If I were honest, I’d say things were looking up. Certainly, my appetite had returned. Not in full force, but I didn’t look gaunt anymore. Frankly, I didn’t mind the underfed model look—pronounced cheekbones, full lips, white teeth, and tight chin—but it bothered my parents something fierce. The couple extra pounds I now carried had softened my face. The main thing was I could digest a cheese sandwich without the sour stomach.

Marnie and I rode the elevator up to the neonatal unit. She told me that the baby was doing well, that her temperature was back up to normal.

“That’s very good.”

“You just want to see her, huh?”

I nodded. The elevator stopped and the doors opened. We walked the hushed halls of the hospital. The lighting was bright, bordering on harsh.

“She’s over here.”

Marnie had stopped in front of a picture window. As I stared through the glass, my heart stopped. Fifteen tiny creatures poked and prodded with tubes and needles. I had eaten steaks that weighed more than the smallest of them. The teeniest looked just over a pound. I could have held her in my palm.

“She’s third from the right.”

Sandwiched between two little blips of life hooked up to oxygen masks and IVs, my little girl looked enormous and hearty. No tubes, no oxygen mask, just a lump of pink blanket with a hood on her head. “My goodness, she looks so big.”

“She’s probably full term.”

I wanted to pick her up. To rock her and kiss that little forehead. I turned to Marnie. “Is it possible for me to hold her?”

“The baby?”

“Yes.”

Marnie sighed. “I shouldn’t let you … but human contact is very good for her right now. You’ll have to suit up.”

“That’s fine.”

Marnie took me into an office and gave me disposable blue scrubs. By the time I had finished, I was covered head to toe—suit, mask, head cap, gloves, even paper casings over my shoes. Finally, she led me into the nursery and picked up Baby Girl Doe—weight six pounds seven ounces, length nineteen inches. She had me sit down and then placed the sleeping infant in my arms.

Her face looked like a ball of brown butter—tiny lips, onion-skin eyelids, and a nose no bigger than a button. My eyes got moist, but I couldn’t wipe the tears because my hands were housed in latex. I just let them run down my cheek. Marnie stared at me. I shrugged.

“It’s camp, but it’s true. What a miracle.”

The redheaded pixie smiled. “Why, Officer, you’re an old softy.”

“Don’t tell anyone, all right?”

The symphony of cries was music at its most primal. My eyes swept over all the tiny preemies. All the little lives hanging in the balance … all those worried parents out there. I wondered how people like Marnie worked in a pediatric hospital and kept their sanity.

Over the high-pitched wails, a disembodied voice announced a name over the PA system. I turned to the nurse. “You’re wanted?”