As I stood at the window looking out at the cold cityscape from the 14-floor hospital room of St Michaels hospital Toronto Canada. The hot steam from the buildings below billowed like large puffy white cotton candy in the cold, freezing air, making it look almost surreal; it was April 2021. My 21-year-old son was laying in the bed behind me in a pain-medicated drowsy state. I stood wondering how this had all happened and how I had ended up here with a child that was so sick. As tears formed in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks, I felt for the first time in my life so lost as to what to do. How could I fix this? How could I make it better?
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