Stop thinking so much about your own problems, Annie. Think about Moey

July 1964

Annie pressed the buzzer on the side of the locked metal door. A nurse in a stiffly starched uniform stepped out, firmly closing the door behind her, before Annie had a chance to peek in.

“Yes?”

“Hello. I was wondering if we could possibly....” Annie tried an ingratiating smile, but the nurse’s expression, like her uniform, remained starchy. “That is, if I could see what your neonatal ICU looks like.”

The nurse, glancing at Annie’s dress, softened a little. “Don’t worry, dear, almost all births are fine, you won’t be needing the NICU. And I’m sorry, only parents are allowed inside, and only during visiting hours.”

She turned away, but Annie wasn’t going to relent so easily. “In that case, may I speak with Dr. Sloan?”

“You’ll have to speak with his secretary,” she said briskly, the impatient voice of a nurse who had far too much to do to waste time with nervous women. “Down the hall, to your right.” The brisk voice took on a human note. “It’s normal to be anxious about a first birth, but don’t you worry.”

She disappeared into the NICU right before Annie burst into giggles.

“First birth, huh?” Moe joined in the laughter.

“Thank heavens for makeup.” Then she sobered up. “Come on, let’s try for Dr. Sloan.”