The air bit through my gloves that February morning, and I was half-jogging toward the ER doors when I saw a bundle near the curb—small, lopsided, wrapped in a threadbare blanket. I thought it was dropped groceries. Then it moved. I was on my knees before I knew it. Under the blanket: a baby boy, maybe three weeks old, lips edged blue, breaths shallow and rattling. My voice came out as a whisper and a plea at once. I scooped him up, pressed him against my chest, and shouted for help. The ER doors flew open, and the room turned...
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