It began as innocently as any birth can: moan of the mother, wail of the baby, and the father with nothing to do but wait. The child, a girl, seemed normal enough, crying enough certainly, eating well enough to be taken home to the new non-specific yellow nursery. Things went well, in fact, for the first several days. Then, suddenly, cough and fever, no appetite. The doctor, bless him, in the far-out stretches of the city, saw the child when it was too late for penicillin.
I have thought what it must be like to lie on your back and