Two Tiny Punctures in My Son’s Hospital Cup Led to a Timeline My Husband Couldn’t Explain
I was not keeping the hospital’s clinical record.
I was making a record of my observations that staff could compare with theirs.
That distinction became important later.
At ten forty-five, I met Marlene in the cafeteria.
She was Victor’s sister, and I expected her to tell me to stop worrying before she told me to eat.
She pushed half her toast onto my plate instead.
“You need something.”
“So do you.”
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