Sixth floor
It's cold out there. As in hats-gloves-boots-quick-walking. The wind was blowing under my coat this morning while i bottoned up in the middle of the pedestrian crossing. Still, true to the winter tradition in this city, the sun was out and about, playing tricks on those who are easily fooled by a bit of sunshine. I was on my way to the hospital, dreading the bad news yet eager to hug my friend.

That mischievous sun was taking up a good part of the white and blue wall in the sixth floor, where wee babies seemed to sleep peacefully in the intensive care area. I watched them for a while and proceeded to look for my friend and her baby girl in the next room.

She was sitting with her on her lap, feeding her and whispering and playing with her hand and smiling and biting her lip in concentration. Baby M had her eyes open and gently moved her fingers every now and then.

I was amazed how much she looks like her big sister. And her father. She is a beautiful baby. Doctors say the brain damage is severe. She probably won't be able to walk or speak. She may be blind. She will need special care. A wheelchair. Time will tell but we already know it's not looking good. For now, mum and babe look after each other in a sunlit room.

It's so cold out there.