I’m sitting in front of the building where I took Katherine in May of 2015. The same place where I was told that her symptoms were normal for low iron and sent on my way. The first of 3 more discussions with doctors before I walked her into a hospital myself. I have an appointment here. To talk about my health. My health that faded after I found out my daughter actually had brain cancer and would die within a few months. I guess I should walk in and let them know how they failed my daughter. How much time was lost by what they didn’t see. How they misdiagnosed my daughter with a cop-out diagnosis that even I questioned. How they weren’t concerned enough to pay attention to the little things that didn’t make sense. The things I questioned curiously. The things they should have been questionable about as medical professionals. If I had one ounce of Katherine’s bravery I would go in with words blazing and stories of the nightmare we’ve lived for a year. But I won’t. I will continue to sit here, and cry. Sob. Stare. And eventually I’ll drive away. Again. I’ll just pay the no show. I guess I’m not brave enough. Sorry Katherine.