The following are letters to my daughter, Ellie, who was born premature, 4 months too early. They document her many months stay in the NICU, her trials, and the emotional struggles of her mother and I.
None of the doctors or nurses can give us good news without prefacing their report with: "For a baby her size."
It's a constant reminder of how tenuous things are. When your chest X-ray comes back, the results can be summarize one of two ways: A: "Something is wrong" or B, "Something isn't wrong, yet."
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