I gave birth to premature twins. One of them, a girl, was quickly improving. Another one, a boy, was dying, his skin turning purple and his breath declining. I cried beside the incubator, looking at him for one last time. Suddenly, a young nurse stormed in, tore him from the wires and shoved him into my arms. I was frozen, terrified that I might be holding him during his final moments. She spoke softly but urgently, telling me that sometimes what a struggling infant needed most wasn’t another machine, but a sense of warmth and connection….CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
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