Melanie stood in the over-gown and plastic shoes given to her by the neonatal ICU staff after taking a quick hot shower and practically dousing herself with sanitizer. The peadiatrician wouldn’t allow her to hold her son, but he did tell her that she could pat his arm lightly and sing to him. So that’s what Melanie did as she watched him hooked up to the ventialator, the machine forcing air into his tiny lungs. It looked scary; the big tubes attached to one tiny body. Melanie wondered if he was in pain, goddess she hoped not.
The minute her finger grazed his toothpick sized arm, Melanie felt a calmness overtake her. It was better than nothing. Every fibre of her being yearned to grab him, but she'd take what she could get. And maybe she was just imagining it, but her son seemed to relax
