One of the first orders of business once we were set in our room was placement of the IV in my tiny baby's arm. This entire enterprise was an unqualified disaster. On the first effort, a forty-something bleach-blond nurse with a ponytail and bright red reading glasses on a chain tried three different times, twice on one arm and once again on the other. I held B2 as he screamed. After the third attempt, she lifted her glasses and smacked her mint gum. "He must be dehydrated," she said. "I'm going to get someone to help you hold him down."
"I'll get someone to hold you down," I thought.
My better self responded instead. "Could we get him something to drink first?" I asked.
"Sure, honey," she replied.
She left, and B2 and I together both cried and struggled to breathe.