My body simply stopped obeying me.
My Mother Entered the NICU After I Chose My Baby Over Her Party
My last clear memory was the pale glow of the monitor across Kevin’s face and Brooklyn curled beneath her blanket.
When I woke, morning light was pressing through the blinds.
For one terrible second, I did not know where I was.
Then I heard the ventilator.
I looked at Rosalie.
Still there.
Still connected.
Still breathing.
The monitor was steady.
The tubes appeared to be in place.
I let myself exhale.
Kevin was no longer in the chair, and I assumed he had stepped into the hallway or gone for coffee.
Brooklyn shifted beneath her blanket.
Her eyes opened slowly, heavy with sleep.
Then her face changed.
Fear moved across it so quickly that I sat up despite the pull in my incision.
“Mom,” she whispered.
I leaned toward her.
“What is it, pumpkin?”
