“Obstructive airway disease,” I overheard — an eavesdrop I couldn’t ignore, I feared. My whole world collapsed right there as I dropped to my knees on that floor, staring at the bed: a small boy’s frame, innocent, blind to how cruel this world can be, hope in his eyes, fed empty lines all day — “you’ll be okay, you’ll see.” Then it hit me: countless others are here, in this ward, across the earth, gasping for air, desperate to breathe. Yet here I stand, there you stand, we all stand, gulping this oxygen, this breath others beg for, living like we’re entitled to it. On that hospital floor I saw what a useless sister I’d been — helpless, witless, a burden — how arrogant we are to savor this fortune we never earned. How lucky we are.