the icy road barely visible through the pounding white flakes. “When I was eight, I lost my little brother, Danny to leukemia.”
“I’m so sorry. That had to be so hard to go through.”
“There was nothing I could do to help him. Nothing I could do to make him better or stop him from dying.” He paused, as if unable to say more.
“I know how that feels.” Her confession hovered in the air between them, too personal, too vulnerable. “I so do. When you’d do or give anything to save a loved one, but it’s impossible.”
“Exactly. I remember standing beside his hospital bed and vowing to be a doctor when I grew up. That way I could help other kids’ little brothers.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Here I am, thirty years later.”
“Helping critically ill children and their families.” New respect curled through her, warm and powerful. “I’ve had to diagnose cancer a few times during my residency. Telling a loving parent that their child has a terminal illness was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Dealing with it every day, doesn’t that get you down?”
“I look at it another way. I help them fight for life.” He hit his blinker and pulled to the curb. “There is nothing more important than fighting for life so love can go on.”
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