Karl Baden

On her third day of life, our daughter turned a yellow so deep it was almost orange. My wife and I rushed her to the hospital, where she was diagnosed with jaundice. Of course we were terrified, and for the first time I had the experience of trying to absorb a great deal of information about something I knew little to nothing about in a very short period of time. I learned that there were basically two types of jaundice in newborns: The first comes from breastfeeding and, with exposure to bright light from a special incubator, will disappear in a few days. The second is not a result of breastfeeding and is much more pernicious; it can result in liver and brain damage, even death. The doctors were not sure which variety we had, and for the next several days our daughter endured test after test until, agonizingly, bit by bit, her normal color crept back. Much later, when she was in eighth grade, and had to write a short poem based on a picture of her choosing, she picked one that I took from that time, of her in the midst of an EEG. She presented the picture and poem together, as I am doing now; a collaborative effort.