My Parents Left Me in the ICU for My Brother’s Game, So I Made One Call

a dry-erase marker, the way a magician produces something from thin air, and slid it under my left hand, curling my fingers around it.

“The tube stays in a little longer,” she said. “But you can write.”

It took effort. Each stroke of the marker sent a tug through my abdomen that required concentration to push through. But I managed two words.

Brother’s continue reading …