A lot has happened in the past week to cause me reflect on how lucky I am. In the history of the world, I must be among the luckiest 1%. If you have the freedom, capability, time, and access to technology to read these words, likely you are too. Despite what she and her family have been through, my friend Jane Roper counts herself as lucky as well.
If you’ve never been inside a pediatric ICU, I recommend that you keep it that way unless absolutely necessary. This is not a happy place. Inside every glass-walled room is a kid who is not doing well. Some are trauma victims, some are gravely ill, some are in comas and some will never wake up. Some of them have been there for months and months. […]
At the nurse’s urging we left at one point to take a breather in the family lounge. No one else was there, except the big burly man I’d seen playing checkers the day before. We asked who he was here for, and he told us they were about to pull the plug on his granddaughter. And I completely lost it. We are so lucky, I said to Alastair, through tears, after the man had left the room.
We are so lucky.
Relative to near or fully delivered personal tragedies, of which there are many in and around New York this week, the bickering over which candidate might be a hair ahead according to which political polling aggregation method seems awfully petty. Jane’s entire post is worth reading. It’s only part one.