This Is The Year When Developed Nations Must Choose Between Pain And Disaster

We figured out how to feed her with a bottle by placing a finger under her chin, gently pushing upward until she bit down on the nipple to express milk. It took two hours for her to finish a bottle. We held her through countless sleepless nights because her body was unable to metabolize sleep hormones. She would lock up in tonic seizures, big blue eyes jerking to one side. She would go stiff lying beside me, and I would gather her in my arms, my nose in her hair, trying to memorize the soft smell of her. Sometimes I hoped she would go still, that her heart would stop, so that she would be free from suffering. I begged for it and dreaded it in equal measure.

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