WRITING

She kneels by my daughter’s bed. A friendly young woman. I appreciate that she’s dressed in black slacks and a ruffled, flowered top, instead of scrubs, and that she has braids coiled around her head. She earnestly continues her explanation. “It’s just like a tiny straw–want me to get one to show you?” A couple of minutes later, she reenters our hospital room and rips open a couple of packages that show what the IV looks like. She places a tiny yellow piece upright on her palm. “Now, what do you think that looks like?” she asks. You can tell she thinks the answer…