February 5, 2009
My sister and I go and have breakfast while the surgeon works his magic. It may sound heartless, but my sister is a very practical person and we knew we had to get through at least two hours before we’d get any news. The hospital is in my old neighborhood, and it’s still early enough to get into the most popular weekend breakfast spot without waiting in line. After breakfast, we run into a friend I’ve known since high school, who gives us hugs and encouragement. At the hospital, the surgeon is striding out of the doors as we arrive.