Divine Diagnosis

“Colt, I think I’m going to die.”

My wife, Krystyna, struggled to get the words out. I had to lean in to hear her. Her voice was weak. She looked small in the hospital bed, her skin pale and shining with sweat.

“No, honey,” I said. “Don’t say that. You can’t lose hope.”

I couldn’t blame her, though. It had been two weeks since what was supposed to be a routine appendectomy, and she was getting worse, not better. The doctors didn’t have