I’m not sure having kids is for me, he says, and it’s not just the worry side
It’s three years since I put my daughter’s future into the hands of a brain surgeon; three years since the hour before her surgery, when the surgeon appeared in his scrubs to settle our nerves — and I joked (for what the **** else are you supposed to do?) that an enclosed order of Irish Cistercian nuns I’d recently interviewed for an article were praying for his hands.
“That’s 22 nuns on their knees right now,” I told the surgeon, “no pressure, like.”
