There was some early drama before we all entered the courtroom, when Thomas' parents showed up with two little girls in tow. Could the girls come in the courtroom? Where would they go if they couldn't? But then it was agreed that if they sat very quietly on the back bench, they could come in.

The caseworker and I exchange raised eyebrows, alarmed that parents held responsible in juvenile court for nearly murdering their infant son are now watching someone else's children. But we are powerless to do anything about it, since there are still no criminal charges.

The judge enters and we all rise. The bailiff records everyone's presence: the parents, with separate attorneys; the caseworker, with two lawyers from the Attorney General's Office; the guardian ad litem, who is an attorney appointed for Thomas; the two little girls; the judge; and me. I am the 1-year-old boy's court-appointed special advocate.

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The judge tells us she has read the motion and evidence submitted in support of the do-not-resuscitate (DNR) order. One of the AGs announces that a doctor is prepared to testify on speakerphone. The judge asks the parents' attorneys about the parents' position.

The attorneys whisper to the parents. The father's attorney says, "Your honor, my client is very disturbed by having to make this decision, and doesn't feel he can decide at this time."

The mother's attorney says, "Your honor, my client is very upset about what this decision would mean for Thomas, but she does not want her son to suffer anymore."

This is a complete shock to most of us in the courtroom. We had been told that the parents were prepared to fight the DNR order vigorously, in an effort to keep Thomas alive so that they could not possibly be charged with his murder. We were ready for testimony, medical evidence, even witnesses. Apparently they have changed their minds.

The judge speaks carefully. "I hope I haven't caused any confusion with my question. This decision is not for the parents to make, because their child is a ward of the state. Clearly, this is my decision to make. I am asking whether there is any testimony they want me to consider, or any questions they want to ask of the doctor or the caseworker. I can make my decision based on the motion and evidence already presented in writing, or I can hear further testimony."

The attorneys again whisper to their clients, then turn to the judge. Both attorneys request that the judge make the decision based on the motion only. The AG speaks up.

"Your honor, I do have the doctor here on the telephone, and I would like him to testify to his recommendations for Thomas."

"Any objections?"

There were none.

The doctor, his voice slightly hobbled by the crackles and feedback of the phone, begins to speak. He talks about the extent of Thomas' injuries -- the massive head trauma, the kidney failure, the seizures, the blindness, the constant diarrhea, the excruciating pain he appears to suffer. He says that if the court grants the DNR order, doctors would still do the utmost to keep him comfortable -- they would fight infection aggressively, give him the Heimlich maneuver if he choked, give him pain medicine and carefully monitor his fluids to keep him from getting dehydrated.

He tells the judge that he is only asking not to be required to make any heroic efforts to resuscitate Thomas, unless the malady is something clearly reversible.

The father is crying silently, tears running down his cheeks, splashing the files and papers spread before him at the defense table. The mother sits unmoving, looking down, eyes wide and unblinking.

The doctor tells the judge Thomas could die at any time -- he could live a day or 10 years, but his condition is irreversible and he will only get worse. He says it is unfair to Thomas to chronically resuscitate him, and that any heroic efforts directed merely at prolonging Thomas' life would only prolong his misery and pain.

The judge's voice cracks as she thanks the doctor for his testimony. She asks the parents if they want the decision today. They nod yes.

She hesitates, looking down, expressionless, for what seems an unbearable length of time. Finally, she speaks, her voice cracking again.

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