tomorrow

Tomorrow my brother goes for his follow-up visit to the hematologist. He hasn't heard one word from anyone since he was there for testing 2 weeks ago.

Tomorrow we get news.

Tomorrow we find out if this kidney ride cranks back up again. Or if it stays in neutral.

Tomorrow we may get a new date. Or we may stay stuck in limbo.

Tomorrow questions will be answered.

This is starting to sound remarkably like a reality show.

Will we make it to Hollywood? Will we show at fashion week? Will we get our own chain of fast casual restaurants? Will we beat the Iron Chef? Will we be on the cover of Seventeen magazine?

Will my kidney finally move to its new home?

Of course, tomorrow won't end the questions. Question like:

Will my kidney fit? Will it work? Will it keep working? What happens to both of us if the transplant can't happen?

Will we still talk every day?

Will I go through with getting a tattoo?

Will he be ok?

Will I be ok?

I suppose, though, the above questions aren't new, they've always been there. None of them are easy to think about, talk about, acknowledge (even the one about the tattoo). Maybe these are questions that I need to keep locked away—getting lost in them invites anxiety over for a visit.

So, I'm hoping after tomorrow the questions will be more along the lines of:

What kind of matching slippers should we get?

What color bathrobe should I be searching for?

Will my brother bring vegan cupcakes to the hospital?

If so, I call the triple chocolate ones.