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Approaches to Dying 101

When I needed a hospital, my husband and I chose, almost by accident, the one closest to our house in Northwestern Germany. I thought I'd fractured a bone. He was short on oxygen and needed to refill his tank. We took the hospital I walk past on my way to grocery-shopping, the one whose emergency room nurses had seen my daughter's finger stuck in the guinea pig cage, my oldest son's ankle fractured while rollerblading, my younger son's concussion that scared the living daylights out of us. I assumed I'd be in and out that afternoon.