Another attempt at a prose poem.
When she told me to call an ambulance and take my eighteen-month-old baby girl to the nearest emergency room, the tension in the doctor’s voice was made more obvious by her forced attempt to sound calm and in charge. It was the panting, swift and shallow, as well as my description of the baby’s calm, which to me had been a welcome relief after a night and morning of high-pitched crying, that later the doctor said convinced her of the danger. My daughter lay quietly on her stomach throughout the ambulance ride, her eyes open, but blank, asking nothing and expecting nothing from me. Later, at the hospital, when they took her from me, I called my mother, and when she asked, in that familiar tone, what we were doing with her granddaughter, I screamed into the phone, “Thank you mummy. Thank you very much for your help.”