“I’ve Been A NICU Nurse For Thirteen Years, And I Almost Judged A Giant Tattooed Biker By His Hands. He Asked To Hold The Baby Nobody Had Come To Visit, And Sat In The Same Chair For Twelve Hours. Then A Nurse Noticed The Small, Faded Tattoo On His Wrist: A Name, And A Date.”

didn’t flinch or look to me for reassurance. He rocked, slow and steady, talking in a low rumble I couldn’t fully make out, something about bears and mountains and a river he knew somewhere. Then the crying softened. Then it stopped. The room didn’t go silent in some dramatic way. The monitors kept beeping. Someone’s IV pump chirped down the hall. continue reading …