May 24, 2018

playing god

"Please ask the doctor if he can make a house call tomorrow after your office closes, to ... help us ... with Chester."

"I'll ask him and get back with you.  He'll come."

He would suffer.  Die of thirst.  We will not let him.


*long cradle, singing softly*

"Okay.  You can turn off the ECMO machine.  It's time."

A nod of dignity.  Shuts down the machine.  My infant son opens his eyes and looks at me, then closes them and dies in my arms.

He would have lost both legs and four fingers and lived with a colostomy and a permanent trach.


Sometimes there is a merciful god, and that god is us.

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