Several weeks ago, my husband snapped a photo of our family’s new nightly feeding routine. The scene is set around 3:00 am, the dead of night, and my back is turned toward the camera. I lean over to adjust the breast pump. In the frame, the half of the bedroom we fashioned as a diaper […]
I’m on the phone with the sixth nurse, newly discharged. The past weeks witnessed frantic dispatches for aid via email and helpline, while the whoosh and suck of the electric pump Coaxes Canaan’s bounty from my damaged right breast. My son lays in his father’s arms, And greedily receives sustenance that my body cannot provide. […]
On the color of hope.
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