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“You’ll suffer naturally because you’re toxic,” my doctor husband sneered, blocking the nurses from performing a C-section for my giant 10-pound baby as revenge for his intern. I writhed in pain, clutching the bed rails until my knuckles turned white. When the grueling delivery finally ended, the heavy delivery room doors banged open. My husband staggered in, his face drained of color as he looked at the newborn chart, fell to the floor, and shrieked, “No… that’s impossible! Whose child is-“

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dead center, its crimson LED light blinking rhythmically in the gloom.

In the chaotic theater of emergency medicine, when an extremity is necrotic, you amputate without hesitation. You sever the rot, cauterize the stump, and you never, ever look back.

Settled into the heavily tinted rear cabin of the armored transport van, I synchronized my tablet to continue reading …

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