ABSTRACT
For five days my infant son lay in an oxygen tent flushed with fever. He was not responding to antibiotics. His pneumonia seemed determined to not go away. A nurse hurried briskly into our room carrying yet another tray holding several syringes. She squirted them into Brennan’s tiny mouth one by one. Too weak to resist, he swallowed the medicines, his baby face wrinkling at the bad taste. Then he turned his little head wearily and vomited the stuff back up, the pinkish mixture puddling on the white hospital sheet.
