something, somewhere other than there.” – where they give tiny babies real-live frankenstein scars.

It’s true. 

They also give the tiny babies hope. Room to grow. A future. But it is very hard to see that through the fear and horror that coincide with a creeping surgery date.

To add insult to injury, I am also looking for a new place to call home. The place I am in now is simply too expensive for me to stay. I had anticipated returning to work out in the world – but alas that plan has changed for the time being. 

I don’t want to be in living-limbo when Poppy is recovering or even right before her surgery – she has enough to acclimate to without having the added stress of coming “home” to a foreign place.

I feel like a fool and a failure. 

That’s as far as I can go… apparently I am having a harder time with all of this than I let on (to myself.)
Time to turn the lights off and listen to her sweet snoring. 

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