“Even when the baby has a good night, and I sleep through his feeds, my wife feeding him beside me. Or nights before I have an important meeting the next day and sleep in the spare room. I wake from seven hours’ slumber still tired.” “Forgive me,” the doctor said, “but let’s not waste time on this. All parents suffer such fatigue. If the sleeplessness doesn’t wear you out, the responsibility will. We should move on.” “I agree,” I told him. “We’ve been through everything. I can’t find anything wrong. I’m not saying there’s nothing wrong. We just can’t find it.” “There’s something missing.” “That’s right.” “No, I mean, what’s wrong is there’s something missing.” “What? In you? It’s possible.” “Not in me. In the world there’s something missing. I’ve always felt it, seen it almost. Been frightened of it.” “Something missing in the world?” The doctor eyed me intently.
