When I was five minutes old, my father gave my umbilical cord to a man in a pinstriped suit, who was waiting in the hall. “He’s going to bank your cord blood, son. It might be useful someday. God knows they want a king’s ransom, but your mother and I want you to have every advantage.”
“Ga,” said I.
My sainted mother fought thrush infections in both her breasts and cracked nipples that bled like open wounds in order to provide me with mother’s milk until I was two years old. “I want to tear my chest off,” she cooed in my ear, “but I can’t imagine not giving [...]