I focused on a small patch of psoriasis above my daughter's left eyelid. Katie squeezed her brows together. She removed her wire-rimmed reading glasses and stared at her notes. The green lines of Katie's steno pad matched my hospital gown. I tightened the sash on the one-size-fits-all robe and recalled a pet turtle that had survived the short cycle of our Maytag washer four decades ago. When the verdant amphibian drowned in her own water bowl only weeks later, I'd pressed my five year old to my bosom.
"Am I going to die like that?" the solemn girl had asked. "No, Katie, no."
"Do you promise?" she had whispered. I'd kissed my trembling first-born on the top of her golden curls and lowered my voice. "Just never drink water with a piece of lettuce on your head, baby."
I reached for a pitcher of ice-water.
"l'll do that, Mom," said Katie. My middle-aged child buried the green spiral into her purse. Her strong nose, dotted with pin-sized blackheads, protruded from a small face framed in an overabundance of bottled yellow hair. With a steady hand, Katie filled my glass to the rim.  I folded the Travel Section of the New York Times in half and handed it to my daughter. She tucked it under her wide buttocks and plunged her hand into her pocket. Without benefit of a mirror, Katie smeared her mouth with a tube of Maybelline's Ruby Red.  On second thought, she retrieved the Times and blotted her lips on the east bank of the Yellow Sea.  I had an overwhelming urge to call my travel agent or order Mu Shoo Vegetables with brown rice and extra pancakes.  A sharp pain in my stomach dismissed my whimsical impulses with a dose of reality. I gave myself permission to pass gas. Katie averted her eyes. She settled her gaze on the I.V. pole next to my bed.
"Why ...?" began Katie.
"Not now, sweetheart." I gritted my teeth.
My daughter's eyes widened. Her surprised blue irises filled with tears.
"To receive blood, Katie. I'm anemic from ..."
"Oh, Mom!" cried my child. "I don't want to live on this earth without
you! Isn't there anything I can do?"
"Shhh, Katie, shhh."I pressed the cool water glass against my daughter's temple.  A dead flake on her eyelid floated through the charged air. Katie's ample bosom heaved. With my free hand, I slipped my fingers into her 104 Natural Golden Blonde tendrils. I massaged my daughter's salt and pepper roots. "Baby," I whispered, "just never drink water with a piece of lettuce on your head."
"But, Mom ..."
"Shhh."
I licked my daughter's tears until my thirst was quenched.