Without a hint of alarm, the doctor told me to go ahead and sit up on the exam table. The procedure was finished. I stared at the white and gray image on the X-ray monitor. The physician tried to gently explain what was wrong with me.
In our cozy guest room, I tucked the quilt around the 9-year-old boy I had just met. He looked up at me frightened, his blue eyes wide, a spattering of freckles across his nose.
The baby was sleeping in a cradle, flush against my bed. I could easily reach in and feel her tiny chest, rising and falling with each breath.