Mine is a story of luck and privilege. But you wouldn't be able to tell that just from looking at the ending. A baby dies. Have I ruined the story for you yet?
So perhaps it doesn't sound that lucky. It was my baby that died after all. And privilege? Is it a privilege to have your baby die? In my case, I and my family...and my baby... were all very lucky and very privileged. I've been thinking about the idea of "lucky"—only to find that slinking right along with it I find Lucky's evil sister, "Unlucky." I keep kicking these ideas around, like that pile of clothes that always seems to appear at the foot of my closet. Lucky, unlucky, I still ask myself what what we were when we found out that Clara had hydrops and cystic hygroma.
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