There are two doors in the same hospital corridor. Behind one, my son Theo fights for breath. Behind the other, life is deliberately ended.
Last month I spent two weeks walking that corridor, back and forth, day and night, living in the tension between those two realities. Theo was born needing help. Machines, wires, oxygen, numbers constantly flickering. Every feed monitored. Every breath watched. Conversations in quiet tones with doctors and nurses who carry both skill and compassion in equal measure.
