Twenty minutes ago I reached for the white flag. I am too tired to cry. Too tired to be angry. Too tired to do anything but stare out the window until the next plea for help. My hands are raw, cracked and bleeding from the incessant hand washing. I am, probably hopelessly, trying to prevent the spread of the bug that has battered Briar to but a wisp of her self. I’ve laundered everything, scrubbed, and then scrubbed again, every surface. Neither my cleaning nor my attempts to soothe are making a bit of difference for Briar. Her underwear balloon around her shrunken pelvis, her lips are split and scabbed and her body is so weak she literally cannot brush the hair from her…