Why These Children Fell into Endless Sleep

I had barely stepped foot over the threshold and I already felt claustrophobic. I wanted to turn back. People shuffled into the room in front of me, while somebody else stood directly behind me, a little too close. It felt hard to escape.

I could see Nola lying in a bed to my right. She was about 10 years old, I guessed. This was her bedroom. She was wearing a pink dress and black and white harlequin tights. Her hair was thick and glossy, but her skin was pale. Her lips were an insipid pink, almost colorless. Her hands were folded across her stomach. She looked serene, like the princess who had eaten the poisoned apple.

I had come knowing what to expect, but somehow I still wasn’t prepared. Five people and one dog had just walked into the room, but Nola didn’t have so much as a flicker of acknowledgement for any of us. She just lay perfectly still, her eyes closed, apparently peaceful. The only certain sign of illness was a nasogastric feeding tube threaded through her nose, secured to her cheek with tape. The only sign of life, the gentle up and down of her chest.

“She’s been like this for over a year and a half,” Dr. Olssen said, as she bent to stroke Nola gently on the cheek.

I was in Horndal, Sweden, a small municipality a hundred miles north of Stockholm. Dr. Olssen was my guide. She was a slim, deeply tanned woman in her 60s, with a distinctive triangular white patch in the fringe of her light brown hair. She had been caring for Nola since the child had first fallen ill, so she knew the family well. Dr.