Two hours from now, we leave for New York. Tomorrow morning, we will see an allergist at the clinic run by Big Famous Innovative Pediatric Allergist Guy, known henceforth as Whatsisname. I booked the appointment with Whatsisname back in June, after the Grandpere pulled strings to get us in.
Standing outside the classroom today with the Eldest, in the midst of coat, boot and lunchbag gathering, a friendly parent tapped me on the shoulder and asked. Apparently, the Eldest had told the parent's son that we were going on a trip. I explained why, and suddenly, nearly burst into tears. Are you okay? asked the parent, and patted me gently. Is there something I can do? Some way I can help?
Oh, thanks, I lied. but I'm fine. I'm just realizing now that I was hoping that Whatsisname would have a magic wand to wave over the boys...and of course, he won't.
Oh, silly me, whining in the face of this good fortune, afraid of what it will bring. Okay, let's try and turn this blog post right around: how wonderful to be able to go and see this specialist, and to work with the fruits of his wisdom. How awful it will be to hear him say that he cannot cure, or even materially correct the boys' allergies.
Hope is a terrible thing, sometimes, and I hadn't realized that I was daring to let myself feel it.