The Children's Hospital in Denver seems to remodel and renovate its facilities more often than Martha Stewart changes her sheets. I had climbed an unfamiliar staircase, nothing was the
way I remembered it from previous visits, and I managed to get lost on my way to the psychiatric unit. My journey took me past a ward of glassed-in, vestibule-fronted isolation rooms that were intended to
protect the world from children with contagious illness, and vice versa. Maybe half of the rooms were occupied by patients. And maybe half of those patients had their televisions turned on. In one
room, the last one in the row, the familiar visage of Mitchell Crest filled the television screen and stopped me in my tracks.