Returning to the picture on the page of an angry, pink baby with a T-piece resuscitator hovering over its face to supply oxygen, I was immediately transported to another place, three and a half years ago. Except that baby was limp and gray. Slippery in the warmed blankets that didn't seem to be able to contain her. Listless despite the efforts to stimulate her to breathe, turning bluer by the second. "Why isn't she breathing?? What are you doing to my baby?!?" Mom's wails rang out in my right ear as if it were yesterday.
