Heat, baked into a cube, hit my face first as I pulled back the curtain and moved into the room.  Inside, the air felt still and everything yellowed under the lights flickering.  Two other nurses crissed and crossed about the room like birds, neatly and quietly putting things back together.  I cradled the camera by it’s lens in my hand and, almost begging to be put away or become invisible, it waited. In the center of the room raised high on the gurney lay the little white pile of blankets and child I’d come to see.  The color of his face tripped a wire– alarmed my brain into an algorithm of assessment– a pathway towards an intervention.  But no intervention would change the heavy stillness that poured forth from the little pile, covering every centimeter of everything that stood with it in the room.

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