The morning was fine, with the exception of the knots in my stomach. We drove to the clinic buildings, finally parking in the Damon car ramp. From the garage, it was easy to get to the various buildings, as an elevator ran directly into the subway system of the clinic. When the doors of the elevator parted we no longer needed to pause to read the informative signs posted on the facing subway wall; we were acquainted with the network of intersecting lines and headed right, through glass doors and followed the aging, dimly lit corridor until, a block or so down, we met with the fastidious decor of the Mayo building. Still we maintained our course, past a fleet of elevators and its waiting patrons, a pharmacy and bookstore, and a corridor which sloped slightly upward leading to the Plummer Building; we covered more ground skirting a hallway which allowed a brief glimpse of sunshine through vertical windows in the wall, and plants began to appear, growing fiercely toward the light. They were scattered in artistically positioned containers, guarding the final corridor which led to the Hilton Building in a stately, yet beautifully satisfying manner. The Hilton Building itself had even more plants in the waiting room of Desk C; indeed some of which were better described as trees, noting the vigor with which they seemed to soar skyward. If only I had such luck with plants, I thought, seating myself on a fiery orange chair. Blood tests weren't so bad, unless my vein didn't want to cooperate, in which case, they fell into my "tolerable" category; although I seldom uttered a word, pain did not thrill me and I suspected that, underneath the person labeled "a brave little girl" was a very yellow human being. I knew it would not alter a thing if I professed to being "lemon-yellow"; life coexisted with pain, and if you felt pain, well, that was life... but if you didn't, chances were, you were dead. Everything had its alternative, and considering the uncertainty riding piggyback on my shoulders, I felt that I had only one route to pursue, even if it included pain. I didn't consciously think about my future, despite the promise of a cure after the siege, it seemed more appropriate to dream and take each blow of reality as it was dealt, without thinking at all. The blood test accomplished, we left the brightly painted, plant infested waiting room and retraced our steps to the Mayo building, at which point we milled about the elevators until finding one which was not already protesting its capacity. It was a busy place.