September 12, 2007
At work, an infant lay prostrate under a portable X-ray machine, receiving the skeletal survey that for a number of reasons was way too late. The student next to me shakes her head several times, utters one of the many useless commentaries that have become her trademark. “X-RAY,” the tech announces, and we all round the steel corner. I mockingly place my hands in front of my reproductive organs as the lightening strikes. The student points out astutely that that’s not going to do much good. I say I won’t be needing them. This, however, is not a new development.