The Butterflies are Getting Ready

In just eight minutes, we'll be on the road to the rare disease research center. It's an hour and a half drive, so we're leaving a little early for our 6:30 check-in, and I'm making Jeff take us because I. Am. A wreck. A first-class disaster. I'm so scared.

Well, I guess I shouldn't say that. It hasn't really hit me what's about to happen. I feel funny, like my stomach is not yet full of butterflies, but getting ready to be full of butterflies. The butterflies are getting ready, they're still in their cocoon.

I don't have much of a reason to be this anxious. We have heard nothing but praise for the center. We've met all the doctors and researchers who will be working with Maisie, and they are all wonderful. But the bottom line is that we could be about to find out that Maisie has a terminal illness. I don't know how to even begin to process that information.