Grief is the agony of an instant, the indulgence of grief the blunder of a life.—Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881)
Two. Nine. Forty-three.
I winced as the numbers streamed through my consciousness.
Three cell lines down.
Twenty-two percent blasts.
Suddenly the small emergency department examining room felt suffocating, the parents staring at me while I reviewed the sheet of laboratory values they had brought with them. They waited.